by Laura Leone
“How did you know I was here?” she asked.
“Francesca told me.”
“She— she—” Shelley sputtered.
“Relax. She didn’t want to, but I convinced her to. When you wouldn’t answer my calls, I,” he paused, phrasing his words carefully, “I got worried. Everything seemed so good, so right between us last night, I couldn’t believe you had changed your mind. So I went over to your office to see you. Wayne stomped off and slammed his door the minute he saw me. Not very subtle, is he? Francesca kept wringing her hands and babbling in Italian. So I got her to tell me what had happened and where you had gone.”
“Oh.”
His eyes raked her face. “I hate to see you cry,” he said huskily. “I hate to be the cause of it.”
She didn’t deny that he was her number one pain. “If you know what happened... Ross, we just can’t...”
“Be lovers?”
She nodded.
“The hell we can’t,” he said.
“Please, after today—”
“What’s the very worst thing that could happen?” he challenged.
“I could lose my job in total disgrace because I’m sleeping with my competitor.”
“Wrong. You could allow a bunch of men in New York and Chicago who don’t care about you to dictate your life and choose your friends for you.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You won’t get into trouble over this!”
“Henri knows about us and he’s furious,” Ross corrected.
“How does he know?”
“I told him.”
“You told him? Why, for God’s sake?”
“Because I’m not ashamed of being with you or afraid of what he’ll do to me. And I don’t want someone else to tell him first.”
Shelley backed down for a moment. It had never even occurred to her to call Jerome herself and calmly explain that she was seeing Ross but wouldn’t let it affect her work.
“Jerome would never buy it,” she said aloud. “And Montpazier still won’t fire you”
“That’s true, Shelley. But if Babel fired you, you wouldn’t be quitting, and maybe then you could take my job offer with a clear conscience.”
“I don’t know,” she said miserably.
“There’s always an alternative if you want something enough. Or do you just not want to be with me that much?”
She turned away from him, intimidated by the challenge in his voice. She suddenly had the feeling that he’d shown more courage than she, and she wasn’t proud of that. She also didn’t know what to do next, and that was unusual for her. He was turning her life upside down.
She heard the faint rustle of clothing and looked behind her. Ross had slipped off his jacket and was undoing his tie. She watched, wide-eyed, as he slid it out from under his collar and let it drop to the floor. He undid his cuff links and tossed them on the coffee table.
“What are you doing?” she asked with a frown.
“Consolidating my position.”
“What?”
“Is that the bedroom through there?” His voice was gentle but determined.
“Ross, can we talk about this?” she asked faintly.
“I don’t think so,” he murmured, moving slowly toward her. His eyes, filled with a combination of desire and tenderness that drained her of common sense and clear thought, burned into her.
“Think about this first.” Her voice was breathless with anticipation, telling him everything he needed to know.
He put his hands on her shoulders and drew her near, kneading the firm flesh of her arms in a seductive massage that made her feel limp yet vibrant.
“I have thought about this. I’ve thought about it until it’s driven me crazy,” he murmured. “I thought of it the first moment I saw you, and it’s been impossible to stop thinking about it ever since.”
He lowered his mouth to hers slowly, just as slowly as he had the first time he’d ever kissed her. Sensing what he wanted, wanting to please him, she arched up toward him and met his lips with her own, showing him that he wasn’t the only one who’d lain awake nights imagining this.
Their lips clung warmly, mouths melding, tongues mating, and Shelley was overwhelmed by how right it was, how clearly destined she was to be held in his arms. She slid her hands into his luxuriant black hair and pressed her body against his, wanting him to know how she, too, had longed for this.
In one graceful motion he scooped her up in his arms and, with a smooth, unhurried stride, headed unerringly toward the bedroom. How like a fantasy he was, she thought tenderly. No awkward moments, no clumsy movements. She wondered whether she could fulfill any of his fantasies. She hoped so.
