by Jennie Lucas
“No,” she breathed, struggling to pull away.
But he was relentless. His black eyes burned through her. “I’m going to have you, Carrie. In my bed,” he whispered. “In my life—forever.”
She looked around the kitchen wildly, desperate for a means of escape or, failing that, some protection to cling to. The enormous kitchen was the size of her parents’ whole house, like something out of a glossy magazine. The high ceiling had a fresco of eighteenth-century hunting scenes looking down on the brand-new professional-grade appliances. A fire roared in an old brick fireplace beside the gleaming stainless-steel refrigerator. In another life she’d have loved it here…
“I don’t love you.” She tried to pull away from him, but he wouldn’t let her go.
“We’re not talking about love. We’re talking about desire. I want you, Carrie,” he said roughly. “And I know you want me.”
She shook her head desperately. “You’re wrong—”
For an answer, he kissed her hard and deep, kissed her until she went limp in his arms. Then, to her shock, he picked her up, lifting her against his hard chest.
“I’ve wanted you for a year,” he growled, looking down at her. “I’ve waited long enough.”
Grimly, he started to walk. Dazed, she looked up at his face as he carried her. High over his head, she saw the fresco. She saw a man on a horse, pursuing a deer through the forest. And she knew how her own hunt would end.
He carried her up the sweeping stairs, taking the steps two or three at a time, and with complete inevitability strode into his bedroom. As he set her down gently on the enormous bed, with its black coverlet and black silk sheets, the place where she’d lost her virginity a year ago, she saw the same Spartan, masculine furniture and French doors opening to a wide balcony.
Carrie looked up at him, trembling, terrified. His fierce dark eyes became gentle as he reached down to stroke her cheek. “Are you so afraid?”
The small word choked her. “Yes.”
“You have nothing to fear,” he said softly.
But how could she explain what she feared most—that if she gave him her body she would once again lose her heart? The last time he’d left her she’d collapsed into a black void from which she’d barely started to recover.
She had a single image through the windows, of vineyards stretching to the cragged mountains beneath blue skies, before Théo lowered himself over her. She had a single deep breath of lavender as a warm summer breeze blew against her skin, then his mouth was on hers and all she could smell was the intoxicating scent of him, luring her with musk and soap and him.
She felt the weight of his body over hers as he kissed her deeply, pressing her into the bed. His hands slowly ran through her hair, stroking down her neck. She felt her body tighten as a sigh escaped her lips. She was lost in his kiss. His tongue flicked against hers and he bit at her lower lip, cupping her face with his hands before kissing her more deeply.
His hot mouth caressed down her throat, his tongue darting into the concave hollow of her collarbone. His large hands moved down her body, holding her to the bed as he kissed her bare shoulders. Lifting one of her hands to his lips, he kissed it, his mouth warm against her skin as he looked down at her. Their eyes locked as his dark gaze burned through her.
Turning her hand over, he kissed her palm. She nearly gasped as he slowly suckled each fingertip, his hot tongue sliding into the gaps between her fingers.
Her nipples hardened, and an aching place low in her belly become agonizingly tight. He was repeating the long, languorous caress with her other hand, and she felt the slide of his tongue as he took each fingertip into his hot mouth, sucking gently. A low gasp escaped her.
He sat up, his legs splayed over her thighs, never looking away from her face as he pulled off his black T-shirt. She looked up in wonder. His chest was even more broad-shouldered and hard-muscled than she remembered. A scattering of dark hair stretched between his nipples and his taut, flat belly, pointing down to the waistband of his jeans like an arrow. She swallowed, her eyes wide. She could hardly miss seeing the shape of the enormous hard shaft beneath the dark denim, ready for her…
Sliding his hands down her legs, he pulled up the skirt of her blue sundress until it was bunched around her hips. He looked down at her simple white bikini panties and his breathing became a gasp. One hand reached for her panties as the other started to undo his fly. Then he froze.
