by Anna DePalo
“Your sister seemed to have a similar reaction.”
“Yeah, but she’s in the business of being the scourge of society’s criminal element. You, on the other hand, are in the business of getting information however you can get it.”
“Not from Bentley Mathison,” she said sharply. Then added less stridently, “And since when are you befriending former criminals?”
“Hey, hey,” he said soothingly. “I didn’t say I like the guy. I just wasn’t going to create a scene when he approached me in the middle of a charity gala. Besides, he paid his debt to society by serving his prison sentence.”
She looked away. “Maybe there are other debts that are still outstanding.”
“What?” Noah asked.
Realizing she’d muttered aloud, she said, “Never mind. I don’t want to talk about it.” The last thing she wanted to do was give Noah Whittaker more personal information about herself.
He looked like he wanted to argue with her, but then he simply nodded.
They danced in silence. And, despite being distracted by the presence of Bentley Mathison, she felt an electric awareness course through her at Noah’s nearness. Being pressed against his muscular frame, she experienced a strange fluttery sensation in her midsection.
When the song ended, he guided her off the dance floor. “Now, let’s get back to you and Bentley Mathison.”
It took her a second to digest what he’d said, caught up as she still was in the sensation of having been held against him. She gave him a sidelong look. “There’s nothing to tell. It’s just too bad even a prison sentence doesn’t mean social disgrace anymore.”
He shrugged. “Maybe disgrace is in the eye of the beholder.”
“Too true,” she said, half to herself.
Just then she noticed Bentley Mathison was standing in their path along with his wife and another couple. If they continued walking on as they were, they’d be forced back into conversation with him, and from the looks of it, that’s what Mathison was hoping for.
She stopped and clutched Noah’s arm.
He looked down at her, a question in his eyes. “What?” He cut himself off as he looked up again and caught sight of Bentley Mathison.
Glancing back at her, he muttered, “All right, you want to come clean about this?”
She gave a small defeated nod. “But first get me out of here.” Her voice sounded strained to her own ears.
In a deft maneuver, he turned, pretended to recognize someone across the room, and half pulled, half dragged her along with him as he strode past several tables.
They were outside the tent within minutes, and she took a deep breath.
“You okay?” Noah asked, and she was surprised to see genuine concern etched on his face. “You look pale.”
“Fine…I’m fine.” She took another breath, then said in a rush, “Bentley Mathison is my biological father but he doesn’t know it.”
Noah raised his eyebrows, then stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Your secrets pack a punch, I’ll say that.”
“Sometimes I wish I didn’t have any.”
“Then why keep any?” he said.
She looked at him askance. “It’s not easy telling someone that my ancestry is one-quarter Cuban, one-quarter English, and one-half jerk.”
“You’re not the jerk. He is,” he said with conviction.
She was close to tears and wondering now what had possessed her to blurt out one of her most closely-held secrets. And to Noah, of all people! Why, all he had to do was relay that juicy tidbit to Sybil LaBreck and Kayla would be cooked, roasted over the open fire of the public’s flaming need for scandal.
As if reading her mind, Noah said, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone, and especially not Sybil LaBreck.” He looked around. “Let’s get out of here. I’ll take you home.”
“But we arrived only a short time ago.”
He took her arm. “You’re in no shape to go back in there and face Bentley and company, not to mention Buffy the Man Slayer. And, for the record, neither am I. Let’s go.”
“Thanks.” She was relieved he was taking charge, and surprised at his understanding.
She stole a glance at him. He was frowning and looking formidable. Yet, strangely, right this second, she found she liked him better than she ever had.
Noah flipped the light switch as they entered her apartment.
What a night. First, he’d been cornered by Buffy, then Sybil LaBreck had stopped him to ask irritating and probing questions about the true nature of his relationship with Kayla. She suspected all was not as it appeared, or at least as he’d been insisting publicly. He’d finally gotten rid of her with a dismissive comment.
And, to top off the evening, of course, he’d never have guessed Kayla was Bentley Mathison’s biological daughter.
No wonder she seemed to have issues with men. Particularly rich, to-the-mansion-born types, a class into which he fell.
What was it that her sister had started to say before being cut off? Something about Kayla’s dislike for him not being personal. After tonight, he understood why: Kayla’s issue was with all guys who bore a superficial similarity to Bentley Mathison.
Yet, the joke was on him. Because he’d been checking his symptoms and there was no doubt about it: he had a major case of lust for Kayla.
