Kitabı oku: «Naughty Or Nice / A Sinful Little Christmas», sayfa 5

CHAPTER SIX

I POUND THE paving beneath my feet, trying to run her out of my system, to forget her family and the past. Tower Bridge and its array of lights against the night sky make the perfect scene to lose myself and regain peace. And normally it works. But not today.

I’ve had five years to bury the anger the Beaumonts spark in me, the resentment, the betrayal, but it’s still as raw as if it was yesterday.

I’ve done this to myself. I should have stayed away.

There are other products, other investment opportunities—plenty to occupy me. The truth is, when you have money it’s easy to make money—so long as you’re careful. Nate should have remembered that five years ago, instead of taking it upon himself to sign a deal that I’d already warned him against.

No, not warned. Forbidden. Yet he’d broken my trust and done it anyway.

And, hey, presto: today’s mess.

Although I can’t really blame him for what’s happening right now. For her. Life was fine. I wasn’t fulfilled, but I was a damn sight happier than this.

Yes, it would have been easy enough for me to find opportunities elsewhere, but did I? No. I went knocking on her door, telling myself it was for the product.

The reality hits me—winds me, even—and I double over, my fingers gripping my thighs as I stare unseeingly at the ground.

I went for her.

It’s obvious now. So obvious I can’t believe I didn’t see it in the first place. I told myself it was the instant hit of mutual attraction at the party that blurred the boundaries, but like hell it was.

Idiot. I smack my knees in frustration and take off at a sprint, uncaring that people are looking at me as if I’m crazy.

I am crazy.

Crazy to have reopened this old wound, brought back the past, her, Nate, the family I once belonged to, was loyal to.

I always cited that loyalty as the reason I stopped myself from giving in to the feelings I had for her. Now that loyalty is gone it’s bloody obvious it was an excuse, a handy barrier to stop myself getting too close to someone else.

If my own mother wasn’t able to love me, and my father was never in the picture, how could I expect someone else to? Someone who didn’t have to? That kind of unconditional love doesn’t exist. Eva’s family proved that to me when they booted me out to protect Nate’s arse. Now no one gets that close to me—no one has that kind of power over me.

No one but her, it seems. Fuck.

I round the corner to my building. I have an apartment above the company headquarters, which makes life easy when I’m working late. It’s time to hit the shower and go out. Maybe a few drinks and a female companion will fit the bill.

Even my cock mocks me. No one will make me forget her—not now. Everything we’ve shared, every intense second has only ramped up the way I feel. It’s like an obsession, an addiction, and neither is healthy or acceptable but I am powerless to stop it.

And as if to prove my point I see her—in the foyer of my building, chatting to security. She’s leaning on their high-rise desk, legs crossed at the ankles. Judging by the sin-inspiring shoes, she hasn’t changed since I saw her at work, only donned the black coat that’s tied tight at the waist.

I stop short, staring through the glass as though at any moment she will vanish. And then I hear her laugh. It escapes through the door as someone opens it to leave and there’s no mistaking it.

I realise belatedly that the person is holding the door open for me, and I give him a brief nod of thanks as I take hold of it.

But I don’t enter—not yet.

I’m wrapped up in watching her, so relaxed, at ease, chatting, and the way others respond to her, get caught up in her happy web. Just like at the party, where everyone hung on her every word. Now she has Ron—a security guard, built like a wrestler, with a face that doesn’t smile—beaming like a man-child.

And then he spies me, clears his throat as he gives a brief nod.

She steps back, turns to face me.

I move before her eyes reach me, striding into the foyer. ‘I wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon.’

I scan her face as I get nearer, looking for any hint as to what’s brought her here.

Has she spoken to Nate? Does she know the truth? Is she here to discuss it? Or the deal?

All these questions blaze through my mind, racing with the crazy heat her nearness instils, but I can read nothing other than surprise in her face, in the flare to her eyes and her parted lips.

Which is odd since it’s my building—who else does she expect to see?

And then heat flushes up her chest, her mouth snaps shut, her eyes drop and she fiddles with the handbag over her shoulder. ‘I thought we could talk…’

She wets her lips nervously and looks up into my face. She’s all demure and inviting at once, and I can only just about manage, ‘Now?’