Releasing his grip, he leaned forward and whispered, “I want to take you right now. Push myself all the way inside you in a single thrust.”
She trembled.
“But I’ve waited too long for that.” His voice was low, barely audible as she felt the soft movement of his lips against the flesh of her ear. “I’m going to make this worth my year of agony.”
He cupped her full, aching breasts through her dress. Plumping up the mounds of flesh, he kissed the skin along the edge of her neckline, moving his heavily muscled body over hers, grinding his hips against her. The secret place between her legs began to ache as it hadn’t for a year.
He’d been her only lover, and she still remembered how good it had been between them—how addictive, like sweet poison candy. This was even more explosive than she remembered. She shuddered as he slowly unbuttoned her dress and, pulling it off her body, dropped it to the tile floor, followed by her sandals. She was lying across his enormous bed dressed only in a simple white strapless bra and panties.
“You’re so beautiful,” he choked out. Using only his fingertips, he stroked down her body, from her collarbone to her belly. Caressing down her legs, he lifted one foot and nibbled gently on the bottom of the arch. Pure sensation shot through her, but before she could move he’d already started stroking back up her body, from the sensitive hollow beneath her knees to her inner thighs, and then, finally, to the mound between her legs.
She gasped, gripping the black silk sheets of the bed. He continued to move up her body. Pressing her full breasts together in the cotton bra, he took a sensual lick of the deep crevice between them. Deftly, he undid the back of her bra, and that, too, was dropped to the floor. He stared down in awe at her huge breasts, full and firm to the touch, cupping them with his hands. “I don’t remember this.”
“I’m still—nursing,” she gasped out.
He exhaled. Lowering his head, he kissed around the nipple of one breast, squeezing it gently. She sucked in her breath, her grip tightening on the sheets as he slowly moved down her body, kissing the length of her bare belly.
His wet, soft mouth slid down her bare hip, moving in a circular path to her upper leg and finally her inner thigh. He was teasing her, she realized, but her breath came in ragged gasps just the same. He pushed at the edge of her panties the tiniest bit, and she felt the warmth of his breath between her legs, at her deepest core. She felt so wet and ready for him. She choked out a moan, shifting her hips, desperate for him to push himself inside her…
Abruptly, he moved away. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he pulled off his jeans, one leg at a time, then his silk boxers. He turned back to face her, his dark eyes glowing in the early-evening shadows. “Look at me, Carrie,” he whispered. “See how much I want you.”
She sucked in her breath at the sight of his huge, hard, tanned body. She’d thought he had willpower of iron, that he could prolong their tension instead of taking her at his will. But now, looking at him more closely, she could see that he barely held himself in check. His need for her was huge, red and throbbing, and even his hands trembled visibly—as if only the barest thread of control kept him from falling upon her in complete, brutal possession.
Slowly, gently, he reached for her, and she could feel the way his fingertips shook as he touched her. He pulled her white cotton panties down her legs and dropped them to the floor. She realized she was stretched across his bed completely nude. She felt the sway of the mattress beneath her as he moved to the foot of the bed between her legs. She felt the heat of his full gaze upon her.
Nervously, Carrie squeezed her eyes shut. Was he noticing the havoc that pregnancy had wrought upon her body? Would he be disgusted by her wider hips, her softly rounded belly, the stubborn last eight pounds of baby weight that wouldn’t budge?
With a low, ragged intake of breath, he stroked down the length of her body.
“Comme tu es belle,” he whispered. Leaning over her, he cupped her cheek. “Open your eyes.”
Reluctantly, she obeyed. The intent expression on his handsome face was ferocious with need. “I have never wanted any woman as much as I want you,” he breathed.
He kissed her hard, his lips almost bruising hers in his unrestrained passion. She felt the fragments of his control starting to slip as he held her down beneath him. She felt the enormous hardness of him between her legs, pressing against her, demanding entrance. Unconsciously she swayed her hips against him, desperate in her sweet agony. With a gasp, he pulled away from her. Ripping his mouth from hers, her fell down her body.
