Fortune's Heirs: Reunion

by Marie Ferrarella

  A peek into how happy they could make each other if they’d both let down their defenses for a night.

  And that’s all it’d be, he told himself. A night.

  Never anything more.

  She tried again to speak into his ear, this time bracing a hand on his shoulder. Her touch was light, enough to hammer his pulse.

  “Competitions are what some of these people live for,” she said.

  Before she could move away, Derek took a chance, cradled the back of her head with his hand, kept her in place. All he had to do was turn his face to speak into her ear.

  Some of her hair had come loose during the course of the night. This time when he talked, his breath moved a few of those strands. They caressed his face, adding further heat to his yearning for this woman.

  “You must come here a lot,” he said.

  She didn’t move from their intimate pose. Encouraged, he trailed his fingertips from the back of her head to the side of her neck—casual, but not demanding. Once there, he rested his thumb in the moist dip separating her collarbone, his fingers coming to linger in the crook of her neck and shoulder.

  He thought he heard her breath catch.

  “I come by every so often,” she said. “I live close. And they serve good enchiladas here. Amazingly healthy.”

  So she wasn’t a barfly. That was no surprise. But still, Derek could detect a loneliness similar to someone who sat drinking, waiting for a stranger’s company night after night.

  He lightly coaxed his thumb up the center of her throat, and she swayed in her seat, anchoring an open hand on his thigh. Longing tightened his belly.

  “Did you really bring me here for a drink, Christina?”

  When she didn’t answer, he coasted his hand upward, using his thumb and forefinger to frame her chin. Guiding her face toward him, he met her gaze.

  Hazel eyes, dark in the low, red light. Liquid in the way they were asking him to keep touching her.

  He traced her full lower lip, entranced by its softness, and she closed her eyes.

  This couldn’t be happening, Christina thought.

  Sure, she’d invited him here, but she’d been warring with the don’t-do-it chiding of her common sense the entire way.

  Now, as he caressed her mouth with his thumb, the long-dormant desire to be loved again crushed her barriers, told her it was all right to give in.

  Just a little.

  Hesitating, she parted her lips, allowed the tip of his thumb inside her mouth, where she sucked, then let him loose.

  A sense of pure delight consumed her. Oh, that had been a bad-girl move. And it was addictive.

  But she shouldn’t go any further, not even an inch more.

  The seductive gesture had Derek reaching out with his free hand to take a fistful of her skirt.

  “Do you know what you’re doing to me?” he asked.

  Encouraging you to kiss me again, she thought. And to have you admit that you want me this time.

  A slow, sexy song came on, the volume waning, the pace of the dancing slowing to a hush. Waves of motion from undulating bodies both calmed the room and turned up the temperature at the same time.

  The feverish heat was getting to her. That had to be it. Why else would she be asking herself if she could manage to get back at him—even a little—for rejecting her?

  At the same time, why shouldn’t she be the kind of woman who danced under the spell of salsa, just as she’d wanted to for so many late, quiet nights while she’d sat at a corner table eating dinner and watching all the couples?

  Holding her breath, Christina pulled Derek off his stool. He followed her to the floor.

  She turned to him and started a more deliberate version of the dance she’d been doing last night in the deserted conference room, right before the kiss. Swirling her hips, shoulders. Smiling at the freedom of losing herself in the seductive tempo.

  Through her eyelashes, she saw him standing there, watching, an obvious hunger building up in the clench of his fists, the quickened pace of his breathing.

  Tell me you don’t want to kiss me again, she thought.

  Taking both of his hands, Christina imitated what she’d seen the dancers do a thousand times, arranging his palms on her waist, then sliding them down to her hips.

  Oh, this felt right. And it would never have to be mentioned again between them. Not if she stopped in a few more decadent seconds.

  But that’s clearly not what he had in mind.

  With a ruthless grin, Derek took over, pulling her flush against his body, letting her feel his arousal, the wicked effect she had on him.

  As she opened her mouth, he eased his palms from her hips downward, smoothing over her rear end. Then, with a semirough thrust upward, he pressed her into him.

  Time to stop now? asked her brain.

  Hell, no, said her traitorous body.

  Eyes wide, she bit her lip, locking gazes with him, doubting the wisdom of what she’d conjured in Derek. She’d gone too far, hadn’t she?

  Not that she was really regretting it. But she should be.

  Really. She should be.

  But, somehow, she wasn’t.

  He leaned down, mouth to her ear, to talk over the music. Every warm word drained more strength from her.

  “I’m tired of ignoring what’s going on between us,” he said. “It’s there, like it or not.”

  Game over. She’d proven her point, right? He was primed for a kiss—and more.

  It would be smart to walk away now, get back to the land of personal bubbles and private spaces.

  While she was arguing with herself, his hands traveled up the lines of her back, melding her to him. He positioned one palm on her hip, while the other hand held her fingers.

  A more traditional slow dance style.

  Christina’s blood gave a za-room! Fluid electricity flashed through her veins, numbing her to any thought of leaving.

  But she didn’t want to anyway. Didn’t want to stop what she’d started.