He watched as Kayla set her sequined purse on the table. With her back still to him, she lifted the hair from her neck and shook her head. He lapped up the view of her smooth, bare back before the curtain of sleek hair fell back into place.
He cleared his throat and she glanced back at him over her shoulder.
She looked doe-eyed and lost for a second. Her shoulders lowered. “Sorry, I’m being rude,” she murmured.
“I was just going to ask if you needed anything. A glass of wine, coffee.” Me.
He tamped down the well of lust that came unbidden with that last thought.
She forced a little laugh as she turned fully toward him. “Quite a role reversal. Those are things I should be asking you.”
He just looked at her. She was good to look at, her shoulders toned in the top that she wore, her breasts round and full and her calves shapely beneath her longish skirt.
She broke the awkward silence by starting toward him. “I’ll just get us both a drink. How’s that?”
“Yeah, sure.”
He should have moved back. Instead, he let her brush by him on the way to the kitchen.
The effect was electric. On him, anyway. Had he imagined the quiver that had gone through her?
He shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from grabbing and kissing her. Instead, he watched as she poured him a scotch on the rocks.
She set it on the kitchen counter near him. “There you go,” she said without glancing at him.
Had she been afraid to touch him? He couldn’t tell because she refused to look up.
He took the drink, then walked into the living room as he heard her open and close the refrigerator. He took a sip, felt the burn, then loosened his tie with one hand before raking his hair.
He felt more than heard her enter and turned to look at her. She came toward him, all cool Grace Kelly allure dressed up as 1950s bombshell, her stiletto heels clicking on the wood floor before hitting the area rug in front of the couch.
She held up her glass. “Cranberry juice with a splash of vodka.” She clinked her glass to his. “Cheers.”
A smile pulled at his lips. “Feeling reckless, are we?”
“Hmm.” She shrugged. “Aren’t you the expert on living dangerously?”
He took another sip, regarding her through narrowed eyes. “If I lived dangerously, I wouldn’t be standing over here and you wouldn’t be standing over there.”
She smiled, a gleam in her eyes. “But I’m only inches away.”
“Exactly.” Tonight, it seemed, was the night for her to confront all the disreputable males in her life: her biological father, him. “Let’s get to the bottom of what t
his is about, okay? Running into Bentley Mathison threw you for a loop.”
“Mmm.” She licked her lips.
He forced his mind to stay on topic.
She walked away. “So boring. Can we talk about something else?” She sat on the couch, crossed her legs and patted the seat next to her. “I don’t understand how you got your reputation as a great seducer when you use lovely conversation starters like deadbeat, jailbird fathers.”
He was tempted to show her just how he’d gotten his reputation, but her current performance could have rivaled Buffy the Man Slayer’s. And, that’s exactly what it was: a performance. She was playing the seductress—did she realize how naturally the role came to her?—intent on conquering him, the great seducer.
He swirled his drink. “Tell me how your mother fell under the spell of the great Bentley Mathison.”
Kayla wrinkled her nose, then took a sip from her glass. The reckless gleam hadn’t disappeared from her eyes. “It’s a tragedy in three parts. I like comedies better, don’t you?”
“How does act one begin?”
She heaved a sigh. “Act one begins with a young woman from a close-knit family going off to college on a scholarship.”
“Your mother?”
“Mmm-hmm. She gets a summer job at a financial services firm. Happily, it pays well and will help with the rest of her college bills. One of the partners takes a liking to her.”
“Bentley.”
“Yes, and reportedly quite the smooth operator even when he was younger.”
“So,” he guessed, “the summer intern proceeds to get pregnant by said partner, basking in the thrill of his attention.”
“Yes, that would be act two.” She swirled her drink.
“You’re too smart not to know act three.”
“He refuses to have anything to do with her,” he said flatly.
“Right,” she confirmed, her tone harsh. “You see, Bentley was about to become engaged to the daughter of a well-connected financier. Of course, a connection like that was going to make his career.”
“What happened to your mother?”
“Well, she was too afraid to tell anyone about the affair at first. Who would have believed her? Bentley had encouraged her to keep their relationship under wraps in order not to raise eyebrows at the office.”
She shook her head, then went on. “But eventually she told her family. They took her in. She dropped out of school for a time to have the baby. With her family’s help, though, she finally finished her degree.”
“And your sister?”
