His Son, Her Secret

by Sarah M. Anderson

  She carefully put Percy into his new crib. The baby was so passed out he didn’t even stir. Sleep, sweetie, Leona prayed. Sleep for Mommy and Daddy.

  Byron came in to stand next to her, his arm around her shoulders. There was an intimacy to the moment. For the first time since Byron had walked back into her life, she truly felt they were in this together. It was such a relief that she wrapped her arm around his waist and held him tight.

  Byron checked to make sure the baby monitor was on and then whispered in her ear, “Come with me.”

  Desire spiked through her. Only Byron could to that to her—turn her on with three little words.

  He led her out of the bedroom and up the hall to their bedroom. How weird was that? Their bedroom. She’d slept over at his place, a small apartment in an exclusive downtown complex, back when they’d been dating. But that’d been his. She’d always had her own room, her own bed to go back to.

  Then the room registered. Byron had been busy while she’d been with Percy. The drapes were closed and the room was alight with the soft glow of candles, easily fifteen or twenty. Where had he gotten so many candles? They were on the mantel over the fireplace, on the dressers, and contained in tall glass jars on the night tables. The whole room glowed. It was one of the more romantic things she’d ever seen.

  “Wow,” she said. “This is beautiful.”

  “I’m glad you like it. Turn around.”

  She gave him a look, but it had no effect on him. Instead, he leaned in close enough to kiss her. But he didn’t. He waited, his gaze searching her face.

  The anticipation sending spikes of need through her body ratcheted up another notch. She turned around.

  “I wanted to do this the other night,” he said, pulling her shirt over her head and pushing her pants down so quickly that she barely had time to register that she was in nothing but her panties.

  “What?” she asked, nervousness and excitement fighting for control over her stomach. The fact of the matter was, she didn’t know what he was going to do to her. But she was pretty sure she was going to like it.

  Then the piece of black silk slipped over her eyes.

  Fear flashed through her, temporarily pushing the anticipation into panic. “Byron?”

  The tips of his fingers traced the contours of her back, soft and gentle. “I just want you to feel this,” he said, his voice right against her ear. His breath warmed her skin. “I won’t do anything you don’t want me to,” he promised as he brushed her damp hair away from her neck. His fingers moved over her shoulder—the lightest of touches that held so much promise. Her skin broke out in goose bumps. “If you want me to stop, I will.”

  She felt exposed. She couldn’t see what Byron was doing and she wasn’t sure what, exactly, he wanted to do. Essentially, she was at his mercy.

  He seemed to know what she was thinking. “Do you trust me?” She heard rustling.

  Did she?

  Before, when they’d become lovers, he’d taken his time with her. She’d been the kind of inexperienced that only virgins could pull off, but Byron had never rushed her. Once, they’d been making out hot and heavy on his couch. He’d gotten her top off and his shirt, too and Leona had finally decided to go through with it—right until he’d unbuttoned her pants. Then she’d had this moment of terror that he was a Beaumont and she was a Harper and what the hell was she thinking?

  So she’d put the brakes on. Byron had hovered over her, his eyes closed and his chest heaving with effort and she’d panicked because she’d never allowed herself to get into this kind of situation, never before been this vulnerable with a man, especially not a Beaumont. Beaumonts were known for their womanizing ways—would that include forcing the issue?

  And then he’d sat back and put on his shirt. And when she’d gotten dressed again, he’d pulled her into his arms and kissed her sweetly and asked what she wanted to do tomorrow night. There’d been no guilt, no pressure. She’d felt warm and safe and loved then.

  Just like she felt now.

  “Yes,” she told him. “I trust you.”

  “Good,” he said. He led her over to the massive king-size bed and said, “Lie down on your stomach.”

  Even though she couldn’t see him behind her blindfold, Leona cocked an eyebrow at him. “Please,” he added. She did as he requested. “Scoot a little more toward the middle,” he instructed. But he didn’t get on the bed, either.

  “When do I get to know what it is you’ve got planned with all these candles and this blindfold?”

  He chuckled. Then she felt the mattress shift as Byron kneed onto the bed. She could feel him getting closer, feel the warmth of his breath against her ear. “Very soon, babe. Don’t tell me the anticipation isn’t driving you crazy.”

  She shifted her hips, trying to take the pressure off the one place in particular where the anticipation was, in fact, driving her completely nuts. “All right, I won’t tell you then. I will tell you, however, that you’re being a tease.”

  She felt the bed shift under him as he moved. She couldn’t help it—she tensed. “I consider it turnabout for fair play. Do you know what it did to me to watch you for the past two weeks?” He straddled her legs and said, “Lotion,” which her brain hadn’t quite made sense of when suddenly there was warm liquid being slicked onto her bare back.

  She tensed. “Just massage lotion,” Byron repeated. There was a pause, then his strong hands began to work over her body.

  “This is what you wanted to do the other night?” she murmured into the pillows as he found a knot in her shoulders and began to rub. “Oh, that feels good.”

  “I did,” he said, his voice thick. “You’ve been pulling some long days and long nights and a three-minute shoulder rub didn’t seem enough. I wanted to take care of you.