  How long had it been since she’d last felt like a woman?

  Too long. And she didn’t want to give it up.

  For a full minute, they ignored the music, moving in time to their own sensuous song. Gradually, she nestled closer to him, lost in the found comfort of his arms.

  “Have you ever had an affair with a co-worker, Christina?” His voice was hoarse, graveled.

  “Not an affair.”

  Would one night with Derek qualify? Would it get her in as much trouble as the rumor of sex had with William Dugan? Granted, she’d been innocent in that scenario, but…

  Was being with the boss a wise move?

  Did she even care at this point?

  And what about that dating bet she had with her sisters, the one that was based on men being nothing but trouble?

  If she stole a teeny bit of breathless serenity from Derek for just one night, would it matter? Would she lose for winning?

  “What did you have if it wasn’t an affair?” he asked, words stirring aside her hair.

  With her free hand, she rubbed up and down his biceps, testing, enjoying.

  “It was nothing,” she said, not wanting to remember Dugan.

  Then, proving to herself that she could carry on with a normal love life, even after what her old boss had put her through, she ran her hand upward, spanning the back of Derek’s head, drawing him down to her lips once again and taking control of the situation.

  Her choice this time. Not Dugan’s. Not Rebecca Waters’s.

  This kiss was softer than the last one, a lazy, searing promise of what could be.

  So good. Salt, lime and beer.

  With building passion, Derek increased the pressure, parting her lips with his tongue, meeting hers with easy strokes.

  They’d stopped pretending to dance altogether, unable to help themselves. She was getting dizzier, each step convincing her more and more that she could get away with one full night of bad judgment.

  But then a n
ew song came on, fast, loud, frenzied.

  As a whole, the crowd cheered, whipped into a flurry of motion.

  The two of them merely came up for air, lips still poised against each other as they struggled to breathe.

  Then she stood on her toes again, snuggled her mouth against his ear.

  “What would happen if you came home with me?”

  Du-du-du-duuuuuh.

  She couldn’t even believe she’d said it.

  “You know the answer, Christina. Think about what you’re asking for.”

  She had. Believe it.

  And even though she knew this was wrong, she wanted him. Body and soul, this would sustain her. Maybe even change her life.

  As an answer, she snuggled against his chest, unwilling to give him up for principles.

  That’s when he grabbed Christina’s hand, made quick work of paying the bartender and brought her outside.

  From there, she guided him to her condo, which was only minutes away.

  It wasn’t long before she was fumbling with her keys and crashing open her door.

  This was muy loco. Yet good. Oh, very good.

  But it’d been so long, she thought, practically yanking Derek inside her home, stumbling backward as the weight of him crashed into her.

  “Whoa,” he said, regaining his balance, holding her against his chest as he braced a hand against the tiles of her foyer wall.

  With the other hand, he shut the door, the sound making her realize that the way back to yesterday was sealed off.

  Whenever they looked at each other in the office from now on, they’d know. Their bodies would no longer be secrets. Their souls would be laid bare tonight.

  And Christina was ready for it.

  She started to unbutton his shirt, fingers trembling.

  Would she remember how to have sex? Would she be terrible at it? After all, her last boyfriend had been Carson, and that was five, long, pathetic years ago.

  Derek laughed low in his throat, the mirth rumbling through his chest under her hands.

  “Wait, sweetheart, wait.” He shifted position, backing her against the wall to stare up at him.

  See, she’d already done something wrong. Too eager.

  Ease up.

  “I just want to…” He hesitated, then touched her hair.

  A drift of moonlight from the windows revealed a look of tender longing on his face.

  Or was she projecting what she felt onto him?

  Slowly, he undid the clip holding up her chignon. As her hair unfurled to her shoulders, he dug his fingers into it, playing with the strands, leaning forward to take in the scent of it.

  “You never wear it down,” he said. “Drives me ape because I’ve always wondered what it looks like.”

  As he nuzzled against her neck, Christina sunk into him, wanting to feel herself against his hard body.

  Tentatively, she started to unbutton his shirt again, delving her hands under the material, grooving her fingers into the muscled ridges of his abs, his ribs. Gliding her hands upward, thumbs catching the crests of his nipples, she circled over them until he groaned.

  Shivering, she reveled in the power.

  She could turn a man on.

  Derek caught her lips with his, his hands roaming her hair, her neck, her shoulders.

  When they stroked downward to cup her breasts, Christina leaned her head back, thrilling to the play of his fingers, the sensitivity of her arousal.

  “You’re melting,” he said teasingly, talking against her throat. “The first day you walked into my office, I wanted to do so many things to you…”

  “Like what?” she whispered, stimulated by the thought of him fantasizing about her.

  Just as she had about him, night after night.

  He reached around to the back of her dress and, as he undid it, the zipper sounded like a descent of sorts.

  Her fall from the throne of an ice queen.

  “Like this.” He eased the material away from her shoulders, kissing her skin in the wake of it, grabbing a hold of one bra strap with his teeth and leading it down her arm.

  He inserted a thumb beneath the other strap, stripping it off, also. The black lace seemed to disappear as he then unhooked the bra.

