by Joanne Rock
As he strode out of their suite, she hoped he would hurry.
If this trip was the only time they had together, she wanted it to be perfect.
Ten
He only left the room for fifteen minutes to tuck in César.
Jean-Pierre kissed his sleeping son’s head, ensured the baby and his nanny had everything they needed and then double-checked the status of their bags. Because he didn’t want someone knocking on his door in half an hour to deliver them, he waited just long enough to secure the luggage personally and have it brought up with him. Impatient as hell, he tipped the young man generously to make sure they weren’t disturbed until he called downstairs, but he put in an advance order with the kitchen to have a few of Tatiana’s favorites ready upon request later.
After a deep bracing breath, he opened the door to the bedroom he would be sharing with Tatiana.
The air left his lungs twice as fast.
Considering how briefly he’d left the room, he was surprised at the transformation when he returned. Not that he’d devoted even two seconds checking out the décor when they’d arrived. He’d been too busy trying not to devour Tatiana whole.
But when he’d been in the suite before, there hadn’t been any seductive Spanish guitar music gently playing from hidden speakers. And he wouldn’t have missed candlelight flickering through the open archway that led to the bedroom. The warm golden glow was the only thing that illuminated the space, though a smaller candle burned on top of the wet bar close to the entrance. The windows had been thrown open—though the heavy wooden blinds remaining closed—so that a fresh gulf breeze drifted through the slats, gently stirring the sheer white curtains draping the corners of a wrought-iron four-poster bed.
He could see the bed now as he was drawn deeper into the suite to see what other surprises the night—and Tatiana—had in store.
“I hope you don’t mind the candles.” Tatiana emerged from behind a decorative screen made of colorful serapes that had been stretched to fit tall, rectangular frames.
Her feet were bare, her beautiful dark hair loose around her shoulders as she brushed it, one slow seductive sweep at a time. She wore a white linen nightgown that bared her shoulders and just covered her knees. He’d seen her wear something just like it once before, when he’d thrown stones at her bedroom window as a teenager to get her attention and she’d opened the sash to lean out.
He couldn’t decide if seeing her this way was like seeing his teenage fantasy come to life.
Or like taking a bride to his bed.
Both thoughts rattled him, but for far different reasons. “Tatiana?”
“You have to ask?” She laughed softly, setting aside the silver-backed hairbrush, although she didn’t step any closer. “I can switch on a real light if you need one. It’s just that candlelight is a postpartum woman’s best friend. More flattering, you know?” she rambled, obviously nervous. “My body has been through a lot since the last time you saw it.”
Ruthlessly, he tamped down his own lust to dial into what she was saying.
“You look so damn beautiful I can’t even find words,” he said and meant it. Every. Damn. Word.
He took a step toward her, the movement so carefully measured he probably looked like a robot.
But it was that, or risk a diving tackle that would get them both horizontal as fast as possible and...yeah. Not happening. He needed to remember she’d had a baby recently. And yes, he wanted to savor every moment of being with her again.
Another step brought him close enough to touch her. He skimmed a light caress up her arms, circling around the tops of her shoulders and slipping his thumbs just barely under the wide straps of the nightgown until a shiver ran through her.
“Thank you for understanding.” She lifted her palms to his chest and smoothed them down the front of his shirt. She hesitated at the bottom, but soon she walked two fingers beneath the fabric to hook into the waistband of his trousers. “It’s hard to think about being with you when you work so hard to hone and refine your body every day for football and I just—”
“You used yours for the most important thing in the world. No comparison.” He wasn’t even listening to that line of discussion. His touch fell to her belly through the soft linen. “If we’d been together while César grew inside you, I would have told you every day how amazing you were to do that. And I am certain you were every bit as beautiful.”
Her lips curved in a smile, bringing a sparkle to her green eyes.
“But since we weren’t together during those months—” she arched up on her toes to whisper in his ear “—I’ve had a long time to miss your touch.”
A groan vibrated through him, the hunger tougher to restrain when she said things like that. Especially now that her palm raked over his abs and around to the small of his back, and delectable breasts pressed against his chest.
Seized by the need to lie with her, he plucked her off her feet and cradled her in his arms, carrying her to the high bed. He climbed onto the soft down mattress, the feather stuffing flattening under his knees as he shifted his weight to make her more comfortable.
He wanted to take his time. To square the pillow beneath her head and smooth her hair from her shoulders. To breathe kisses along her collarbone and up the creamy arch of her neck. But she was already making quick work of the buttons on his shirt, skimming the fabric off his shoulders until he had no choice but to ease it to the floor beside the bed.
“We have to go slow,” he reminded her. “Be careful.”
“I can’t go slow.” She shook her head, sending dark curls wriggling on the pale sheets. “I need you. I need this.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.” Grinding his teeth as she pressed a kiss along his jaw, he hoped he had the fortitude to ensure he was careful with her.
Six weeks ago she’d delivered a baby. And although she looked more beautiful than ever, and she’d kissed him with enough heat to scorch the sheets, he would make damn sure he took care of her.