‘If you’re free…’

If I wasn’t, I know I’d be making myself so. ‘Have you eaten?’ I ask.

I don’t know why I’m proposing dinner, but I haven’t eaten, and I suspect she hasn’t found time to either. And dinner feels safe.

Safer than the other thing that springs to mind.

My body throbs with it. Sex with Eva. I want her so much it hurts. There’s the ache of longing, of desire, but there’s a greater ache—a riskier one, the one I know I should listen to. Dinner in a public place will help.

‘Erm…no.’

‘Let’s talk over dinner. I just need a quick shower.’

The mention of a shower has her cheeks flushing deeper. ‘Shall I wait here?’ she asks.

My sanity says yes. Having her in my place would be too intimate. It would be too easy. And the look in her eyes is feeding that realisation.

‘Don’t be ridiculous. Come up and I’ll fix you a drink.’

She looks to the security guard as I move off. ‘Thanks, Ron.’

And then she falls into step beside me as I head to the lift, the doors already opening to greet us.

Every one of my senses, pumped up from my run, is doing overtime as we enter the space together and that warning ache builds. I use my pass to send the lift to my private floor and step back—a feeble attempt at creating distance.

‘Nice run?’

I murmur an incoherent ‘yes’ and keep my eyes fixed ahead. It’s hard enough that her perfume fills the space. To look at her in this private enclosure will tip me over. Make me think to hell with security cameras and giving Ron an eyeful.

‘Something wrong?’

She’s looking at me. I can make out her confused frown in my periphery and it’s killing me. The urge to pull her to me and be done with it.

I never realised this lift took so long.

Jesus.

I let go of a trapped breath and the lift doors finally open onto my private foyer.

I gesture for her to lead the way and hang back a second longer than necessary. Again, space. Much-needed space.

I want to point her in the direction of the drinks cabinet and tell her to fix her own drink, but I’m a sucker for etiquette.

You’d think restrictive running shorts would provide some resistance against the nagging erection I’m already sporting, but it seems not. I feel exposed, both physically and mentally, my brain constantly teasing me with memories of her naked and writhing over me.

I clear my throat and stride forward to the kitchen, assuming she will follow—which she does. I can sense her continued frown, but I need that shower. Fast.

‘What would you like? Wine? Gin and tonic? Beer?’

She used to like a beer. When she wasn’t supping champagne with her well-to-do chums. Like that night… Her birthday bash, her white dress, the taste of her lips, those lips that I’ve yet to enjoy again… It’s all there, singeing my body, my mind.

She laughs as she shrugs off her coat and slings it over one of the bar stools that line the centre island. ‘You know, no one ever offers me a beer.’

‘You forget how well I know you.’

It’s out before I can stop it—the reminder of the past and how well we used to know one another. But this time she doesn’t shrink away from it. She only smiles at me, a reminiscent look in her eye that has me heating up further, and I snap my gaze away as I pull open the fridge and grab myself a beer.

‘I guess you just don’t look the type.’

‘No—much to my parents’ pleasure, I’m sure.’

The smile is still in her voice, the connection, and it’s pulling me in.

‘They hate seeing me with a bottle.’

‘Well, they’re not here now. Beer?’ My tone is tighter than I’d like, but she doesn’t seem to notice. Her eyes sparkle into mine with such mischief… Christ, I want her, need her… So bad.

‘Why not.’

I’m practically climbing inside the fridge in my need to cool down and hide my raging hard-on from her gaze. I grab her a bottle too, and place both down on the counter, turning away as I swing the door closed and pull a bottle opener out of a drawer.

I’m so fixated on breathing steadily that I barely notice her move until she’s right alongside me, staring at the wall. No, not at the wall. At the shelf and the photo framed atop it.

Fuck.

It’s been there so long it’s part of the furnishings. I curse my stupidity. I should’ve remembered—should’ve done something.

‘You still have this?’

I can hear the incredulity in her tone. Hell, I’m incredulous with myself.

I look at the bottles as I open them and inject nonchalance into my tone. ‘It was a good night.’

She’s leaning across the counter; her eyes slide from the incriminating photograph to mine. ‘No wonder you remember what I was wearing…’

I couldn’t forget. Photo or not.

