Runaway Heir

by Cardello, Ruth

  Sometimes no matter how hard you try, you lose.

  He was preparing to release his two unwilling experiment participants when Lon let out a sigh and flexed his shoulders. “I’m going to need a safe word. I don’t want to lose my shit on a little old lady.”

  The “little old lady’s” eyes widened. “Safe word? Like in those naughty books?”

  Bryant held in a laugh. It wasn’t easy. Harder still when he met Tadeas’s identical expression.

  “No,” Lon said; then he almost smiled. “Okay, maybe a little like that. I’ll let you practice not insulting me if you stop when I say the word watermelon.”

  Delinda folded her hands on her lap. She opened her mouth to say something, seemed to think better of it, and closed her mouth again. She raised a hand as a thought came to her, then lowered it again.

  “You can do it, Delinda,” Bryant said.

  “I don’t recall ever giving you permission to use my first name,” she snapped at Bryant.

  She hadn’t, which was exactly why he’d done it.

  He was beginning to understand her. She needs more support or she’s going to lose it. Bryant moved to sit on the arm of her chair and put his along the back of it. “You’re overthinking this. Ask Lon how his day is going.”

  “Tadeas,” Delinda implored but received no support. “Lon, how is your day going?”

  “Horrible. I’m still hungover from last night,” he answered without missing a beat.

  She blinked slowly before answering. “Well, that’s not—” She stopped. “I hope you at least—” She stopped again. She turned to Bryant. “I can’t look him in the eye and pretend to condone that behavior.”

  Tadeas took the chair across from her. “I see what Bryant is trying to do. Delinda, you and I have lived with the pressure of constant scrutiny. We want the ones we love to avoid the same mistakes we made because we don’t want them to be hurt as we have been. This isn’t about lying. If anything, it’s about being more honest.”

  She let out a delicate sigh. “Lon, you’re important to me. When you talk about drinking, I can’t help but worry about you, but that doesn’t mean you can’t tell me about your life. I want to hear about it. Are you currently seeing anyone?”

  “No one person. I prefer threesomes. It keeps things less complicated and clear that I’m not looking for anything serious.”

  Bryant coughed back a laugh. Talking to Nicolette would be a breeze after this.

  Tadeas also made a strangled, amused sound.

  Delinda’s chin rose, and she steepled her fingers. “I love your shoes. Italian?”

  Lon smiled. “Yes. Good shoes are something I could never afford as a child. They are the one luxury I now couldn’t imagine going without.”

  “I completely understand that. I must tell you that I was relieved when my doctor recommended I start wearing flats. High heels are torture devices that I now gladly leave to the next generation.”

  Lon expression relaxed. “So how many grandchildren do you have?”

  Delinda puffed with pride. “Five—well, five originally. Most are married now and having children of their own. I’m so proud of them. They are all different but gifted in their own way.” She paused. “Do you have grandparents?”

  “No,” Lon answered abruptly. “I don’t have any family, at least none I know of.”

  “You have Bryant,” Delinda said in a sincere tone. “I have a dear friend, Alessandro, who has taught me a lot about family. He has a flexible definition of it that I wholeheartedly agree with now. At the end of the day, family is more of a choice than something that happens by chance.”

  Bryant and Lon shared a brief look. Yep. We’re family. It didn’t need to be said.

  “How am I doing?” Delinda asked, as if she genuinely wanted to know.

  “Not bad,” Lon said. “I guess old dogs can be taught new tricks.”

  Delinda gasped and straightened, looking as if she were about to say something scathing. Instead, she folded her hands again and smirked. “Watermelon.”

  One by one, they broke out laughing.

  Who knew Delinda had a sense of humor? Alessandro had. It was reassuring to see the side of Delinda he had assured Bryant was there.

  Satisfied, Bryant said, “Delinda, I do believe you’re ready.”

  Still smiling, Lon stood. “That sounds like my cue to go. Good luck, Mrs. Westerly. I hope everything works out for you.”