“You won’t hurt me.” She twisted her leg so that her foot stroked up his calf, the movement causing her thigh to shift against his, her hips cradling the hard length of him against her softness.
“Tatiana.” He had to close his eyes against another heated rush of longing. Hunger.
“Please,” she whispered in his ear, nipping the lobe before she licked it with a deft swipe of her tongue. “For a little while, I just want to be a woman and not a mother.”
Her confession called to the most elemental need and he tunneled his hands beneath the nightgown to touch her naked body. Hips, waist, breasts. He reacquainted himself with her curves in long, possessive strokes over her skin.
The touch unleashed something in her, a reserve that she was only too glad to set aside, her kisses growing more fevered.
Rolling her on top of him, he skimmed the gown up and off of her, her dark hair falling all around him and veiling their kiss in curls. He cupped her breasts, heavier than they’d been the last time, but the tips tightened just the way he remembered.
With the lemony scent of her hair in his nose and the golden glow of candlelight flickering over her creamy skin, he could have explored her body all night long. But he didn’t want to wear her out. Instead, he flipped her to her back on the thick feather bed and proceeded to give her what she’d asked for.
Because it would be his intense pleasure to make her feel like a woman.
“Jean-Pierre?” Tatiana blinked up at him as he stretched out over her, his powerful body making her feel tiny beneath him despite the extra weight the pregnancy had left behind.
Shirtless, he was a mouthwatering sight. But the fact that his mouth trailed kisses lower and lower down her newly curvier body made her self-conscious no matter what he spouted about her beauty. Her stretch marks looked like white vines had a stra
nglehold on her hips.
“Too late to change your mind,” he warned her, his breath fanning over her belly as he spoke. “I’m on a mission.”
His tongue swirled into the hollow of her navel, sending pleasurable shivers across her skin along with a rush of heat between her legs. Even seeing his strong shoulders pinning her thighs to the bed was enough to hurtle her affection-starved body toward release.
“I didn’t know you would embrace the task so, er...wholeheartedly.” She’d had visions of the missionary position. Lovely, fulfilling visions where she could simply close her eyes and lose herself in the feel of all that male strength around and inside her. “Did I mention I’m feeling self-conscious?”
He trailed kisses to one hip and then the other, peering up at her with dark eyes as he licked her. Thoroughly.
“For a little while tonight, you’re not a mother.” He parroted her words, punctuating them with a kiss on the waistband of her simple cotton bikini panties. “You’re a sexy, tantalizing woman.” His teeth latched onto the elastic enough to edge them lower on her hip, before his hands slid them off completely. “My woman.”
The kiss centered between her thighs was her undoing.
A gasp caught in her throat, the feel of his mouth administering wicked pleasure an experience too good to be tainted with hesitation. Her eyes slid closed, her body melting at his touch. His kiss.
She lost herself utterly, her brain latching on to the sensation of his fingers gripping her hips and his mouth teasing a response from her body faster than she would have imagined possible.
Her release hit her hard, coming in wave after wave of pleasure. He cupped her with his palm, capturing her release and helping her to ride out each heady spasm.
By the time she dared to slide open her eyes, he was already off the bed and undressing the rest of the way. Grateful she hadn’t missed the sight of him naked, she savored the burnished gold of his muscles in the candlelight, his back tapering to narrow hips and strong thighs.
Reaching a languid hand out to touch him, she met his dark gaze and shivered anew. The satisfaction that weighted her limbs and curled in her belly was a release he hadn’t found yet—a release he’d delayed for her sake. Even as she appreciated his restraint, she wanted desperately to distract him from his methodical seduction. He deserved the kind of passion that had taken hold of them ten and a half months ago like a fever in their blood.
Infused with new purpose, she levered herself up on an elbow and then to her knees, shuffling over to the edge of the bed where he stood. The glitter of frank male interest in his eyes gratified her, his gaze traveling all over her more generous curves in a way that gave her as much confidence as she could have ever wanted. She twined her arms around his neck and aligned their bodies again, her breasts molding to the hard planes of his pectorals.
With a growl of approval, he banded his arms around her, fitting them together tighter. Harder. Her heart rate sped up as the kiss became more demanding, his fingers spearing into her hair to cup the back of her head, angling her to receive the lush thrust of his tongue.
Lowering her to the bed, he followed her down, one hard thigh claiming the space between hers. He took a condom from the nightstand; he must have left it there when he shed his clothes.
“I’ve got it.” Peering out of the corner of her eye, she took the condom from him. “I don’t want you to stop touching me for even a second.” Fingers fumbling, she opened the foil package and reached to roll the condom into place.
“Wait.” He manacled her wrist with an immovable grip, surprising her. “Your touch could be the end of me.” Releasing his hold, he took the condom back. “Let me.”
Touched to learn she could affect him like that—this man who had groupies, for pity’s sake—she caressed his bristle-roughened jaw and peered into his eyes once he had the protection in place.
Tenderness for him, for all that they’d shared, filled her chest. There’d been a time when she’d been certain she’d lose her virginity to him. A time when she’d dreamed of it in detail—repeatedly.