She looks back to the picture, her lower lip caught in her teeth as she smiles wistfully. ‘You and Nate look so young…so happy.’

I take a slug of my beer and let my gaze drift to it too: Eva, Me, Nate, our arms over each other’s shoulders, doing a rendition of…

‘The cancan, wasn’t it?’ she says.

‘Yes.’ I have to force the simple syllable past the wedge in my throat.

‘It was a bitch in that dress—but worth every second to see you and Nate falling over yourselves to see who could get their legs the highest.’

She gives a soft laugh and then she turns to face me, her eyes curious. Too curious.

‘I’m going to take that shower. Help yourself to anything—living room is just through there.’

I’m already moving, escaping her magnetic pull, but she’s not letting me. She’s on my tail.

‘Why keep it?’

‘I told you—it was a good night.’

Really it’s a memory of a lesson learned. Never to get that close to anyone again. Not just Eva, but Nate too. It’s also the night things changed. The night she made her feelings so clear, her passion. Her switch from besotted spunky teen to—

Christ, don’t go there.

‘It was ten years ago, and you’ve had nothing to do with us for five—why would you keep it?’

I turn to look at her and she’s practically upon me. Her eyes are wide, probing. She’s looking for a deeper meaning that I know I can’t give her. I can’t open myself up to her. I trust her, but I don’t trust her with that. There can be no future for us. To confess now would be pointless and would only complicate things. I don’t want her pity and, knowing her like I do, that’s what I’ll get.

Pity for all that I’ve lost.

Even without the knowledge of what really went down between Nate and I, she will pity me. She knows too much of my past, of my childhood and of what the Beaumonts meant to me.

‘Tell me.’

Her voice is soft, coaxing, and her fingers reach out to stroke along my jaw, gentle and coaxing like her voice, her eyes, and I’m falling. I can feel it just as well as I can feel her touch upon me.

‘Lucas, please…’

I’m looking up at him, cradling his face, and I’m past the sexual magnetism of his sweat-slickened body that struck me so dumb downstairs. I’m all over what I can read in his eyes, in what his keeping that photograph means.

‘I’ve had ten years to wait for this.’

It’s as if some kind of screen has lifted—as if I can see him clearly now and see him clearly then. So much emotion in his face. Did he feel something deeper for me all those years ago…something akin to what I felt…is he feeling it now?

I can see the fight in him. He won’t speak. And suddenly I don’t need words. I need him. All of him.

‘Lucas…’ I whisper, my lashes already lowering and my body lifting onto my toes as my head tilts back to find his mouth.

His body turns rigid, but he doesn’t push me away. I kiss the corner of his mouth, its hard line, his five o’clock shadow grazing me. His scent is musky and all man, and I’m high on it. Every sensation teases me, even the slightest press of my lips against him.

He stays rock solid, unmoving, but I press on. I’m ready. For this…for whatever is to come. It feels right—he feels right.

I keep my eyes hooked on his, my hand upon his cheek as I reach for his beer bottle, taking it from his unresisting fingers and placing it on the table at my hip. Nerves rear up inside me, mixing with the thrum of anticipation, but I want this. And I think—I know—he wants it too.

I lift myself towards him again and gently nudge his mouth with my own. So hard, unrelenting. But I persist, taking what I’ve always wanted. Repeating the move, slow and coaxing. He tastes of beer, of him…

‘Evangeline… Don’t…’

He sounds gruff, pained, and I look into his eyes, see need shining back at me shrouded in fear.

‘Don’t what, Lucas? Press you for answers…?’ My lips brush against his as I speak. ‘Or do this?’

I tease the joining of his mouth with my tongue and his lashes flutter closed, his body shuddering on a stilted breath. And then he comes alive. His eyes open and there’s no hesitation, no fear, just the burning heat of desire as he forks his fingers in my hair and swings me back against the wall.

The first sweep of his tongue against mine turns my body molten, and the explosive heat swirling in the pit of my stomach is mounting the further he invades, the harder he moves over me. Hungry, fierce, possessive.

I match him move for move, telling him with my body what I want, what I need. No games, no taking control. This is about us. I feel as if I’m drowning in a multitude of emotions and sensations and I can’t cling to a single one. I’m hungry for them all.

