The #1 Bestsellers Collection 2011

by Catherine Mann

  He pulled a clean monogrammed handkerchief from his pocket and gently mopped at the tears she hadn’t even realised she’d shed. “You never listed her on your company profile as a contact in lieu of next of kin. Why?”

  Holly sighed and leaned her head back against the cushioned fabric, casting her mind back to the first time she’d met Andrea. It was so unfair that, aside from herself, there was no one left to remember what Andrea had been like before she’d become ill. Maybe if she could share some piece of her past, instead of locking it all inside, it would help keep Andrea alive in someone else’s memory for a little longer. Holly drew in a deep settling breath.

  “I was fifteen when I was fostered by the Haweras. I thought they’d be like all the others, happy to help until I got into trouble more times than they could cope and then wash their hands of me. But no. They kept coming back to bail me out of trouble, until one night Andrea, who’d been with them already for about a year, told me how much it was hurting them all, her included, to see me trying to destroy myself.

  “I’d never seen it through anyone else’s eyes before, but she made me believe that they saw something in me that was worth something. Worth keeping. No matter what I threw at them, they stayed right there beside me, until eventually it was easier to want to please them than to make them angry.”

  “When did she get sick?” The hospital doctor had explained to him the nature of Andrea’s illness and its insidious, slow progression. He’d been stunned when he realised Holly had borne the financial and emotional burden alone for so long. It showed a side of her he’d suspected lurked beneath the aloof surface she presented the rest of the world. But why, then, had she given up all rights to her baby? For someone who’d so obviously clung to the one person who had loved her in return, why would she relinquish the chance to share that with a child of her own?

  “She started showing early symptoms when she was about sixteen. She went from being a happy girl to having massive mood swings, and her grades at school started to slide. At first I thought it was my fault for being a bad influence, or for not being supportive enough. But then we realised it was more than that. Bit by bit over the years, we lost her. The Haweras did what they could, but it was far more than they could handle financially. Soon after I started work at Knight’s, they were killed in a car accident. I took over everything for Andrea at that point. But it was never enough.”

  Holly pushed up from the chair and stood in front of the picture window, staring at the rolling lawn that stretched to the small private golden beach and the sparkling blue water that lay beyond. “Did you know that if you carry the Huntington’s gene there’s a fifty percent chance of passing it on to your children?”

  “No, I didn’t. Is that what’s bothering you about the baby? Do you think you might carry the gene?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “She was your foster sister, not your blood relative. You probably don’t even have the disease in your family.”

  “But that’s the problem.” She spun away from the window, pain and fear etched on her face, in her eyes. “I don’t know. If it’s not that disease it could be any one of hundreds of others. Have you any idea of the number of genetic disorders people face every day? I have no idea about my background. Nothing. I don’t even know my real last name. I’m terrified I’m about to bring a child into this world only to watch it suffer like Andrea suffered!” Holly’s voice grew more frantic with each syllable.

  So that’s why she’d started her own investigation. Suddenly it all made perfect sense. The wretched fear in her eyes ripped at Connor like a physical threat as the enormity of her dread became more real with every word. This was his baby they were talking about. His flesh and blood. The concept of bringing a child to life—a precious young life—then watching it slowly die while you stood helpless on the sidelines was as foreign as it was abhorrent to him. After watching her foster sister die no wonder she was so frightened, so opposed to bearing a child.

  “The baby will be okay.” He forced the words out like a mantra. If he said it with enough strength, enough belief, it would be so. Fate wouldn’t be so fickle as to take another baby away from him. It wouldn’t dare. They’d undergo every test available to be sure.

  To lend weight to his words, Connor stepped closer and deliberately cupped his hands on either side of her neck and drew her closer. Face-to-face. Her eyes were still awash with tears and a tiny frown furrowed between her eyebrows. He leaned forward and pressed his lips against the puckered skin.