Placing his head between her legs, he pressed her legs apart and took a long, wide taste.
A shock of pleasure ripped through her. She cried out, arching her back, trying to pull away from pleasure so intense it was almost pain. But he held her down with his strong hands and forced her to accept the slow lick of his tongue against her wet core. He played her like an instrument—swirling the tip of his tongue against her hard, aching nub one moment, lapping her with its full width the next. He slipped his tongue an inch inside her, then a fingertip, then two. And all the while she felt his hands stretching her thighs wide as he licked and suckled the most sensitive, secret part of her.
Tension coiled low inside her belly, building and tightening through her body. Her hands gripped the black silk sheets in tight fists as she twisted her hips beneath him. Trying to get closer? Trying to break free? She no longer knew, but the pleasure was too intense. She was afraid she would soon pass out. Afraid that she…
That she…
As if from a distance she heard her voice cry out as her body began to shake with growing bursts of agonizing pleasure. Bracing his arms around her, he moved his hips inside her thighs. She panted, writhing beneath him as she started to lose control, as her vision started to go black.
Sheathing his huge, hard shaft in a condom, he planted himself between her legs. With incredible self-control, he pushed himself only a single inch inside her.
She forgot to breathe. Her cries grew in her own ears, became incessant, became desperate. Words came out of her mouth she almost didn’t recognize as her own—words that sounded almost like begging…
Shaking, he pushed himself another inch inside her. She gripped his shoulders, straining for more. His eyes were closed, but she saw beads of sweat on his forehead from the effort to hold himself back.
It was only when he heard her start to swear at him, her fingernails digging into his shoulders, that his eyes flew open. He looked down at her, his gaze dark and hungry, and a growl came from the back of his throat. “Admit you want me.”
“I want you,” she panted.
With a massive, brutal thrust, he pushed himself inside her, so wide and deep that she gasped in shock. He filled and stretched her to the limit. Pulling back, he thrust again, gripping her shoulders, holding her against the mattress as if to prevent her escape. He thrust again, faster, until he rode her hard and deep. The antique bedframe creaked beneath the violence of his possession, swayed perilously beneath them. As the last vestiges of his self-control frayed, he rode her with increasing intensity, forgetting to be gentle, forgetting everything but blinding, brutal need.
She heard his low, hoarse moan build to a shout as the wooden headboard rattled, pounding against the wall. He impaled her completely, touching her heart, and she screamed as the first waves of new fulfillment washed over her. His low voice joined her in ecstasy, and in that instant of black joy she wept without tears and felt the world crash beneath her.
Afterward, they held each other. She felt the warmth of his body against hers. It could have been moments or hours later when she slowly opened her eyes.
Théo’s eyes were still closed as he held her against his naked body, protecting her with his strong arms, caressing her, keeping her close. Carrie started to put her arms around him, only to discover that two fragments of the black silk sheet were still in her hands, ripped by her fists.
Closing her eyes, she dropped the fabric and pressed her cheek against his warm, naked chest. She took a deep breath. It would be so hideously easy to fall in love with him again.
Her eyes flew open. She couldn’t love him. He didn’t want her love. He was a selfish bastard, foolish enough to believe love was a fantasy. He wanted her to resign herself to a loveless marriage, full of empty luxury.
But she’d just slept with him anyway, risking her heart. Risking everything, since she knew from experience how a condom could fail.
Who was the fool now?
The coverlet fell off her shoulders as she sat up naked in bed.
“Where are you going?” he asked lazily behind her.
“Nowhere,” she whispered.
It was just sex, she told herself fiercely. Only sex. Meaningless. But she had a lump in her throat. She’d surrendered Théo everything, knowing that she could not give a man her body without also soon giving him her heart.
No, she told herself. She suddenly felt like crying. I won’t love him again. I can’t.
