“I told you to sit still, Melina,” he reminded her. He pulled back and arched a brow. “You want to say something to me?”
“You’re going to tell me to leave before you…”
“I am?” he questioned.
She tensed for the look in his eyes was truly satanic. She had no chance to think too long on how evil it was before he dipped his head and caught her left nipple between his teeth.
“Mother of God!” she yelped and brought her hands to his head to hold it. Whether to stop him or to press him closer she’d never know for he released her nipple and jerked his head free. He gave her a stern look.
“Put your arms behind you.” When she hesitated, he narrowed his eyes. “Put. Your. Arms. Behind. You. Woman!”
Bottom lip trembling because she knew—she knew—what he was going to say, she did as he ordered.
“Don’t say it,” she pleaded. “Kiwi, please, don’t say it.”
“What is it you think I’m going to say?” he asked, his face hard.
“You’re going to tell me I can leave now,” she said.
He reached up to lay his palm against her cheek. He smiled gently. “You’re right. I am. You may leave now.”
He got to his feet, turned his back on her and walked back into the shadows. She heard the chair creak as he sat down heavily.
“You’re an evil bastard and I hate you!” she said, shooting out of the chair. She bent over to pick up her clothing and the next thing she knew he was back and his powerful hands were clamped around her upper arms. He jerked her to him and lowered his head to slant his mouth brutally over hers.
The kiss was savage, so rough it took her breath away. She was molded so tightly to his chest she thought she could hear the heavy beat of his heart against hers. He was ravaging her mouth, raping it with his tongue, and it was a good thing he had such a tight hold on her for her knees felt like water.
She heard him grunt then he thrust her away from him though he still kept possession of her arms.
“You don’t hate me,” he said through clenched teeth. “You want me as much as I want you, baby, but you aren’t ready. You aren’t anywhere near ready to get me yet.”
“Let go,” she said.
“Stop talking,” he countered. When she opened her mouth, he shook his head. “I mean it, Melina. Stop talking. I’m punishing you by sending you away tonight. Want me to cancel the session tomorrow night?”
She clamped her mouth shut and glared at him. They weren’t directly under the spotlight so his face was deeply shadowed but she could have sworn his bold blue eyes were gleaming with the chatoyance of a cat’s.
“Tomorrow night you’re going to find out what it feels like to have a man’s fingers inside you,” he said huskily. He shook her slightly. “You think on that the rest of the night, my love!”
Chapter Thirteen
Night Ten
“No, no, no, no, no!” she cried as she looked down at the toilet paper in her hand. The smear of red made her heart sink.
Why, she wondered, had she not considered this complication?
Then again, she imagined he hadn’t thought about it either.
“Why the hell are you here?” he demanded of Jono.
“Got bad news, bro,” Jono said with a lopsided grin.
His heart stopped. He was terrified she had sent Jono to tell him to fuck off, that she was through with him and his perverted games. That she would think of them as perverted he had absolutely no doubt.
Then another worry shot through his overactive brain.
“Is she sick?” he demanded. He felt the blood drain from his head as a terrifying thought took hold. “Has she been hurt?”
Jono didn’t get a chance to answer him before he reached out to grab his friend’s arm in a punishing grip.
“Tell me!” he thundered.
“She said to tell you…”
Terror gave way to desperation. “Tell me what?” he said and heard the pain in his voice.
“Chill, bro. She said to tell you Mother Nature came to call.”
He stared at his friend. “Huh?”
“It’s the wet season, bro. Red sails in the sunset,” Jono said. “You know. She’s bleeding.”
“Bleeding from what?” he gasped.
Jono rolled his eyes. “Bro, you are getting to be as stupid as a two bob watch, you know that? She’s on her period!”
He grimaced. “Oh.”
“Yeah,” Jono said. “Poor baby was cramping, too.”
“How the fuck would you know that?” he demanded in a bellow that made Jono take a step back.
“I have five sisters, remember? I know these things. She was rubbing her tummy, bro!” Jono told him. “And she was making that face women make. You know…” He screwed his face around to mimic what he thought Melina had looked like.
He went over to his chair, pushing the remote control to turn all the room lights on. “I never considered that,” he said, sitting down. He looked up at Jono. “How long does that usually last for her?”
“She says five days.”
“Five days?” he gasped. “Five whole days?”
“Well, maybe four and three-quarters,” Jono replied with a twitch of his lips. “Four and a half if you’re lucky, but then again it could be five and five-eighths or—”
“Oh, shut the fuck up,” he snapped. “It’ll be Friday night before…” He sighed. “Shit, this is just wrong.”
“It’s nature, bro,” Jono replied. “Can’t do nothin’ ‘bout nature.”
He leaned forward, put his head in his hands and braced his elbows on his knees. “I’m fucked, man,” he told his friend.
“No, I’d say that’s what you ain’t gonna be, bro!” Jono said with a laugh.
She hated having her period. Since her very first one she’d experienced unbelievably hard cramping and heavy bleeding. Sometimes her periods lasted longer than five days but this time she prayed that wasn’t the case. Not seeing him, not being with him for five days was bad enough. Any more…
“Shit,” she groaned and curled into a tighter ball.
