by Diana Palmer
She laughed. “She called me a few minutes ago. She wanted to clear the air.”
“Nice woman. I’m glad she and Bobby have finally gotten their act together.” He looked down into her eyes, searching. “Do you know how I feel, or do you want the words?” he asked gently.
“Have you ever said them before?” she countered.
He smiled ruefully. “No. But I never wanted to before, either.”
“When did you know?” she asked.
“I knew how you felt when you were willing to give yourself to me in Jamaica.” He laughed at her startled expression. “That’s right, tidbit, I knew before you did. But there was Bess, and I didn’t think I wanted that kind of involvement. But when I saw you lying in bed in that sexy nightgown, and I got hot and bothered like I never had before...” He bent and brushed his mouth over hers, reveling in its soft, trembling response. “After that, bad went to worse. I didn’t really want to seduce you at the ranch, but my body got the best of me.”
“Yes, so did mine.” She sighed, nuzzling his cheek. She closed her eyes. “It’s been hard living with it, King,” she whispered.
“How do you feel about starting over again?” He touched her abdomen. “And decide quick, would you? I think he’s already growing.”
She grinned at him, drunk with happiness. “As if I could have stopped loving you.” She laughed. “Seven weeks, damn you!” She hit him.
He crushed his mouth down on hers, suddenly all man, all domination, burning her with his ardor. “Damn you, too,” he growled, his lips hard against her mouth. “Calling it a ‘cheap little roll in the hay,’ when I’d never loved a woman that way in my life. Sticking a knife in my pride, my heart. I went off like a wounded animal to lick my wounds, then went to Jamaica with my heart in my hands to offer to you...and you’d gone. You’d sold the cottage and taken Warchief, and the real-estate agent said you hated the cottage and everything connected with it.” His eyes narrowed. “I guessed that meant me, too. So I went back to Oklahoma and drank myself into a stupor, then set about working myself to death.”
“While I was sure you were going to marry Bess,” she murmured. “I knew how you felt...”
“How you thought I felt,” he corrected. He kissed her softly. “I slept with you for one night, and it ruined me for any other woman. You’ve haunted my dreams ever since. An innocent, and you gave me the first total fulfillment I’ve ever had.”
She smiled against his mouth, bristling with pride. “Sitting up, too,” she murmured, and she blushed wildly.
“Don’t smile about it, you brazen hussy,” he taunted. “I needed my head examined. I prayed every night that you’d end up pregnant,” he confessed, “because I knew you’d send for me. Your sense of honor would force you to. And then I’d come to you and take care of you and find some way to make you love me again.” He traced her breasts, watching them tauten in the moonlight.
“Don’t forget,” she whispered, loving the sensation, “that my parents are just down the beach.”
He kissed her softly. “I hadn’t forgotten,” he said with a rueful smile. “I’m not about to give them any more cause to resent me.”
He helped her back into her robe and pulled her onto his knees, cradling her.
“How could they resent the father of their very own grandchild?” she whispered, her mouth brushing warmly over his. “He’s going to be just like his daddy.” She smiled. “Tall and dark and handsome and gentle.”
“Blue-eyed,” he whispered, tilting her warm mouth up to his.
“Brown-eyed,” she whispered back, and drew his lips over hers.
A long time later, he lifted his head. “Elissa?”
“What?” she murmured dreamily.
“I think we have company.”
She looked up. Her father was sitting on one side of them, his knees drawn up under his bathrobe, watching the surf. Her mother was on the other side, similarly clad, humming.
“Lovely night,” Mr. Dean remarked.
“Lovely,” his wife agreed.
King and Elissa burst out laughing. “The marriage license and the rings are in my jacket pocket,” King told them. “All we need is a quick blood test and a quiet little ceremony, which we hope you’ll perform. You, uh, might have noticed that we’ve rather jumped the gun,” he added with a sheepish smile.
“She likes kosher pickles in her corn flakes, and he wonders if we’ve noticed that they’ve rather jumped the gun,” Mr. Dean addressed his wife.
“Yes, dear, I heard.” Mrs. Dean grinned.
“And in case it crossed your mind,” King murmured, glancing wickedly down at Elissa, “we’ve been controlling those interesting impulses that led us to this delicious complication. We’ve just been trying to decide what color his eyes will be.”
“I like girls,” Mr. Dean suggested.
“What’s wrong with a boy?” Tina asked innocently.
“Maybe it will be both,” Mr. Dean remarked. “Her appetite has been extraordinary.”
“I’d like twins,” King murmured, his eyes shining with everything he felt as he looked at the slender, beautiful woman in his arms. He glanced up at her parents, who were on their feet now. “I’m sure you’d rather things had worked out a little more conventionally, but I guess I had to learn how to love.”
“You seem to have the hang of it now, son,” Mr. Dean said drily.
“It’s not all his fault,” Elissa muttered. “I sort of forced him into it.”
“You did not,” King flashed.
“I thought you told her the facts of life,” Mr. Dean murmured to his wife.
“I thought you did,” came the dry reply.