  That left her standing there, knees weak, breasts exposed to the night air. To his gaze.

  With maddening care, he licked at one nipple, drew around it with his tongue. Then he surged forward, taking it into his mouth to suck on it. He paid close attention to the other one, too, cupping her breast in his palm, kneading it gently.

  Arching up to meet him, Christina worked his shirt off, craving the feel of his skin, which was damp with a thin sheen of sweat by now. She ran her nails over his back, moving her hips in time to the laving of his tongue.

  A humid steam was building up in her, making her ache and grow more restless. She wiggled her hips, sliding down the wall a fraction, unable to stand on her own anymore.

  He laid her down on the lush carpet, kissing his way down her stomach, tugging at her dress, turning his body sideways so he could coax the linen over her legs and strappy shoes.

  Stroking her lower belly, he glanced up, a wild gleam in his dark eyes. She gave a frustrated little cry, his hands so close to where she really wanted them to be.

  “And what else did you want to do to me?” She was panting, hardly even sounding like her normal self.

  He caressed the length of one of her legs, then parted them so she was open for him.

  Bending down to her kneecap, he spoke against it. “I want to turn you to water.”

  Por favor. Please, please, please do.

  Trailing his mouth up her inner thigh, he nipped his way to the center of her.

  On the edge and even somewhat anxious, Christina shifted. She’d positioned her arms over her head, seeking something to grab onto. As she found a wrought-iron table leg, she held on for dear life.

  He’d moved his body between her legs, maneuvering one over his bare shoulder, causing her pump’s heel to scratch against his back.

  “My shoes…”

  “No,” he said, rubbing his clean-shaven cheek against her thigh, “leave them on.”

  Part of his fantasy?

  Then he nudged the center of her, her panties wet, telling him how ready she was. Gasping at the contact, Christina lifted her back off the carpet to meet his mouth.

  While he loved her through the lace, she rocked with every kiss, her breath coming in tiny pants.

  One of her hands came to rest over her eyes, the other clutching the table leg. She could hear the terra-cotta plant vase on top of the table jerking back and forth with her exertions. Without really knowing what she was saying, a stream of Spanish words tumbled out of her mouth.

  Faintly, she was aware of him removing her underwear. She was too busy climbing to greater heights to notice much else.

  Her vision was caving in, swirled with the red of salsa lights, the sparkle of water under a night sky. Stars pulsated, coming in and out of focus.

  Boom. Ba-boom.

  As he increased the pace of his intimate kisses, her heart almost fluttered apart, almost disconnected into pieces that would be floated away by her simmering blood.

  “Derek,” she said, not really intending to say anything. Not knowing what to say. “Oh…”

  The stars in her blurred sight winked, beating in a chaotic frenzy. Flashing. Bursting. Showering all over the sky and dropping to water with the hiss of a beautiful death.

  Lungs burning from her frantic efforts at breathing—or had she been holding her breath?—she clawed for air.

  But Derek was unforgiving, gliding up her sweatslicked body, pressing his chest to hers, devouring her mouth in a famished kiss. Possessing her.

  Catching his fever, Christina grappled with his belt, got it loose, undid his pants and got them off with his help. They managed to get a condom out of his wallet at the same time, then opened the wrapping.

  He was hard against her leg.
Greedily, she reached down, stroking the condom over him.

  “There are so many things I want to do to you,” she said in a whisper.

  “We’ve got lots of time until sunrise.”

  As he looked down at her, his short brown hair ruffled by her fingers, sweat beading his forehead, Christina thought she detected a splinter of feeling in his eyes. A fleeting admission that they’d have to face more than carpet burn by the start of tomorrow’s work day.

  He smoothed away a strand of wet hair that had stuck to her forehead, traced his thumb over her cheekbone. “You do something to me, Christina.”

  For a moment, there were no more words. Just lulling caresses. Just the two of them.

  Then he seemed to realize his honest admission and recovered with a slow grin.

  The gesture caged her, reminded her of his abundant charm and all the doubts she’d had about it. His was the smile of a confirmed bachelor. A sidestep away from the emotion she’d seen on his face only a second before.

  But they’d gone too far for it to matter. She’d made her decision to be with him and she’d have to deal with the consequences.

  Because it’d sure been worth it so far.

  Reaching down, he slid his fingers between her legs, opened her for him, then slipped inside of her, filling her up until she had to bite into his shoulder to ease the new, yet old, feeling.

  He must’ve felt her tightness, because he paused.

  But she took up where he left off, grinding against him, wanting more.

  What started as a slow dance built into a faster, more intense tempo. Since she hadn’t yet come all the way down from her last orgasm—wouldn’t it be nice if she never did?—she was halfway to crying out his name already.

  As he drove into her, she moved with him, needing to take him all in, to savor every second of this high-flying ecstasy.

  In this new world, she shot back up to the stars, touching the sizzling core of them, becoming part of the light, basking in their glow.

  Then she flew to another, and another, brushing too close to the heat, the burn, the sweet agony…

  Downward again, back to earth, wings melted and—

  Crash.

  An explosion, tearing her apart.