When he came back into himself, he was drowning in honeyed pleasure while ashamed. His toes were dug into the mattress to push himself as far as possible in her. He had really strong hands and they were clutching the sides of her head. Was he hurting her?
He softened his grip immediately. God, the thought of hurting her…
This was a woman he’d fallen in love with, a woman of grace and class, and he’d mounted her like a rutting warthog. He breathed in deeply. He smelled like a rutting warthog, too. Their groins smelled of sex and they were both wet.
He was going to have to apologize, though probably apologizing meant pulling out of her and he didn’t know if he could do that. Not right now, anyway. His dick didn’t want to go anywhere.
But he had to do something. Maybe just saying I’m sorry might be enough. Without actually pulling out.
On a sigh, Mark opened his eyes, perfectly prepared to find an angry face under him. What he found was a tense face, as if she were straining for something…
And her soft, wet sheath all of a sudden gripped him intensely, pulsing around him, and her head fell back against the mattress, exposing that long, slender, elegant neck, and she moaned and came, holding him tightly with her arms and legs.
It lasted a long time. She writhed around him, moaning his name, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up and he got goose bumps just watching her. She was so beautiful, basking in her pleasure that was a pure gift from the gods of sex. He’d had nothing to do with it—he’d pursued his own pleasure mindlessly. The fact that she got off was a miracle, and it was no thanks to him.
Mark simply held her as she contracted around him, rubbing against him like a cat, enjoying the hell out of it.
When she finally subsided on one last long sigh that ruffled his hair, he held her tightly. His own miracle.
“We need to do that more often,” he whispered in her ear.
Harper sighed again. “If we do, I won’t survive a year.”
They laughed, their bellies meeting. Mark sobered, looking down at her. This woman who in such a short span of time had become so precious to him.
He was suddenly seized with a burning desire to take care of her.
He kissed the tip of her nose, pulled out of her reluctantly, his dick complaining bitterly. It liked staying exactly where it was—deep inside her, where it was warm and soft.
He opened his mouth to offer to wash her back in the shower—and that image made his dick stir—when she gave his chest a sharp push.
He lifted himself off her, though it was hard renouncing all that soft warmth.
“I need to shower,” Harper announced. She looked him severely in the eyes. “Alone.”
Fuck. There went the fantasy of washing her back, washing her lower body…
“I’m beginning to recognize that look in your eyes, and I am not up for another round until I have a shower and I eat.” She nodded sharply, then smiled. “But once I’m clean and have eaten…”
She leaped out of bed laughing and ran to the bathroom.
Well. Mark had caught himself a live one. With a mind of her own and no hesitation in speaking it.
He wouldn’t have it any other way.
The shower started up and Mark could just picture her slipping under the water, beautiful face turned up to the showerhead, the water running down her body in rivulets. He sighed. He’d given himself a hard-on, just thinking of it.
He wavered. She’d said no, but man he’d like to join her in the shower. Suds her up, his hands sliding over her sleek form, reaching down between her legs, where she’d be hot and wet—
The doorbell rang. Fuck, who on earth could it be?
“Service à l’étage,” a voice called out. Room service. Steak and French fries. Oh yeah. His stomach growled fiercely, annoyed at having been forgotten. It felt like he hadn’t eaten for months.
The waiter entered and with a minimum of fuss, set up a table for them. He left the serving cart there, two plates covered with silver domes, which did nothing to hide the amazing smells coming from under them. He’d even opened a bottle of Bordeaux early morning. Mark figured he and Harper probably fell under the heading of crazy Americans.
Fine.
The thick linen napkins came with a napkin holder decorated with crystal beads forming a flower. Hmmm.
Mark reached for his Leatherman, took out needle-nosed pliers and bent to the task.
Just as he finished, the bathroom door opened and Harper came out in a rush of billowing steam, like clouds. The hotel bathrobe engulfed her but Mark knew intimately what was beneath it. She’d washed her hair and it fell in damp shiny waves to her shoulders. She was somehow even more beautiful without makeup, with a slight flush under the ivory skin, the elegant planes of her face even more evident.