He set her down beside her double bed and buried his hands in her coppery hair, pulling out the clips that held it up, stroking it, caressing it, inhaling its fragrance.
“I tried to stay away from you when you asked me to,” he whispered. “I tried to pretend I could treat you lightly. I even tried not to think about you at all.” His hands slid behind her and pulled down her zipper. “None of it worked for me, Shelley. Nothing will work for me but this.” He took a shaky breath as he felt the warmth of her soft skin beneath the dress. “I don’t know where this will lead, but I can’t take the safe way out.”
“No, I know you can’t,” she murmured lovingly, already pulling at the buttons of his shirt with trembling fingers. Of course he couldn’t take the safe way out of their inconvenient mutual fascination, any more than he could take the safe life offered by his wealthy family and privileged birth, or any more than he could take a safe path to maturity and manhood. She should have realized he would walk willfully into the eye of the storm, pulling her with him. “Thank you,” she said suddenly.
“For what?” he asked, his breath catching as her hands slid inside his shirt to touch his hard chest.
“Thank you for not letting me be safe,” she said. “Thank you for not letting me be sensible anymore.”
He grinned, stroking her hair, caressing her bare back. He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “Oh, Shelley.” His voice was tender, like his touch, like his lips, like his eyes, his blue, blue eyes. “Wait a minute,” he gasped as she started to unfasten his belt.
“This was your idea,” she reminded him.
“And it’s a very good one. But there’s one thing even we should be sensible about.” She looked up at him questioningly, her eyes already dazed with passion. “I always think of everything, so I’m ashamed to admit that I rushed over here without... uh... preparing. And since I don’t usually carry around... Stop laughing, I’m being serious,” he chided.
“I really like it when you’re not perfect,” she said with delight. “Don’t worry about it. I’m safe,” she assured him.
“I’m so glad to hear that,” he murmured, pulling her hips against his. “I’m in no condition to make a trip to the drugstore.”
“Yes, I can tell.”
“So get on with what you were doing,” he insisted, pulling her hands back to his belt buckle.
She offered her mouth up to his as her hands fumbled at his clothing. He pulled her dress over her head and looked at her standing there in her lacy underwear, her curly hair tumbling around her shoulders. How many times had he pictured her this way? How many times had he undressed her in his mind, imagining the milky smoothness of her skin, the lush fullness of her breasts straining against her bra, the mysterious swell and curve of her hips under those delicate panties?
Hot possessiveness flooded him. He wanted her to be his, wanted to be the only man she undressed for ever again, the only man to see her gray eyes fill with warmth and desire as she slid the straps of her bra down her shoulders and stepped teasingly away from him. He had the disturbing feeling that he could kill another man for doing what he did as he pulled her closer and yanked her undergarments off with rough haste.
Shelley sighed exultantly as his hands slid over her body, touching her with obsessive longing, caressing her as if h
e owned her, handling her gently, roughly, intimately, without hesitation or apology.
She pushed his shirt from his shoulders. “Oh, Ross,” she moaned with pleasure. Eager to enjoy the rest of him, she pushed his pants down his narrow hips. The heavy weight of his manhood, fully aroused, filled her questing hands, and she drew in a sharp breath, feeling hot and flushed all over.
“Don’t stop there,” he growled, impatiently pushing his trousers farther down so he could kick them off.
She put her hands against his chest to hold him away from her so her gaze could travel admiringly over him. His body was smooth and hard, firm and muscular everywhere, powerful and well developed from the dangerous life he’d chosen as a youth.
Shelley sighed again and slid her arms around him, pressing herself close, pushing her plump breasts against his chest, knowing instinctively that it would excite him.
Ross heard an animal sound of hunger come from deep inside him as his arms slid convulsively around Shelley.