She was lying on the sofa with a quilt over her, feeling sorry for herself, missing him.
The sound of a key entering the lock on her front door made her frown. It was nighttime and Rachel—who had the only key she knew about—would not be coming over to check on her. Slowly she sat up, tossing the quilt aside. She had a baseball bat but it was standing against the nightstand in her bedroom. She was making ready to run when he called out.
“It’s just me.”
Relief went through her first then anger as he walked through the archway into her living room.
“Hey,” he greeted her with a grin.
“What are you doing here?” she asked then saw he had two plastic shopping bags in each hand. He held the bags in his right hand up.
“I brought you hot and sour soup, General Tso chicken and fried rice for lunch tomorrow.” He lifted his other hand. “One bag of DVDs and the other of trashy romance novels.”
She stared at him. “Where did you get a key to my house?”
He shrugged, put the bags of books and DVDs on the chair beside the sofa then headed for the kitchen, saying over his shoulder, “I have my ways.”
She got off the sofa and padded after him. “Where did you get a key to my house, Kiwi?” she asked again. He was putting the food in her fridge.
“How you feeling?” he queried as though he hadn’t heard her.
“Where did you—”
“I have a crack security team who could get into Ft. Knox if I wanted them to,” he said. “Your house is a piece of cake.”
She held out her hand. “Give me the key,” she ordered.
“No.”
He began rummaging around in her refrigerator. When he took out a bowl, uncapped it and brought it to his nose to sniff, she stomped her foot.
“Give me the damn key!”
“No,” he said in a voice she knew was mea
nt to shut her up.
She marched over to him as he was bending over to open the vegetable drawer and thrust her hand into his right pocket. He jumped as though she’d goosed him and spun around, looping an arm around her waist as he drew her to him.
“No,” he said, staring down at her. “I’m not giving you the key so stop asking. My woman, my key.”
“Your…?” She shook her head. “I am not—”
“The hell you aren’t,” he said and swooped down to claim her mouth.
The man could kiss, she thought. Sweet Jesus on a stick the man could kiss! His mouth should be registered as a lethal weapon for it was completely destroying her. She clung to him as he walked her backward across the kitchen, kicking the fridge door shut with his foot as he moved. His mouth was grinding this way and that over hers and his tongue was pressing in and out. Hot waves of pure lust rippled through her lower belly.
“Mmm,” he whispered against her lips and the low groan that came from somewhere deep in his chest sent spirals of need straight through her.
“Kiwi,” she said around his kiss. “We can’t…”
“I know,” he mumbled, continuing to kiss her until she thought she would lose her mind with desire.
“We can’t!”
He seemed to come to his senses and pulled back. His eyes were glittering with need. He was breathing hard. The vein at the side of his neck was throbbing wildly. When he dropped his forehead to hers and closed his eyes, she felt the ripple of barely checked lust undulate through him.
“I swore I wasn’t going to put my hands on you. I was going to come over, drop off the stuff then leave unless you asked me to stay,” he said. “So much for retraining my baser traits.”
“You can’t just bop into my house any time you want,” she told him.
“Yes, I can,” he said in a voice that suggested she was being silly. “I own the damn house.”
She drew back, feeling as though he’d slapped her. “What?”
“I’m your landlord now so I have a right to have a key.” He shrugged. “I also bought Dunham and whatever so you can expect a raise in your next paycheck.” He held up a hand when she opened her mouth. “Everyone is getting a raise, Melina. Not just you. Those selfish bastards weren’t paying you guys nearly what any of you are worth.” He squared his shoulders. “I pay my people a decent wage and you’re getting dental, by the way.”
Nothing he could have said would have surprised her more. There he stood with his arms wrapped securely around her, his body pressed intimately to hers and he was grinning like he’d just delivered a bag full of Christmas presents to needy kids.
“You are unbelievable,” she said. “Truly unbelievable.”
“But I’m your unbelievable,” he said and planted a quick kiss on her forehead before releasing her. “Now, I’m outta here.”
He turned to go and she reached out to grab his hand. He stopped, looked down at her with his eyebrows raised.
“I hurt,” she said by way of explanation and watched the most beautiful smile slowly stretch his lips.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she said. “I need a lap to lay my head in.”
“One lap coming up,” he said and before she could stop him, he bent his knees, put his arms behind her back and under her knees and swept her into his arms.
He took her back to the sofa and sat her down at one end. He took the other end then patted his right thigh. “Come here, baby,” he said.
She moved over and stretched out, placing her head in his lap, drawing her knees up on the cushion. His hand went automatically to her hair and he began to stroke her head.
“How bad is it?” he asked.
“The bad comes and goes,” she said. “Some cramps are worse than others. Especially if I’m clotting.”
He winced and she realized she’d given him more information that he actually wanted.
“Let’s go out to Luigi’s tomorrow night,” he said, changing the subject.
“You want to take me out to eat?”
The grin was wolfish and crude, the blue eyes filled with devilish mirth. “I’d rather eat you but—”
“Behave,” she said.
“We’ll be ahead of schedule for the first dinner date, but I didn’t factor in the wet season,” he said.