“Well, we might try again. Come on, children, we’ll have coffee and discuss some details,” Mr. Dean said, sliding an arm around his wife’s waist. “Nice boy.”
“I think so, too.” Mrs. Dean stopped, glancing behind as King gently helped Elissa to her feet. “There’s just one thing, Kingston,” she murmured, frowning. “I shouldn’t really ask, but can you support her, working in a garage? If you need any help, we’ll do what we can.”
King burst out laughing. He drew Elissa close to his side and fell into step beside her parents. “While we have that coffee,” he told them drily, “we’ll have a little talk about the oil business.”
* * *
TWO WEEKS LATER, King and Elissa were back in Jamaica at his villa, Warchief happily installed in his cage while his owners set out for a new and delicious experience on the beach. It had been a learning period for them both, getting to know each other without the barriers of uncertainty and mistrust.
Just before they’d left for Jamaica again, Elissa had even found a way to tell King about his father, still alive and in a nursing home. King had listened to her, then sat staring into space for a long time. Minutes later, he’d gone off to use the phone. When he came back, he’d looked thoughtful and pleased. She’d later learned that he’d spoken to the old man and had promised to go and have a long visit with him after the honeymoon. It was a milestone, Elissa had thought.
And speaking of milestones... She hesitated as they walked out onto the damp sand.
“Someone will see us,” she squealed as King stripped her out of her robe and nightgown, leaving her bare and beautiful on the white beach.
“The only person who might lives in the cottage, and she’s away for a week. I checked,” he said, chuckling and pausing to strip out of his own robe. “Come on. You’ll love this.”
He led her into the warm, rippling water, and she felt it swallow her up like a satin embrace. She gasped at the exquisite freedom of it while she swam and floated and finally wound up close against a smiling King.
“Now I see why you like it,” she whispered. “It’s... incredible.”
“Yes, isn’t it?” But he wasn’t looking at the water. His hands
were busy under its surface, doing things to her body that made her gasp and cling to him and cry out.
He took her cry into his mouth, taking full advantage of its position to explore it in a silence that quickly grew hot and hungry. He lifted her into his arms and carried her out onto the beach, putting her down gently in the center of a huge beach towel. He stood over her, his body fully aroused, his eyes, dark and wild, devouring her as she lay there. “I want you,” he whispered hoarsely.
“Then why don’t you come down here and do something about it?” she whispered huskily, stretching in a way that made her tremble.
He eased down completely over her, his hands gently tangling with hers, letting her have most of his weight, feeling the bare saltiness of his skin over every inch of hers.
“You look like you did the first time,” she said softly.
“I was hungry then, too,” he murmured, finding her mouth. “Starving for you, by then. I still am. But it’s...hard to describe.” He lifted his head, shifting his hips to make her gasp. “Patience,” he teased softly. “I want to talk first.”
“Talk fast,” she pleaded.
He nipped her lower lip and teased it with his tongue. His hands were on her waist now, her hips, moving her body against the hair-roughened contours of his in a kind of love play he’d never used with her before. She caught her breath, clutching at the broad shoulders above her, the fires kindling deep in her body.
He looked down the length of them, smiling at the tremors claiming her long, slender legs, shudders that he could feel along with her changed breathing. “There are hundreds of paths to fulfillment,” he whispered, moving his eyes slowly back up to catch hers. “This is a new one.” He bent, putting his mouth to her breasts.
“I thought...you wanted...to talk,” she gasped when he took a hard nipple into his mouth.
He laughed huskily. “I’m not sure I can just now. Oh, baby,” he breathed, positioning her, hungrily assaulting her mouth, dragging his body against her until she was on the verge of tears with the sensations he was arousing.
Her nails scored him, and she moaned. “I’m sorry,” she whispered shakily. “I didn’t mean to...”
“Bite, claw, scream,” he ground out against her mouth. “Whatever you need, whatever you want, I’ll give you. Tell me.”
She did, astonishing herself with her own shameless whispers. She looked up at him then, seeing his eyes blazing with love, his face taut with passion but tenderness, as well. She threw back her head and nearly wailed as the first wave hit her and she went into spasms of hot, almost unbearable pleasure.
Somewhere in its midst, she felt him move, felt him still, heard him cry out above her and then shared the delicious echo of her own shudders.
It was a long time before she could breathe again. The stars came back into focus over his shoulder, and she felt the warm wind off the ocean on her damp, bare skin.
“The first man and woman—it must have been like this for them,” she whispered in his ear. “Alone in the world, under the sky, joining.”
“Joining,” he whispered. “Cherishing. Becoming one.” He lifted his damp head and searched her rapt eyes. He kissed her softly, touching her belly. “Is he all right?” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to get so rough.”
“He’s fine,” she whispered back, smiling.
“It excites me,” he said quietly, “having my child inside you, knowing I helped create him.” He breathed deeply. “What I wanted to say to you,” he murmured, resting half his weight on his forearms without moving away from her, “is that when we make love, it isn’t just sex.”
She smiled. “Yes, I know.” She adored him with her eyes, the excitement growing again. “It’s an expression of love, isn’t it, King? It always was, even the first time.”