Slow, go slow, he reminded himself as he tumbled her onto the bed. Pleasure her, use some finesse, he thought as he pillaged her mouth, greedily drinking her kisses. He had learned to do this with skill and grace. He had asked women in a dozen countries to tell him what pleased them. He had always been breathlessly told he was an exquisite lover. And now, when it mattered most, when he was with the one woman he would gladly burn in hell to please, he seemed to have lost all control of himself.
Be gentle, she’s so petite, a silent voice chided as his mouth moved roughly over her face. His hands squeezed her breasts, admiring her, worshipping her, unable to stop touching and kneading and enjoying her ripeness, her femininity, her softness.
Shelley groaned. He paused, using every fiber of strength to pull his sanity together. “I’m sorry,” he said, the apology coming out as a choked murmur, the words barely distinguishable.
“Good,” she moaned with difficulty. “It’s so good. Oh, Ross. More. Please.”
Her passionate plea tore through him, setting him on fire, silencing the voice of experience, teaching him to make love to her with blind instinct. Her mouth met his again, and her hands stroked him with the same rough passion he was feeling. She nuzzled him affectionately, her warmth unlike anything he’d ever known.
He lowered his head to her breasts and felt her hands in his hair, pulling, tugging, stroking, telling him yes, yes, let’s try this now. He reached up to hold one of her hands, feeling affection rush through him even as passion consumed him. With his other hand he kneaded one full breast while he nuzzled and kissed it. Shelley was murmuring to him, soft words of delight that he couldn’t make out but could easily interpret.
He kissed the palm of her hand, the sweet tips of her breasts, and the soft hollow between them. He ran his tongue around the pink areola of a tightly puckered nipple, then kissed it again. She panted, and the sudden rise and fall of her breasts drove him wild. He slid one knee between her legs and pressed it against the apex of her thighs, feeling the teasing silkiness of her pubic hair and the hot wetness it shielded.
“Please,” Shelley murmured, not even sure what she was asking for. Only for it to continue, for it to go on, for him to keep touching her like this. She felt his mouth, hot and wet, slide across her breast and fasten around her nipple. The hand that held one of hers squeezed convulsively. She arched upward and pulled his head down, and she pushed her aching feminine core against his hard knee. She moaned and writhed against him and showed him without shame how much pleasure he was giving her.
He tugged at her nipple, his tongue rough, his teeth gentle, his lips tender. He let go of her hand to massage her other breast with firm, possessive strokes of increasing urgency. He changed his position so that his hips slid smoothly between her legs to let her feel his hard, throbbing desire for her pressing against her waiting flesh.
Shelley sobbed, unable to contain the feelings welling up inside her. She slid her hands down his back and dug her fingers into the hard, tense flesh of his buttocks. She ground her hips against him in silent urging.
His shaking hand found hers and guided her to him. “Show me where you want me to go. Put me inside you,” he pleaded hoarsely.
She did so eagerly, greedily rising to meet his first strong thrust. She was so small, so hot and tight, that he tried to enter her slowly, but she wouldn’t let him. She arched toward him, relishing the sensations as he slid forcefully inside her body, pulling him deeper, wanting him to thrust into her very soul.
They established a fast, urgent rhythm, perfectly attuned to each other. They writhed against each other, murmuring endearments and harsh compliments, their sweat-slick bodies gliding together and apart in perfect harmony, in and out, up and down.
“Deeper,” she begged, “deeper. Harder. Oh! Oh, yes, yes... Like that...”
He was ferocious and tender at once, a demon lover, a dark angel. He was the lover she had never even imagined, too erotic for dreams, too earthy for fantasy. She shared every shred of herself with him and felt him accept her with greedy delight and offer up himself in return.
“Hot, oh, Shelley, so hot, so... soft,” he muttered hoarsely, his mouth moving roughly against her neck, his hands touching every part of her they could reach.
Suddenly she felt her whole body flooding with fire, desire giving over to satisfaction, earth giving way to heaven. “Oh, Ross, I’m... Oh, Ross.”