She stopped, eyes wide, and sniffed the air. “Good God, is that food I smell?” Her eyes fell on the cart and she rushed forward—until Mark snagged his arm around her waist and pulled her against him.
“I have something to say to you.”
She laughed and pushed at his shoulder. “Whatever it is, it can’t be as important as food. Gimme.”
He sighed heavily. “And here I was thinking you looked like a beautiful angel coming out of the bathroom.” He shook his head sorrowfully. “And all you’re thinking about is food.”
She wriggled in his grasp, but he wasn’t letting her go. “Damn right. Keeping me from that food is not a smart move, mister.”
He turned her around, kissed her nose, and fell to one knee.
Her face took on a comical look of astonishment, luscious mouth shaping an O. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing? If you can take your mind off your stomach for just a second, I’m trying to propose here.”
She just blinked at him.
Mark wiped the grin off his face. This next part was serious stuff and he needed a serious answer.
“Harper Kendall. I haven’t known you long but I’ve seen you in the worst circumstances possible, and I like what I see. I love you, and you can believe it or not, but I’ve never said those words to any woman. We can have as long an engagement as you like but at the end of it, I hope you’ll do me the honor of becoming my wife.”
He took her hand, kissed it, and slipped the improvised engagement ring he’d made from the napkin ring onto her finger. They both stared down at the huge crystal flower wobbling on her finger.
He looked up into her eyes. Suddenly, his heart was pounding and he could feel sweat trickling down his back. He was known for his cool on the battlefield, but right now he was very close to panic. “Well?”
She looked at him, eyes flashing from side to side as she studied his face. Her fingers toyed with the ring.
He was holding his breath without realizing it, because when she said, “Yes,” he had to gulp in air.
“That was a yes,” he said, his voice hoarse.
“It was.” She nodded, smiling.
“Yes to everything. Marriage, kids, everything.”
“Yes,” she whispered, and leaned forward to kiss him gently on the mouth. “To everything.”
The world wobbled then straightened and he felt certainty settle in him. He looked down at the ridiculous ring.
“We’ll go shopping for a real ring this afternoon. I’m told there’s a good jewelry shop down the road. You might have heard of it. Shop called Cartier. Where I’ll buy you a diamond as big as the Ritz.”
Dear Reader,
I hope you enjoyed this story! More sexy sophisticated stories are coming your way soon! Keep your eye out for MASQUERADE and ESCAPADE. In the meantime you might also enjoy some of my other stories.
If you liked this book, I’d appreciate a review on the Amazon page and/or on Goodreads.
You might also enjoy:
THE MIDNIGHT TRILOGY
1. Midnight Man
2. Midnight Run
3. Midnight Angel
The Midnight Trilogy Box
Set
THE MEN OF MIDNIGHT
1. Midnight Vengeance
2. Midnight Promises
3. Midnight Secrets
4. Midnight Fire
5. Midnight Quest
6. Midnight Fever
MIDNIGHT NOVELLA
Midnight Shadows
Woman on the Run
Murphy's Law
A Fine Specimen
Port of Paradise
THE DANGEROUS TRILOGY
Dangerous Lover
Dangerous Secrets
Dangerous Passion
THE PROTECTORS TRILOGY
Into the Crossfire
Hotter than Wildfire
Nightfire
GHOST OPS TRILOGY
Heart of Danger
I Dream of Danger
Breaking Danger
NOVELLAS
Fatal Heat
Hot Secrets
Reckless Night
The Italian
Charade ©2018 by Lisa Marie Rice.
Published by Lisa Marie Rice
Cover Design & Formatting by Sweet 'N Spicy Designs
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Lisa Marie Rice is eternally 30 years old and will never age. She is tall and willowy and beautiful. Men drop at her feet like ripe pears. She has won every major book prize in the world. She is a black belt with advanced degrees in archaeology, nuclear physics, and Tibetan literature. She is a concert pianist. Did I mention her Nobel Prize?
Of course, Lisa Marie Rice is a virtual woman and exists only at the keyboard when writing romance. She disappears when the monitor winks off.
Charade: Her Billionaire - Paris Page 16