‘If we let this go on I won’t stop,’ he says, intense.

I drag him back to me, press my body into his hardness. ‘I don’t want you to stop—not ever.’

Christ, that’s a sweeping statement, but I’m done holding back. I’m living for this moment.

He breaks away from me completely and I look at him, pleading. Please… Don’t stop…not now…

His eyes blaze at me and his jaw pulses with such tension. I know he wants me. I know it. I can feel it, for Christ’s sake.

Before panic truly sets in, he grasps my hand and starts to stride away. I don’t know where we’re going and I don’t care. As long as we’re together…as long as we complete this.

The foyer is vast, with several doors, and he pushes open the double doors that sit at the end.

The master suite. His master suite.

It’s masculine, stark, moody—so him.

He releases my hand but is still walking as he drags his sports tee over his head. I am rooted, just watching him—every muscle that ripples, the trace of sweat, the strength of his arousal as he turns to me and kicks off his shoes, his socks, his shorts, his boxers—

Oh, God.

Heat assaults my gut. Sheer, intense heat.

‘You owe me a shower,’ he grinds out.

My mouth is so dry I don’t think I can speak. Instead I lift my fingers to my blouse in answer and begin unbuttoning it. All the while I watch him. Watch how he follows my fingers and his cock lifts. A whimper sounds in my throat. I can’t contain it. I feel as if I’ll burst if I don’t have him soon.

He draws in a breath, flexing his fists at his sides, and then he’s across the room before I know it, his hands on my blouse, parting it, thrusting it down my body. The force of the move spikes my libido, making my tummy contract with the rush.

‘Too slow,’ he complains, yanking it free of my wrists and tugging me against him so hard I gasp.

The heat of his body sears my bare skin, my breasts surge within my bra and his impressive arousal presses between us, making the dull ache down low a pulsing knot.

He reclaims my mouth, his tongue plundering, taking my all.

‘I can’t believe you kept this from me.’

He says it between kisses, as if at any moment I might pull away, and I know he’s referring to my No Kissing rule.

‘You feel incredible. You taste incredible.’

He sounds like a man half-starved, and I cling to him as he reaches down my back, his fingers grazing over my tingling skin to unzip my skirt. He forces it down my hips, letting gravity do the rest as he drops his hands to cup my arse, drawing me harder against him.

He pulses between us, a growl erupting low in his throat, and I raise my leg to hook it around him, encouraging him closer, bringing his rigid length right up against my clit. Pleasure ripples through me, and his mouth swallows my moan as he keeps on kissing me.

And I’m kissing him back. Intense, possessive. As if we’re branding one another with our claim.

He drops his hand to cup my thigh and goes still, his forehead pressing into mine as he twists his head to look at where his hand is on me over the lace band of my hold-ups.

‘Fuck, Evangeline… You’re too sexy.’

I laugh, almost delirious at hearing those words come from his lips. I’m dreaming, surely. But his hardness, his heat, his breath as it sweeps over my chest in ragged gusts is all real. Erotic, carnal and happening.

He grabs my other leg and hauls me up against him, wrapping them around his waist. Then he’s moving, his mouth back on mine and his eyes on the direction in which we’re travelling. He strides across the room into the adjacent bathroom and presses me up against the cold tiles. My body shivers at the chill even as I worship the sensation: the cold at my back, his heat at my front…

He reaches out to mess with a dial.

Water pounds the marble floor, the sound blending with the rush of blood in my ears and the moans of sheer abandon that I’m barely aware of making. I hold his face in my hands. Gripping him to me. My mouth, my tongue are unable to get enough of this. And then he sets me down and tears his lips away to trace a searing path along my jaw, down my throat.

I lean back against the wall, my body trembling with need as I arch into him, encouraging him lower, needing him lower, running my hands over his shoulders, down his back.

He undoes the clasp of my bra and my breasts bloom, heat rushing to their tips as he eases the cups aside and the straps down. It falls to our feet as his hands roughly cup me, his mouth claiming one pleading bud, moving tantalisingly over it, his tongue flicking before drawing it in deep.

Christ.

I claw at his shoulders, my desire mounting, out of control. ‘I need you.’