  “Don’t worry,” he murmured. “Nothing will happen—to either of you. Trust me.”

  “You can’t be sure of that. No one can.” Her voice wobbled with uncertainty.

  “I protect what’s mine.” He rested his forehead against hers and slid one hand down to press gently against her lower abdomen. “And this is mine.”

  “Andrea was my life. Don’t you understand? I don’t know how to go on. I can’t do this.” The plaintive cry in her voice struck him at his heart.

  “You have to go on. One second … one minute … one day at a time. You’re alive. You have a new life growing inside you.” He spread his fingers possessively across her belly.

  “It doesn’t seem real. I don’t want to believe it’s real.”

  “Believe it, Holly. You. Me. The baby. Very real.”

  Suddenly words were not enough. He needed to imprint the truth on her. To make her see, to feel, to finally understand, that to distance herself from their baby was useless. He tilted his head and captured her lips, teasing her mouth open, and swept his tongue inside—plundering, imprinting himself upon her. Need burned through him like a flash fire, and he slid his arms around her still-slender waist, pulling her closer until she lined up against the hardness of his body and the softness of her breasts pressed against him.

  It wasn’t enough. A shudder rocked through her body as he kissed her, and a surge of triumph swelled from deep inside as her arms crept around him, her hands sliding up his back, her nails digging into his shoulders as he suckled on her tongue.

  He reached for the buttons that fastened the front of her blouse, fumbling in his desperation to feel her without any barriers, to taste her creamy softness. As the panels swung free he reached behind to unfasten her bra and pushed the lace fabric up—groaning against her mouth with delight as her breasts filled his hands. He rubbed against her tightened nipples with the flats of his palms and felt her lips tremble beneath his.

  “Too much,” she protested, her legs buckling. “I … feel … too much.”

  Connor swept her into his arms, and in a few short strides laid her on the bed. Her skirt worked its way up around her hips as he settled his body gently between her legs feeling the cradle of her hips cup his sex. He’d read that her breasts might be more sensitive, that she might even recoil from his touch.

  “Tell me to stop,” he whispered against her nipple.

  He twirled his tongue gently around the darkened aureole then blew gently and watched as it tightened and peaked even harder, goose bumps prickling on her pale skin. He repeated the movement, first warm and wet, then a soft cool breath, wrenching a sound from her that was half plea, half sigh. His lips teased into a smile as he shifted his attentions to her other nipple. She squirmed against him, pushing her hips up to strain against his erection and sending a shaft of desire so deep he had to halt his ministrations to catch himself, to slow down.

  But she wouldn’t let him slow down. She pulled his head down to her breast and ground her hips against him as, at first gently, then with a steadier pressure, he began to suckle at her sweet flesh. He felt her body wind tighter and tighter, until she bowed against him, her head thrown back in supplication. He tilted his pelvis against her, pressing his aching shaft against the apex of her thighs, against the dampness and heat that shimmered from her core.

  He lifted himself away from her before he lost control completely and gently slid his thumb inside the elastic leg of her panties and further unt
il the pad of his thumb rested against the heat of her soft hood of flesh. Slick with her wetness, his thumb swept a lazy circle around her, increasing in pressure as he decreased the tiny spiralling journey.

  He laved his tongue again around one nipple before closing around the taut peak and pulling it gently past his teeth and deeper into his mouth. He felt the ripples of climax begin from deep within her, radiating out until she shattered against him before collapsing back into the mattress. Alive. Real.

  He released her nipple from his mouth and pressed gentle kisses against her rib cage, trailing down to her waist, her belly. The skirt had to go. It was entirely too much clothing for what he needed now. He dispensed with the zip fastening and slid the black fabric from her and pulled her panties away from her limp body, throwing them both to the floor in a heap.

  If he never saw her wear black again it would be too soon.

  He pulled up onto his knees and wrenched his shirt off, sending buttons flying in his haste to bare his skin, to feel hers. In seconds he’d discarded the last of his clothing, freed at last. She lay still on the bed. Her eyes glazed, not with tears but with satiation. Her skin flushed a soft delicate pink.