  “You’ve changed,” he went on. “You were always so quiet, back when you started at the restaurant. For a hostess, you always seemed almost...afraid of people. Like you had to force yourself to smile at them. It was like you didn’t want to be noticed.”

  Leona relaxed under his touch. “I didn’t, at first. But you noticed me anyway.”

  “I did,” he agreed, attacking a particularly tight knot in her shoulders. She heard the click of the cap, then he applied more lotion. “I could see then that there was something else going on with you, under the surface. And these past few weeks? Watching you manage the construction and juggle everything? It’s been like...” Unexpectedly, he leaned forward and kissed her in the middle of the back. “It’s been like watching the woman I always knew was there finally emerging. You’re strong and confident and decisive. And I like it.”

  Oh, my. Even though she still had the silk tied around her eyes, she turned her head to look back at him. “You do?”

  This time, when he leaned down, his whole chest pressed against her back. He’d taken off his shirt, she realized when his bare skin came into full contact with hers. “I do. You were always different with me—you relaxed and you were sharp and snarky and I liked it. I liked you.” His hands moved over her arms, stretching them out against the bed. “But after a while, it hurt me to watch the woman I loved retreat behind that wall of willing invisibility. I wanted...” He sighed and pushed himself into a sitting position. This time, instead of kneading her shoulders, he trailed his fingers up and down her back in long, sure strokes. “I wanted you to be free enough to be yourself in the daylight, not just at night with me.”

  She had no reply for that. None at all. Was that how he’d seen her? Someone trapped behind a wall of subservience, someone dying to break free? She’d never thought of herself in those explicit terms—but had Byron been wrong? He’d been her first love, her first rebellion—and the reason she’d left behind a toxic home life when she couldn’t bear the thought of her father treating her baby like he treated everyone else.

 
“I didn’t have to be anyone else when I was with you,” she said in a quiet voice. “That’s why I couldn’t stay away from you.”

  Byron’s strong hands were suddenly stroking down until he found the waistband of her panties. He traced the edge for a moment before his hands moved to her thighs. Then he pushed his fingers under the thin cotton fabric. “I’m glad you couldn’t,” he said as he gripped her bottom.

  Leona sucked in air as he massaged her. There was something else in his touch, something that bordered on possessive. “Oh,” she moaned as he dug the pads of his fingers into her skin.

  She wasn’t sure she could relax, not with him working on her like this. The more he loosened up the muscles in her back, the more tense other things seemed to get. The tension inside of her coiled down, tighter and tighter, until she was having trouble keeping her hips still.

  Just when she was sure she couldn’t take much more, he scooted up. She could feel his erection now, pressing into her bottom, hot and hard and for her. She thought he’d do something else, but instead he went back to work on her shoulders.

  All she could do was moan when he hit a particularly tense spot. She let go of the stress of the past few weeks. Her body felt warm and limp under his touch.

  He moved again and she expected more oil, but instead he leaned down and kissed her in the middle of her upper back. “How are you doing?”

  “Better,” she whispered as his mouth moved lower and he trailed kisses down her spine.

  She didn’t know what he would do next and he was clearly in no hurry to do it. By the time he sat back up and his hands left her body again, she was on the verge of begging for release. Anything he wanted—loud, quiet—anything, as long as he made her come.

  When the oil dripped onto the backs of her legs, she jumped. “Easy,” he murmured, spreading the oil up her legs and under the edge of her panties. “I’m taking care of you.”

  “Byron,” she moaned, but she didn’t know if she was begging or not.

  His slick fingers moved in, stroking her sex until this time, she couldn’t lie still. She writhed against the bed, the release she needed so close but not there yet. “Please,” she moaned.

  “You like that?” he asked, his voice ragged as he stroked in and out.

  “Yes,” she whispered. He slipped a second finger inside of her and her hips bucked from the pressure. “Oh, Byron.”

  He pulled her panties to one side and kissed the skin he’d exposed. She couldn’t help the low moan that escaped her lips as he stroked and kissed her. She fisted her hands in the covers, desperate to hold herself down. “I can’t—I can’t,” she gasped out when he hit just the right spot. A sensation of light and heat shivered through her. The pressure was so good, so intense—she couldn’t take it. “Please, Byron. Please.”

  “Yeah,” he said gruffly. “You tell me what you want and let me do everything else. Let me take care of you.” Then he bit down on her bottom—not hard, but more than enough to send spikes of pleasure and pain crashing through her body. She moaned as her body writhed under his touch.

  “Tell me,” he said in a sterner voice.

  “I need you.” It came out almost as a squeak.

  She felt his teeth on her again, pushing those spikes of desire higher into her stomach. “Be specific.”

  If she hadn’t been so turned on, she would have laughed. Who could be specific at a time like this? But as it was, she could barely speak enough to say, “I need you inside of me.”

  Even though she couldn’t see him, she could feel his grin against her skin. “Wait a second—don’t move.”

  Then he pulled away from her—his body, his fingers, his hands. She didn’t want to lose his touch. But he’d told her not to move, so she didn’t.