In the eye of the storm at last, she gave in to the luscious liquid feelings, melting and drowning in a long, wavy burst of pleasure that sent her mind spinning with the beauty of it and fed her body with everything it had ever hungered for. She felt him shudder and collapse on top of her, felt his heat pour into her as he trembled and harshly whispered her name, heard his long, ragged groan of masculine satisfaction.
Long, long minutes later, when his chest had stopped heaving and the world had stopped flying apart around the two of them, Ross pulled together what precious little strength he had left and rolled off her small frame, pulling her with him so that she rested against him. She curled around him and nuzzled him affectionately, a contented purring sound coming from deep inside her.
He smiled softly, feeling happier than he’d ever felt in his life. He had pleased her, he thought with thoroughly masculine delight. He had wanted nothing in life so much as to make her writhe and sob and purr with pleasure, and even so, he was astonished at how glad he was to have succeeded.
“You look smug,” Shelley said lazily, too satisfied to sound critical.
He opened his eyes to find her looking up into his face. He realized that he had never shared with anyone the kind of intimacy he had just enjoyed with her. After what had just happened between them, he knew he’d never be able to hide anything from her again. He couldn’t imagine even wanting to. So he let her see the open vulnerability in his heart, his astonished pleasure, his sweet satisfaction and, well, yes, his smug delight.
Her love-soft eyes darkened ever so slightly. “If you look at me like that, I’m going to make inappropriate demands,” she warned.
He grinned. “Just try me.”
She sighed and laid her head back on his shoulder. “In about an hour.”
“Make it a half hour, and you’ve got a deal.”
“You’re such a braggart.”
“Tu m’inspires.” He closed his eyes and savored the feel of her. Her tumbling hair covered his shoulder and tickled his chin, her smooth cheek rubbed absently against his chest, her breasts pressed against his ribs, her soft thigh rested intimately between his legs. Of their own volition, his hands started traveling over her with caressing wonder, discovering details he had missed in the fury of their passion.
Shelley sighed deeply, feeling a wonderful feminine satisfaction in knowing he couldn’t keep his hands off her. The feeling was mutual, actually, and she lazily began exploring him, fascinated, enthralled, curious, fiercely proud of the body she only half realized she was swiftly starting to think of as her personal property.
&n
bsp; “J’adore tes cheveux... ta peau... tes seins... ton dos...” he murmured absently, naming her parts as he explored them, loving everything he discovered. He was glad she understood French, since the words seemed more appropriate, more intimate in that language.
As their strength returned, their curiosity grew more insatiable. She sat up finally, wanting to see everything she’d been touching, wanting to see his face as they touched each other. He watched her with pleased, heavy-lidded eyes. His gaze slid below her waist and his eyes widened. Her thighs were slightly pink where he had lain between them, irritated from the friction between their overheated bodies.
“Was I too rough?” he asked.
“No.” Her voice was certain, her smile positively feline. The cat that had gotten the cream. “It was...”
“Special,” he finished for her.
She nodded. He kissed her hand and held it against his cheek. He released it and traced an imaginary line down her breast, lightly stroking the nipple, which hardened instantly at his touch. In astonishment he realized his own body was already hardening in response, wanting her again, excited by her quick response to him, intrigued by her lush beauty.
“Come here,” he said gruffly, pulling her down to the pillows.
She glanced down his body and her eyes sparkled with mischief and desire. “So you weren’t bragging after all. Can I count on this all the time, or is this a special occasion?”
“I think you’re to blame,” he informed her.
“Hey, guapo, does this mean you’re glad to see me?”
“Ti voglio bene,” he murmured.
“Is that one of the dozen phrases your friend once taught you for meeting Italian women?” she asked suspiciously.
“Uh-huh.”
“That phrase is pretty specific, Ross. You must have made friends awfully quickly with the girls in Milan.”
“I’m very charming,” he reminded her, losing interest in the subject. “Do you like this? Ah, yes, I can see that you do.”