  “Please, call me Delinda,” she said as Tadeas helped her to her feet. She walked over to Lon and laid a hand on his arm. “I would love to have you visit my home near Boston. Something tells me we could be great friends. There is nothing quite like Thanksgiving in New England with a view of the Atlantic as a backdrop.”

  Lon gave her hand a pat. “If Bryant and Nicolette ever get together, I might take you up on that.”

  With a shake of her head, Delinda said, “Oh, don’t hinge your acceptance on that. I heard Jordan Cohen flew out to see Nicolette today. She once asked him to marry her, so it might already be too late.”

  Wait? What?

  Bryant’s gut twisted. “They’re only friends.”

  Lon shrugged. “It often starts that way.”

  In a suspiciously innocent tone, Delinda added, “My source said he’s even staying at the same bed-and-breakfast.”

  Bryant tried to play it cool, then growled, “I have to go.” He stormed out to inform his secretary to once again clear his schedule for the week.

  He was a patient man—but no way in hell was he going to sit back while another man swooped in.

  No way in hell.

  Chapter Ten

  Nicolette was sitting on a porch swing at the bed-and-breakfast as evening fell, typing in notes from the day. Paisley and Jordan had driven her back, then gone out. She hadn’t heard from either since, but she was happy for them. Jordan deserved someone who got his jokes, and Paisley had found a person with the same loyal heart she had. Nicolette hoped things worked out for them.

  Nicolette had made good use of her time alone. She’d called everyone she thought might know someone with social media influence. Bloggers. Fellow photographers. YouTube influencers. Photojournalists in the travel field. She was surprised at how much she enjoyed reconnecting with old friends. After an awkward moment or two, it was as if no time had passed at all. Nicolette was confident that not only would she be able to create a buzz about MacAuley, but that by doing so, she was starting to build the life she wanted for herself.

  Before Iowa, I would have given up in those first two minutes and thought there was no way back. Before Bryant, I didn’t understand the power of yet. Believing that a positive outcome is possible changes everything.

  I really can do this.

  She compiled a list of websites that promoted attractions in Iowa and cross-referenced the descriptions with attractions that seemed to bring in the most tourists. She used that information to tweak what she planned to write about each photo. Some of the sites had newsletters. She signed up for them so she’d have a better idea of how to create her own.

  There was a lot to learn about: affiliate links, referral bounties, kickbacks. The more she read, the more she learned that her content needed to appeal not only to tourists but also to those who catered to certain interest groups. There were regional tours that concentrated on historical buildings, food and wine, supernatural activity, even quilting, and there were ways to encourage them to want to post about MacAuley.

  She designed tantalizing bread crumbs to sites to guide users to specific offerings on the town website. Whatever people were seeking, they could find it in MacAuley. All that and ice cream so good it was worth coming home for.

  Or something like that.

  The crunch of car tires pulling up the driveway caught her attention. She didn’t recognize the dark sedan. She stood and placed her laptop on the table beside the swing.

  She recognized the driver, though: Bryant.

  He slammed his door and took the ste
ps up the porch two at a time. “Nicolette.” He stood over her with fire in his eyes that sent a wave of excitement through her. His gaze caressed her from head to toe, leaving her nearly breathless.

  Her mouth went dry. Her stomach fluttered. “I thought you were back in New York.”

  “I was.” He stepped closer. “But I left something important here.”

  “Oh.” Disappointment nipped at her. What did I think—that he flew all the way back to New York only to turn around for me?

  “You.”

  Wait, what?

  He dug a hand into her hair and pulled, hauling her to him, one hand cupping her ass while he gave her a kiss unlike any they’d already shared—no hesitation, no coaxing, but a passionate claiming with a hint of anger. Nicolette melted into it. His rough touch felt naughty but oh so good. His tongue demanded entry, plundered, and drove all thoughts of resistance from her.