He takes in the other nipple, his hands turning more urgent, his mouth unrelenting. We move against one another, our bodies building into a crazed rhythm.

I reach for him, desperate to feel him, to ride him. My fingers close around his cock, its heat feeding into my palm as I draw my hand upwards. He hisses, throwing his head back, and I repeat the move, watching his efforts to fend off his climax so clearly building.

And then he grabs at my wrist, pulling away. ‘Not again,’ he bites out, his fingers rough as he yanks my thong down.

I step out of it and he turns to my high heels, stripping them off so swiftly I’m sent off balance. But his palm is there, on my torso, pinning me against the wall as he drops to his knees. The heat of his touch contends with the intense heat swelling out of control just beneath, and then his mouth is there, at the heart of it all, his tongue sweeping over my clit and making me buck, making me cry.

His fingers smooth around my thighs, slipping beneath the tops of my hold-ups. He rolls them down, and all the while his tongue is circling my clit, gently goading me, driving me crazy.

He lifts one foot to pull the nylon free, then the other, but he doesn’t stand. He’s too busy feasting off me, his hands coming up to part me, to give his mouth, his tongue, deeper access, and I know I’m going to come. I can feel it building in my limbs.

But I want him inside me. I want all of him when I do.

I pull at him, my nails running up his shoulders. ‘No, not like this.’

His voice rumbles over me. He doesn’t agree.

‘Lucas.’

Something in my voice makes him pause and he leans back on his haunches, looking up at me. I’m wondering why the hell I stopped him, but…

‘I need you inside me.’

The pulse works in his jaw and then he’s on his feet, striding away.

What the fuck?

He’s back in seconds, sheathing himself, and the sight of his fingers moving masterfully over his erection is so fucking erotic, even as I acknowledge that he’s had the sense to get protection when I didn’t.

I start backing into the shower, pulling the pins from my hair, undoing my hair tie, dropping them to the floor. All the while my eyes are fixed on his, taunting him to come and get me.

Water rushes over my body and I tilt my head back, lifting my fingers to comb through my hair. And then his own are upon mine, completing the move. His lips claim me, hard and demanding. Water runs between us, slips into our mouths, our eyes. His cock presses against my stomach, stoking the fierce ache within.

‘Please, now,’ I beg.

He runs his hands down my body in answer, cupping my thighs to lift me against him.

I encircle his waist and he takes himself in his hand between us, positioning himself, positioning me. His look of concentration damn near pushes me over. And then he’s there, his tip nudging at my entrance, and I clamp down on my lower lip as I take his sweet invasion. He’s slow, measured, his restraint taking all his effort, and I know he doesn’t want to hurt me. He wants it to be right.

I move over him, coaxing him further, deeper, stretching to take him. More. More. Until he fills me completely and I moan, contracting around him even as he stills, his breath hissing between his teeth. He’s trembling, fighting for control. But I don’t want his control. I want his total abandon.

I nip his lower lip with my teeth, drawing his mouth back to me, pushing his concentration away, and I undulate over him, slowly at first, using my every yoga-toned muscle to guide him, tease him.

And then he’s moving, taking the driving seat. He forces me back against the wall, his rigid length riding my clit from within as he pumps harder, faster. Our teeth clash, our tongues twist, our kiss as erotic as the action below.

Yes. Yes. Yes.

Pleasure radiates from my toes up and the muscles of my legs tighten as it builds. I can’t move now. He drives it all as ecstasy renders my body immobile and then it erupts, shaking through my entire body as I cry out. He thrusts deeper, his own cry drowning out my own, and he loses it with me.

It’s so perfect, so utterly right. But even as I come down from the crest of the wave, my legs still hooked around him, now limp with release, I know that’s a fanciful notion.

Because whatever his words mean, whatever his keeping the photo means, whatever the cause of his fallout with Nate, it doesn’t change the fact that my family won’t accept him. They won’t accept this. I doubt even Lucas will accept it when all is said and done.

And if that’s the case, what the hell am I doing fantasising about the impossible? Teasing myself with what if…?

He brushes his lips against my neck, his caress soft and barely there, and my thoughts fragment, disperse as sensation takes over…

‘I could get lost in you, Evangeline.’