She felt his dark assessing gaze behind her. Could he read her feelings? Did he know that part of her would always love him? That her supposed hatred was nothing more than a desperate attempt to protect her broken heart?
With a low French curse, Théo suddenly sat up beside her in bed, his black eyes wide. “The dinner!”
“What?”
“I left the steak and bacon frying on the stove!”
He leapt naked from the bed, a horrified expression on his chiseled face.
A sudden laugh rose to Carrie’s lips. Then, as he reached for a robe, her eyes traced the exquisitely muscled, tanned body of the man who’d just made love to her—the man who’d fathered her child. And all the laughter fell away from her face as she felt the anguished pang in her heart.
She’d just fallen for him. All over again.
Fifteen minutes later, Théo could tell Carrie was lying, and it made him furious.
“Tell me the truth,” he ordered, standing next to the kitchen table. “I can take it.”
“Um. It’s not as bad as it looks,” Carrie offered as she sat, her naked body covered by a white terry-cloth robe. “Really.” She took another bite of the charred meat and mushy vegetables in an overcooked burgundy sauce and gulped it down hard. He could almost see it go down her throat. “It’s um…not half bad.”
“You mean it’s all bad,” Théo said glumly.
Wiping her mouth with a linen napkin, she gave him a cheerful smile. “Still better than raw foamy eggs.”
Typical Carrie, Théo thought with irritation. Al ways trying to make the best of things. Dipping his wooden spoon in the congealed sauce, he tasted it and nearly spat it out. Covering his face with his hand, he leaned against the table and groaned. “I wanted to impress you.”
Their eyes met. The smile fled from her face.
“You did,” she whispered.
An undercurrent of heat passed between them. Suddenly Théo no longer cared about the ruined dinner. The spoon dropped from his hands, clattering to the floor. Pulling her into his arms, he kissed her.
Already he wanted her again.
The kiss lasted a long time before he finally found the strength to pull away.
If once he’d been preoccupied, now he was obsessed.
Their bond would be permanent and strong. He would help Carrie lose her foolish illusions—much as he’d acquire a troubled company and break apart its bankrupt assets, to get a better price for the whole. He would protect the parts of Carrie’s soul he admired—her passion, her intelligence, her love
for their son. Her kind heart. Her hopeful, tender soul.
But he would help her discard her big dreams, her impossibly romantic ideals. Everything that could not last. Everything she was better off without.
Yes, their marriage would be solid. Their family would be strong.
And he could hardly wait to start on the honeymoon.
Never breaking his gaze from hers, he sat down heavily in a nearby chair, pulling her into his lap. Wrapping his arms around her, he took her hands in his own. Her hands fell small, delicate and warm. He felt like a clod beside her. She would make the perfect countess.
“We will have a good partnership,” he said quietly. “You will be an asset to my life, and I will strive to be an asset to yours.”
Twisting around to face him, she looked at him with shock. “What are you talking about?”
“Our marriage.” His hands tightened over hers. “We’ve already started on the honeymoon. We should wed immediately. French law requires a ten-day wait, so I thought perhaps Las Vegas…”
Carrie held up her hand sharply. “You’re already planning our wedding?”
Her tone was angry. Of course, Théo thought, biting his lip in chagrin. Every woman wanted to plan her own wedding.
“It doesn’t have to be Las Vegas,” he said, more carefully. “We could marry in Seattle, so your family could attend. And of course if you feel you want a large, lavish reception I would be more than happy to throw an enormous party afterward, either here in the castle or in Paris. We’d invite all the highest society of Europe. We could have your dress specially made…”
“I’m not going to marry you,” she said coldly, “just because we had sex.”
“What?” he gasped. His eyebrows lowered. “Of course that’s not the only reason. But you felt how perfect we are together—made for each other!”
“Made for each other in bed,” she said. “A one-night stand changes nothing. You don’t want love. I won’t marry without it. We’d only make each other unhappy.”