  Holly’s heart was beating nineteen to the dozen. Her entire body zinged with energy. With life. Connor had rent open the floodgates of feeling, of need and desire, and she wanted more—she wanted him.

  She watched as he ripped away his clothing with little attention to care. She pushed herself upright and onto her knees and shrugged off her blouse and bra, letting them slide off the side of the bed to the floor. She didn’t want to think. She simply wanted.

  Holly reached out and trailed her fingers across the expanse of his chest, intrigued to watch the muscles beneath the surface of his bronzed skin ripple and tighten in answer to her touch. His reaction lent her power. She did this to him. She governed how hard, or soft, she touched him.

  She let her nails scrape across his nipples, at first gently, then stronger, harder. At his sharply indrawn breath she looked up, the expression on his face reminding her he was a man, not merely a body. Their eyes linked as she circled his nipples with her nails, bearing closer and closer to the tender, puckered discs. He held his arms rigid at his sides, and she sensed the restraint he employed in keeping them there. In allowing her this discovery of him.

  She parted her lips and ran her tongue first along the bottom, then the top. Then slowly, deliberately, she leaned forward and pressed them, swollen, hot and wet, against him. She felt his reaction in the tremors he fought to control. She dropped her hands to his fists, gently imprisoning them against his hips while she kissed his nipples and trailed a moist line of heat down the crease between his rib cage, then lower to his belly.

  The dark hair that circled his belly button matted under the onslaught of her lips and her tongue, and again she felt that surge of power, of energy, of life. Reluctantly she pulled away and dropped one leg over the edge of the bed, bearing her weight on it before sliding the other to the soft carpet on the floor.

  “Lie down,” she commanded. Was that her voice? That husky, sultry, sexy demand. Desire arrowed sharp and true to her centre and radiated out starbursts of fire.

  To her surprise he did so without argument, and she climbed back onto the bed, placing one knee on either side of his thighs. A tiny burst of insecurity bloomed inside her. What was she doing behaving like a wanton?

  His dark eyes narrowed to slits, and he watched her as she hesitated, his sensual lips immobile as she gazed upon his body. The mute challenge in his eyes dared her to go further, to touch and take him as she wanted to. Without severing visual contact she arched her back and lifted her arms to loose the final strands of hair that remained caught in the twist she’d restrained them in.

  The long, dark length of silk swung free, and she leaned forward, letting the strands stroke along the inside of his thighs and higher to where his arousal jutted hungrily. Lowering her head, she caught a hank of hair, wound it softly around his shaft and pulled gently upwards watching, intrigued, as the hair tightened around his swollen head before sliding, teasingly over the tip. She repeated the action, suddenly feeling more wanton and far more aroused than ever before.

  A pearl of moisture appeared at the tip of his penis. Without thought, driven purely by sensation, she lowered her mouth to him and flicked her tongue across his straining flesh. The taste of him sent a thrumming pulse through her body. She could barely believe her daring. She could barely believe his restraint.

  Between her thighs his legs vibrated with tiny tremors. She could feel the suppressed power in him even as he allowed her to play her sensual game with his body. The fact that he even permitted her this supremacy over him burned like a white-hot catalyst, and Holly lowered her mouth again, this time closing her lips over his erection, her tongue playing against the very tip, swirling, tasting, suckling him. His passion-filled groan empowered her even further as she took him deeper into her mouth, amazed at her boldness, terrified by her might.

  “Stop!” he demanded, and his hands slid to her hair pulling her gently away from him.

  “Did I hurt you?” she asked, instantly remorseful.

  “No. But not being inside you is killing me.” He swept her off his body and rolled, tucking her beneath him, settling the hard and heavy length of his sex against her. “Open for me,” he demanded, his voice as rough as gravel, his eyes consumed by darkness.