  She gripped his shoulders, opening her mouth wider for him. He lifted her so her jeans-clad legs wrapped around his waist. She wound her arms around his neck. Those powerful hands of his gripped her ass as he carried her across the porch.

  The door opened and closed behind her. She clung tighter. She’d done the right thing. She’d sent him away.

  And she’d spent the night wishing he’d fought a little harder to stay.

  And there he was. Back. Her body came alive for his in a way that made it impossible to see this as wrong.

  Mediocre sex—now that was easy to walk away from.

  Passion that curled one’s toes? Heat that had one’s sex clenching and yearning? When one finally felt that kind of hunger—no wasn’t an option.

  Every reason why she should tell him to stop, every question she had would have to wait until after this tsunami passed. For now all she wanted to do was hang on, ride it out, and believe in possibilities.

  Her shirt came off at the bottom of the stairs, along with her bra.

  His shirt followed.

  She balanced back against the banister as he trailed kisses down her neck to her breasts. His tongue worshipped one before moving to the other. She whimpered from the pleasure of it and clung to him.

  He pulled her upright again and carried her up a few more steps. With a groan he stopped, lowered her to stand on a step, and his hands went to the fastening of her jeans. Their tongues danced intimately while he finished undressing her. “So fucking beautiful,” he growled and threw her clothing over the railing.

  She stood there, feeling wanton and free. Where was the sweet man who had asked before taking?

  She didn’t need that man—not right then. She wanted to be taken, unapologetically, with all the abandon and power his kiss promised. She ran a hand down her own chest, down her stomach to the mound of her sex, and dipped a finger into her wetness. God, she was ready for him. She raised her finger to his lips, teasing, loving how his eyelids lowered and his nostrils flared.

  “Is that what you want?” He dropped to his knees, threw one of her legs over his shoulder, and kissed his way up her thigh. Gripping the banister with one hand and his shoulder with her other, Nicolette shuddered as he claimed her sex with his mouth.

  Oh God, yes.

  The men she’d been with hadn’t been into oral sex. Bryant cast a spell over her with his flicking tongue, his strong fingers. When she’d fantasized what he’d be like, she’d imagined him gentler, more tentative.

  His confidence was electrifying.

  She dug a hand into his hair. His grip on her ass tightened. With his other hand, he swirled a thick finger inside her. She clenched around it, loving the second finger that joined the first as he pumped in and out.

  Heat built within her, and she began to beg him not to stop. Nothing mattered beyond the crest of pleasure that was just a few pumps away. Yes. Oh yes. Just like that. God, don’t stop. Just like that.

  She shuddered as an orgasm rocked through her, and she would have sat back on the stair had he not still been supporting her. He lowered her leg, stood, and flipped her over his shoulder like some conquering soldier stealing her away.

  He made quick work of the remaining stairs and the short walk to her room. When he tossed her down onto the bed and slowly finished stripping, she nearly came again from the anticipation. He sheathed his cock in a condom, bringing her focus to the rock-hard beautiful promise of it. Like the rest of him, it was perfect. Laid bare on the bed for him, she could have felt vulnerable, but she wanted him as out of control as she felt.

  She went up onto her elbows and tossed her hair over her shoulder. Her breasts bounced, and she loved how it drew his attention. She spread her legs just a little, and the wait was over. He dropped onto the bed beside her, rolling her over so she was straddled above him.

  She bent so he could work his magic on her breasts. She aligned herself so his tip was poised just below her wet sex. His mouth found hers again as his hands settled on her hips. His upward thrust was powerful, as was his second. She gasped into his mouth, loving how he filled her.

  She clutched at him, wanting to feel more of him. Needing all of him.

  They rolled so he was above her, still within her. Her legs rose at his sides while he pounded into her. So deep. So good. All the while, his tongue fucked her mouth in a way that left no room for resistance or thought. She was his, all his.

  They found a rhythm, then went beyond it as it became more primal. Harder and faster. Deeper and stronger. His hold became rougher. Her pleas more desperate.