“Are you okay?” His question brought her back to the moment. Unwilling to let her runaway emotions spoil this, she brushed his dark hair from his forehead.
“I’ll be better with you inside me,” she told him honestly, needing more of the fulfillment only he could bring.
His gaze narrowed, becoming heavy-lidded with sensual focus. Lowering his mouth to her breast, he teased one tight peak with slow, circling kisses while his fingers dipped between her thighs to play in the slick heat he found there.
Her throaty moan must have encouraged him because he wasted no time positioning himself between her legs. He whispered seductive encouragement in her ear, cradling her close as he entered her. But she felt too good to go slow and, arching her hips, took more of him.
He exercised that iron grip again, holding her there for a long moment, but whether it was for his sake or her own, she couldn’t say. All she knew was that it felt perfect, sharing her body with him and sharing this undeniable heat and chemistry that had never really died between them.
Eventually, he moved within her, finding a rhythm that drove them both to the brink and beyond. As she hurtled toward release, she felt him find his, the hot surge of him inside her driving her higher.
The moment went on and on as they clutched each other in the big feather bed, clinging until every last wave of pleasure had been exhausted. Only then did they fall into each other’s arms in the candlelight, allowing the cool gulf breeze to soothe their overheated bodies.
They didn’t speak much, but the way he stroked his hand up and down her spine made her feel cherished even if he would never say such a thing. Here, in this bed, there was a connection they’d never been able to form anywhere else.
For now, she didn’t want to jinx it. Didn’t want to wake up and find that they were back to being at odds again. So with her head tucked against Jean-Pierre’s chest, she closed her eyes and wished the night didn’t have to end.
Eleven
Two days later, Tatiana was as nervous as a bride and it wasn’t even her wedding.
The Mitras royal family had arrived at the Tides Ranch the day before, to much fanfare since even the employees of the Reynaud family—who’d seen plenty of celebrities come and go at their elite homes all over the world—were not immune to the draw of royalty. Despite confidentiality agreements and strict rules governing their conduct, everyone from ranch hands to caterers had cell phones out to record the procession of platinum-haired princesses and their elegant parents.
A king and queen.
Tatiana had watched from her suite’s private balcony the day before. Curled in Jean-Pierre’s lap while César snoozed in a bassinet nearby, she’d been tempted to snap some photos herself.
She had refrained then, but she’d given in to the impulse to capture a few candids the morning of the wedding while she assisted with last-minute preparations. She’d been helping Jean-Pierre’s cousin Kimberly thread bright red hibiscus flowers into a graceful willow arch that would frame the bride and groom during their vows when she’d noticed one of the island’s luxury buses rumbling past with wedding guests newly flown in. Unlike the Reynauds, these newest arrivals had landed directly on the island’s runway since Gervais and Erika had decided they didn’t need the same kind of privacy safeguards this close to the event.
It was too late now. No paparazzi photographer would have the resources to follow the Reynaud private planes before the ceremony began.
“I can’t imagine marrying royalty,” Kimberly remarked as she dragged over another bucket of hibiscus blooms.
Tatiana had noticed in their short stay that the woman was a hands-on manager of the property, as comfortable greeting guests and riding horses as she was feeding the goats that provided natural weed control on the self-sustaining
eco-island. Tatiana admired her commitment to this being an environmentally friendly ranch, right down to the solar-powered cell-phone tower.
“Really?” She stepped back and took a photo of their handiwork to see how it looked on camera. “I always think of the Reynauds as a sort of American royalty, between the wealth, the global connections and the fame.”
Kimberly laughed while Tatiana studied her photos and made adjustments.
“Seriously?” The other woman shook her head, peering over Tatiana’s shoulder to see how the arch looked on the screen. “I guess the Texas Reynauds are less famous because we don’t play football. And since I spend most of my time negotiating with stubborn goats as opposed to negotiating big business deals, I guess I don’t see myself as more than a rancher’s daughter.” Squinting at the thumbnail images on Tatiana’s phone, Kimberly pointed to one. “Can I see the rest of your pictures? Some of those Hurricane players are so cute.”
“Sure.” She passed the device to Jean-Pierre’s cousin and straightened a few of the chairs set up for the outdoor ceremony. “But you are far too modest, Kimberly. Anyone can see you make an incredible contribution to the family’s cruise ship business by having the Tides as a featured stop on the itineraries. You keep the tourist dollars coming, plus you have an opportunity to educate a huge number of people on the advantages of eco-farming. That must be fulfilling.”
“My father doesn’t see it that way.” Kimberly lowered herself to one of the folding chairs decorated with a length of ice-blue tulle. “He doesn’t care about the dollars that funnel into the cruise ship business. He just sees the Tides as a sorry excuse for a ranch compared to the five-thousand-acre spread he oversees.”
Tatiana rolled her eyes sympathetically. “That I can empathize with. My father is more interested in my contribution to my law firm’s billable hours than my happiness.” With a pang, she realized how little he’d said to her about the birth of her son. And while she realized it had been a shock to him at the time, she would have appreciated a call or a note since then.