  Then she heard a crinkle that she guessed went with the opening of a condom. “That’s a new one, right?”

  “Bought them yesterday. The massage lotion is compatible.”

  That made her smile. “You planned ahead.”

  “I can’t help it if I can’t stop thinking about you. Here.” The pillows around her head were pulled away. Then he guided her hips up and shoved the pillows underneath. His hands lingered on her skin. “Okay?”

  She couldn’t speak—she could only nod. He had her so turned on that it took everything she had to lie still and wait for his next touch.

  It came soon enough. He grabbed her panties and roughly yanked them down. Then he was against her. “I’m going to take good care of you, Leona,” was the last thing she heard him say before he thrust into her.

  She hadn’t allowed herself to miss this when he’d been gone. She hadn’t had the time to think back to the days when Byron would make love to her and it would take her away from everything—the stress of the late-night job, the tension at home, the fact that she was sleeping with the enemy.

  But now that she had him back, she turned those memories loose. They wove themselves around her, mingling with how Byron was gripping her hips, how he was thrusting in with hard, sure strokes. “Leona,” he groaned over and over again. “My Leona.”

  “Yes, yes,” was the only sound she could make. The noise hissed out of her with every thrust as Byron took her again and again. She was his—she always had been and she saw clearly now that she always would be.

  She couldn’t see him, but she could feel every single thing he was doing to her. The way his fingers dug into her skin, pulling her back into him. The way he filled her over and over, pushing her to the brink of orgasm without letting her fall down the other side. The grunting noises that built in pitch until he was nearly shouting her name.

  Then he relinquished his hold on her hips and fell forward onto her. His teeth scraped along her back but that feeling was quickly blotted out as he reached around and pressed against the hot little button of her sex. “Come for me,” he ordered, thrusting and pressing and nibbling until the tension in her body finally, finally snapped. Her muscles tightened almost to the point of pain as she screamed her orgasm into the bed.

  “Oh, God,” Byron grunted, slamming his hips against her twice more before freezing. “Oh, babe.”

  The orgasm left her completely wrung out and panting. Byron collapsed onto her, his chest hot against her back.

  “I want to see you,” she said in a shaky voice.

  The blindfold was pulled away. Even though the candlelight was dim, she still blinked. Then Byron slid off and pulled her into his arms. “Wasn’t too much, was it?” he murmured into her hair.

  “Just right,” she replied, curling against him and tracing small circles against his chest. Now that the orgasm and anticipation and massage had all run together, she was having trouble keeping her eyes open. They lay there for a few moments, the only sounds in the room the beating of their hearts and the occasional pop of a candle burning.

  He’d put her first. He’d taken care of her, just like he’d said he would. He hadn’t run screaming earlier when Percy melted down.

  Maybe...maybe this would work. Maybe she could marry him and they could be a family and he would love her. Maybe she should allow herself to hope that she’d get everything she ever wanted.

  And then he spoke and ruined it.

  “If only you’d been honest with me from the start,” he said with a heavy sigh, “it could have been like this for the past year. We would have found a way to make it work.”

  The insult was worse than any slap in the face. “If I’d been honest?”

  She was up and moving, off the bed and out the door before he could blink. “Leona? Hey—Leona!”

  But she was already out of the room, heading down the hall. “If you hadn’t left, Byron, maybe we could have made it work,” she said, knowing he was right behind her. “But you keep making this all my fault, and I’m not going to take it anymore. You’re always going to hold
that over my head like a sword, aren’t you? Because God forbid I try to make up for my mistakes. God forbid we try to get past it. I’ll always be the Harper who lied to you, won’t I?” With that, she slammed the door to her room and locked the lock.

  “For God’s sake, Leona,” he growled from the other side of the door. The door handle jiggled. “Damn it, Leona!” No doubt he thought that, because he’d bought the house he could walk right into any room he chose.

  “It’s fine. I’m fine. Thank you for the massage. Good night, Byron.”

  “I’m not done with you yet,” she heard him say on the other side of the door. “But we can talk in the morning. Get some sleep.”

  No, of course he wasn’t done with her.

  Yet.

  But he would be. Sooner or later, he would be.

  Fifteen

  When Leona’s phone rang, she was juggling an extremely fussy child, a fever-relieving liquid, some electrolyte solution, her wallet and...a pregnancy test.

  She was late. Byron hadn’t asked about her “schedule” since she’d moved into the house, but she was officially, seriously Late with a capital L.

  She glanced at her phone and saw that it was Byron. For the past few days, he’d been trying to apologize to her, but she wasn’t listening. She sent the call to voice mail, where it could join all the other messages he’d left her.

  Percy kicked it up to eleven and began to howl. The other people in line were giving her dirty looks, as if she’d made the baby cry on purpose. Ugh. She needed to get him home.

  She paid for her stuff, ignoring the clerk’s smirk between her, the pregnancy test and the screaming child, and then got Percy buckled into the car. At least they were only a few minutes from home, she thought as she got stuck at a light. Percy was not a happy camper back there. “Baby, it’s okay,” she tried to say in a soothing voice over the screaming. “We’ll go home and watch Grover and have something to drink, okay?”