  Had he stopped then, she surely would have wept. It was that kind of good. The kind of good that can’t last, but so consuming in the moment that the future doesn’t matter.

  His hands adored her, ruled her, brought out a wildness in her she didn’t know was there. She dug her nails into his shoulder, cried out for him to fuck her harder.

  And he did—so long and so good that she almost lost her mind.

  “Mine,” he growled into her ear, and she came for a second time with all the profanity she knew. He continued to thrust, then joined her with a guttural sound of release.

  They stayed connected while they both came back to earth. “That was so fucking good,” he murmured against her kiss-swollen lips as he withdrew.

  She wrapped her bare body around his when he returned after cleaning off. “Yes, it was.”

  He ran his hand through her hair. Her body started to rev again at his hot grin. “I guess I don’t have to ask you if you’re happy to see me.”

  Her hand went to his already reawakening cock. It pulsed back to full staff beneath her touch. She ran her hand down his shaft to cup his balls, then back up to encircle and pump him. “Me either.”

  He kissed her on the nose. “You have quite the filthy mouth, young lady.”

  She teasingly broke contact with his cock, feigning offense. “Sorry you don’t like it.”

  He rolled her under him, sliding his bare tip between her folds, then back and forth over her clit. Into her ear, he growled, “I fucking love it. You’re so goddamn perfect.”

  She moved her hips with his, half closing her eyes at the pleasure of his full shaft sliding intimately against her. His chest was hot and hard against hers. It wouldn’t take more than a small shift for him to be inside her again. “Do you have another condom?”

  He rested his forehead on hers. “No.”

  She closed her eyes. This couldn’t go any further. “Too bad.”

  He moved back and forth against her. “Yeah, I could go for a second round.”

  Heat flooded through her. He felt so damn good against her clit. Back and forth. So hot. So hard. Oh God. Things couldn’t go further, but they felt too good to stop yet.

  She kissed his neck.

  He suckled her breast.

  Back and forth went his thick cock over her clit. She was wet and writhing, he so hard and ready.

  “We need to stop,” he whispered.

  “We do,” she said, but her legs parted wider for him. Clear thinking was impossible.

  H
is tip dipped inside her, bare and wrong, but oh God.

  She dug her heels into the back of his thighs and thrust upward to welcome him. It wasn’t enough. He didn’t go fully in. His tongue thrust in her mouth, circling her own. With a groan, he withdrew.

  He was going to stop.

  She knew they should.

  As if acting on a will of their own, her hips rose again, bringing him deeper this time. Yes. Yes. Yes. So good. So full.

  Fuck me. Just do it.

  He rolled off her.

  And she hated him for it.

  Loved him a little.

  Hated him more.

  They lay there side by side, sucking in air like they were competing for the last of it. Nicolette’s confidence wavered. Iowa was her fresh start. She was supposed to be smarter, stronger.

  Unprotected sex would have been stupid.

  Life-alteringly dangerous.

  Even she wasn’t that irresponsible.

  No, correction—Bryant isn’t. I’m still making bad choices.

  He wasn’t touching her, wasn’t even looking at her. On his back with one arm tossed over his face and his dick still at full mast.

  Something that had just been beautiful was now marred by Nicolette’s embarrassment. The only way it could get worse was if he . . .

  She closed her eyes. Please don’t say you’re sorry.

  “I’m sorry, Nicolette.”

  Fuck you.

  “No reason to be,” she said without opening her eyes.

  “I didn’t think we were at this stage yet, or I would have stopped and picked up more.”

  Yep, that makes me feel better.

  He kept talking. “I know there’s a lot we could do besides that, but I lose my head around you, and I didn’t want to—”

  “Please stop.”

  “Look at me.” His arms folded around her again.

  She frowned but opened her eyes. “What?”

  He smiled, which didn’t make her feel better. There was nothing funny about how she felt. “I wanted it just as much as you did.”