“The wet—” She nodded. “Kiwi speak for menstrual cycle?”
“Actually Aussie speak,” he answered, “but we share and share alike Down Under.” He sniffed. “Though they talk funny Across the Ditch.”
“They talk funny?” she asked. “Weest, instead of West? Which one of you says that?”
“We use proper pronunciation in the Shire,” he said with a wink.
He continued to stroke her hair back from her forehead. It was a tender gesture so at odds with his usual strong touch and the steely eyed glare he could aim with such precision.
“You set a schedule for my deflowering?” she asked.
“I did.”
“How cosmopolitan of you,” she mumbled.
“Fucking son of a bitch asshole dickwad prick with a God complex is the name. Debauchery is my game,” he said. He stroked the pad of his thumb across her lips.
She craned her head to look up at him and his thumb slid to her chin. “Your intent was to corrupt me?”
“What I intended is not what I’m winding up doing,” he admitted with a sigh.
“Why did you put that ad in the paper?” she asked. “I know damn well you don’t have trouble finding women to warm your bed.”
His eyes flared. “I’ve never taken a woman to my bed,” he said. “I’ve always slipped into theirs or the motels or the Room or—”
“Why not?” she interrupted.
“I want to be able to wake up and get the hell out of there without having to shoo them out of my house,” he replied. “I don’t want any woman thinking she’s going to be putting her toothbrush on my vanity.”
“Love ‘em and leave ‘em, huh?” she asked.
“Fuck ‘em and forget ‘em,” he said. “I’ve never slipped my blade in the same sheath twice.”
“And that’s what you’re planning for me,” she said bitterly. “Slice through the cherry and go your merry way?”
He cupped her chin in the palm of his hand. “That depends on you.”
She reached up to wrap her fingers around his wrist to pull his hand away but he tightened his grip. His eyes were steady on hers.
“Do you want me?” he asked.
“Let go,” she said, tugging at his wrist.
“Do. You. Want. Me?” he repeated, not allowing her to break free.
“Do you want me for more than your characteristic one time?” she queried.
He didn’t answer. He was looking at her so intently she felt uncomfortable, vulnerable beneath the stare. He skimmed his thumb over her bottom lip.
“You really think the very worst of me, don’t you?” he asked. He narrowed his eyes—not angrily but sadly—then moved his hand from her face. “I shouldn’t be surprised, considering.”
For some reason his words cut her to the quick. “Considering what?”
He shrugged. “Who I am. What I am.” He shifted to let her know he wanted to get up from the sofa. “What I was.”
She sat up and turned to face him. Her gaze followed him as he stood and began walking toward the hallway.
“You didn’t answer me,” she said.
His back was to her so she couldn’t see his face and his words were said in a soft, tired voice, “Yeah, baby. I want you more than life itself.”
She was so stunned by his answer she let him walk out. The sound of her front door opening and closing didn’t register and when it did, she jumped up and ran after him. He was throwing a leg over his motorcycle when she came to stand on the edge of her porch.
“Don’t go,” she said.
“I’ll be the one picking you up tomorrow night. Be ready by seven thirty,” he said as he pulled on his helmet. He levele
d the bike, hit the kill switch then turned the ignition key.
“Kiwi, please don’t go,” she said.
He pushed the starter button and the bike roared into life, shutting out her words. His boot heel came up on the kickstand and the bike roared to life. He revved it a few times then backed it down her driveway. She watched him angle it into the street then drive away as though he were being chased by demons.
And maybe he was, she thought as she stood there on the porch with her arms wrapped around her to ward off the chill of the mid-November night.
“Who I am. What I am. What I was.”
She thought back to what she had learned about him from her research on the internet. She knew he had been born on the North Shore of New Zealand. That his parents were deceased and he had no siblings or other family. He had inherited his money from his father Sean McGregor, and had doubled his holdings within two years of taking the reins of McGregor Industries. In ten years, he had quintupled the worth of the company. MI was in the top two percent of Fortune 500 companies. He had a Master’s Degree in Finance from the Harvard Business School.
As to his personal life, precious little was known. Unmarried, never engaged, rarely dated the same woman twice. He was considered one of both New Zealand’s and America’s most eligible bachelors.
Beyond those few facts, his past was shrouded in mystery and it was speculated he’d paid a small fortune to see that it remained that way. There were rumors he had organized crime connections but that was either conjecture or spite on the part of his detractors.
“Who I am. What I am. What I was.”
There were demons chasing him. She would lay odds on it. Those demons would explain the deep, abiding sorrow she caught a glimpse of from time to time. She had told him he had sad eyes and something had brought on that sadness.
She longed to know what that something had been.
Chapter Fourteen
Night Eleven
He acknowledged his executive assistant’s droning on and on with an occasional nod of his head but had his life depended on it he couldn’t repeat to her what she’d said. He wasn’t listening. He trusted her enough to know she’d handle what needed handling and if it was vital enough, she’d make him aware. He knew she realized he wasn’t paying attention but she had grown accustomed to his lack of concentration of late. It didn’t seem to bother her and he suspected she was rather pleased that he had enough faith in her to allow her free rein.
30DaystoSyn Page 12