“Reading my mind again,” he murmured contentedly. “I’ve noticed that even your parents seem to do that.”
“I think they’re pretty super,” she said.
“So do I. That being the case, it might not be a bad idea if we adopted them.” He toyed with her lower lip. “What with his lizards and her crime busting, they need looking after.”
“Mother almost wept with relief when she found out we were bringing Warchief back with us, did you notice?” She grinned. “She thinks he’s a giant green mosquito.”
He grinned, too. “He bites, all right. But he’s learning to sing lullabies—have you noticed?” he added on a frown.
“I’m teaching him,” she confessed. “I expect to have more than one child, you know. He can sing babies to sleep while I rock them.”
His powerful frame trembled a little. “I like babies.”
She shifted her hips very slowly, her lips parting, her eyes come-hitherish, feeling him begin to tauten. “So do I,” she whispered. “And this time,” she added, pushing at his shoulders until she got him onto his back and moved over him, “I’m going to show you something new.”
“Elissa...” He held her hips, hesitating.
“Just relax,” she whispered, looking like an imp, her eyes sparkling. “I won’t hurt you.”
She moved, and he groaned harshly. And then it was too late to protest. He felt his body being flung up against the sky, hearing her soft laughter, dying in the throes of a feverish struggle for control that even as he fought, he lost.
When his eyes opened, her face was there, smiling at him, loving him. He sighed. “Well, I guess there had to be a first time,” he teased, exhausted. “And we are married, and it’s a new world.”
“Prude,” she whispered, putting her mouth softly on his. “You’re just afraid you’ll get pregnant in this position.”
He burst out laughing, holding her to him. “You enchant me,” he whispered. “Tease me, torment me, burn me up. I love you so damned much, I can hardly breathe for it.”
That was the first time he’d actually said it. Tears burned her eyes, and she buried her face against his chest, hugging him to her. “I love you, too,” she whispered. Her eyes closed. “I always will.”
His arms closed around her, and he sighed. “Have you ever noticed how close heaven seems when you look up at the stars?”
She smiled against the rough hair over warm, pulsating muscles. “I know how close it feels,” she murmured, nuzzling his chest.
“Yes,” he said gently, pressing his hand to her stomach as he folded her against his side. “So do I.” He kissed her forehead with aching tenderness. “So do I, my darling.”
Above them, a silvery drift of clouds passed over the waning moon. And back in the villa, a gravelly parrot voice was crooning the opening bars of Brahms’s “Lullaby.”
* * *
To gain her rightful inheritance, Gaby Dupont takes a job with attorney Nicholas Chandler. She’s shocked when sparks fly with the infuriating lawyer, but Gaby risk her legacy for forever love?
Read on for a sneak preview of Notorious, by New York Times bestselling author Diana Palmer
Notorious
by Diana Palmer
GABY DUPONT GLANCED again at the paper in her hand. She hesitated to do this, but her grandmother had pleaded with her. They needed to know something about this noted Chicago criminal attorney, Nicholas Chandler, and his very famous law firm, Chandler, Morse and Souillard. Gaby was the only one of the family who lived permanently in Chicago, where he did. If her grandmother hadn’t been so upset, and so insistent, perhaps Gaby could have found another solution. But this might be her best option.
She pushed the doorbell and stood nervously waiting for someone to open the door. This apartment was in a swanky area of Chicago, overlooking the lake. It was as expensive as the place where Gaby lived. She knew this man by reputation, and also because the law firm he headed had represented her grandfather in a criminal action that still made her sick at her stomach to remember. There was an appeal being threatened in the case, and
Gaby’s grandmother wanted to know if this attorney was going to consider representing her ex-husband again. She needed to know. So did Gaby.
Gaby had done masquerades before, mostly in an attempt to avoid a greedy cousin who was stalking her relentlessly for some property willed to her by a mutual great-aunt, which she wasn’t willing to give him. She’d never understood the passion some people had for the almighty dollar. Gaby would have been happy poor. It was attitude, she considered, more than what happened to you. But poverty was something she’d never known.
Gaby was twenty-four and she didn’t want to get married. Her grandfather, Charles Dupont, had sold her like a prize mare without her knowledge when she was sixteen. Her innocence had a monetary value and without Gaby’s knowledge-or his wife’s-he’d arranged a private party and took Gaby into a room with a foreign businessman to whom he owed a lot of money, and three of the businessman’s friends. Gaby was to be his payoff, since Madame Dupont had refused to pay his gambling debts.
The man was strong and Gaby couldn’t get away from him. But Gaby’s screams had brought her grandmother running. Two men at the party, Madame’s chauffeur and bodyguard, had busted the lock on the door and saved the half-naked teenager from further assault at the hands of her grandfather’s colleague. One of the men had taken photos with his cell phone just as Madame Dupont went in the door and saw what had been done to her only grandchild. The photos were used in a criminal complaint. There were a few assorted bruises and lacerations on the foreign businessman before the assaulting parties managed to escape, just before the police arrived. Gaby’s grandfather, the perpetrator of the cowardly assault, had been left to face the music.