  He didn’t need to ask twice. Holly parted her thighs and lifted her hips to meet him, quivering as he entered her and tightening against the strength of his body. If she thought she had any control now she was seriously kidding herself, she realised, as Connor withdrew slowly from her before sinking to the hilt again, grinding his hips against her, inflaming her body. Saturating her mind with sensation after sensation. He pulled away and plunged again, this time lowering his lips to hers and parting her mouth, taking her tongue inside his mouth and pulling against it in the same rhythm.

  Her entire body tensed, aflame with feeling and sharply aware of the taste of him, the feel of him, her complete and utter acceptance of his right to be inside her, to be part of her.

  Pleasure built with increasing force as his hips ground against her again. No, it was too soon, too much. And then there was nothing but the sensation of intense satisfaction as it rolled through her body, building and building until she cried out with the intensity and bowed against him, cleaved to him, became part of him as he was a part of her.

  Deep in the recess of supreme satisfaction, she felt his body grow taut as with a final thrust he breached his own peak and spilled himself into her body until finally, shaking, he lowered himself against her, taking them both into the softness of the mattress and the limbo of the aftermath of their passion.

  The late-afternoon sun slanted through the window, bathing them in a golden glow and drying the perspiration on their bodies. Holly didn’t know that she’d ever felt so complete. Connor shifted slightly, taking his weight off her, and tucked her into his side. It struck her in that moment, she was nothing against his will. It didn’t matter what he said or what he did. She loved him, and compounding that love she now carried his child.

  Instead of the usual terror rising inside her at the thought of bearing a baby, a sense of warmth and wonder permeated her mind as for the first time she allowed herself to wonder, to dream. What would their baby look like? What would it be?

  Languidly she curled into Connor’s body, relishing the warmth, the security. She was no fool. She knew it wouldn’t last. It couldn’t. But for now she could allow herself to pretend.

  She drifted off to sleep, locked in the curve of his arms. Maybe, just maybe, she could cope with tomorrow and the day after that.

  Connor stirred and opened his eyes slowly. The sun had long since begun its traverse to the other side of the world, and now the bedroom was dark, with long moonlit shadows drawn across the carpet. He inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of Holly’s hair, her skin, the residue of their
carnal fervour, and felt his body rouse all over again.

  Not yet, he commanded, willing his body to submit to his command, but it was useless. She’d invaded his senses like an aphrodisiac, feeding the craving he’d duelled with, and lost against, since the first addictive taste of her body.

  Beside him, she slept deeply, her whole body relaxed for the first time since he’d brought her here. She needed rest far more than she needed to be woken right now. Connor forced himself to ease his body away from hers and to slide from the bed, pausing to pull the covers over her delectable body, then he padded quietly to the en suite. Closing the door behind him, he flicked on the lights before reaching into the shower stall and wrenching on the faucet, leaving the setting at cold. He couldn’t afford to indulge in his baser needs again tonight.

  Even though it had been his choice, looking after Holly in the past few days since her sister had died had eaten into him in a way he’d never expected. He had no desire to explore how devastated she was at losing Andrea or how her loss had reminded him of his own desolation at his mother’s death. The only way he’d known how to manage her grief, and his own, was to keep going. To force, to cajole—to place one foot in front of the other to get through every day.

  Until today. Today she’d passed a boundary he hadn’t even realised existed. In some ways it was as if by actually letting Andrea go, in saying goodbye, she’d allowed herself to move forward, albeit with unrelenting encouragement from him.

  He stepped into the shower, hissing through clenched teeth as the stinging cold spray assaulted his body, chilling his ardour, and tried to focus his mind instead on the files he’d brought home. He needed to toughen up. To put her back into that corner of his mind where reason mastered sensation and where logic beat attraction. Connor snapped off the stream of cold water with a determined twist of his hand. He had to get back to work.

  And yet he still craved her like an addict needed a fix.