“Well, there’s the happy postscript.” She put down her drink on the end table. “Several years on, the woman meets a man who’s her soul mate. They fall in love and marry. He adopts her child and, later, they have a daughter together.”
“Understood,” he said, “except for one small detail.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m not Bentley,” he said deliberately.
“I never said you were.”
“No, but you act like it.”
She uncrossed her legs and stood up, armor in place.
“I get enough pop psychology from Samantha.”
He wasn’t letting her off the hook. “I got it wrong, didn’t I?”
“Got what wrong?”
He shook his head and set his glass down, then let his gaze rake over her. “I’m not the favorite whipping boy of your column because you’re secretly attracted to playboys. Just the opposite, in fact. Players remind you of your biological father, so you’re determined to rake them over the coals.”
She tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Believe what you want. You don’t know me.”
He sauntered closer. “Of course, that’s too bad for me,” he mused. “I prefer the story about your secret attraction to playboys.”
She threw up her hands in exasperation and he caught her chin in his hand.
The air went out of her and her eyes widened. “What are you doing?” she said, stumbling over the words.
“Putting you to the test,” he muttered, his gaze focused on her mouth.
“W-what test?”
“You know, the one where you prove that, unlike your mother, you can’t be taken in and seduced by the cads of the world.”
He raised his eyes to look into her stormy brown ones, and then he kissed her.
Seven
The second Noah’s lips touched Kayla’s, she felt herself yield. His kiss this time was not a fleeting brush, but a command. It took her breath away and her mouth opened under the pressure of his soft, coaxing lips.
He took the kiss deeper, his hands stroking up and down her arms, forcing her to deal with the emotions roiling inside her, forcing her to deal with him.
He was so wrong about her. She didn’t write about him in her column because she had an ax to grind with player types who reminded her of Bentley Mathison.
If she wrote about Noah in her column, it was only because he led the type of glitzy private life that people liked to read about. Nothing more, except perhaps her own prejudice against someone whose glamorous and charmed life seemed so far from the everyday concerns of an average person like her.
She supposed he expected her to push him away now and break their kiss. Instead, she slid her arms around his neck.
She met him kiss for kiss.
She wasn’t going to run away from his challenge. She’d seen the way he’d looked at her tonight. He’d eaten her up with his eyes. No, Noah was far from immune to her, and she knew she had good odds of being the seducer rather than the seduced.
His arm snaked around her and pulled her flush up against him. He was all hard planes and muscles, big and male. And aroused, she thought, as a shiver went through her.
He lifted his head and sucked in a breath. His gaze was hot and intent. “You’re weakening,” he said, his voice raspy and hoarse with sexual excitement.
“So are you.” She sounded breathless.
“Just the invitation I needed,” he murmured.
“It wasn’t an invitation. It was a warning.”
He laughed softly and nuzzled her temple, then trailed whisper-light kisses along the side of her face.
“I’m a risk taker, remember?”
He blew lightly into her ear and she shuddered. She felt sensitized to his every move.
He kissed and then sucked on her earlobe before nibbling along her neck. One hand was splayed on her bare upper back; the other had gone to cup her backside, nestling her closer to his arousal.
Her head fell back to afford him better access and she closed her eyes. It was becoming harder to tell who was the seducer and who the seduced as they both became caught up in the moment.
Only when light fingers of cool air caressed her did she realize he’d lowered the zipper on her halter top, which now gaped around her to reveal her strapless black bra.
She sought his gaze.
His face was flushed, his gaze taking her in. “You’re beautiful.” He trailed his fingers along the satiny fabric of the bra. “Sexy. Like a Christmas package just waiting to be unwrapped.”
Her breasts felt hot, heavy and tight under his hungry gaze, and a quivery warmth settled in her middle.
Then he was kissing her again, and she soon discovered that, not only was it unclear who was seducing whom, but it no longer seemed to matter.
All that did matter was that he continue to do wickedly pleasurable things to her. Because she wanted him with an intensity that surprised her.
When he’d finished unhooking her bra, he broke their kiss and sat on the edge of the couch behind him to kiss and nuzzle her breasts.
She ran her fingers through his hair, which felt soft, thick and inviting, and caressed his thigh, which felt hard and sinewy, the muscles bunched.
She moaned as he laved one nipple and then blew softly on it, sending all her nerve endings into overdrive in the process.
“Noah…”
“Shh,” he said. “Don’t think. J
ust feel.”
He moved to her other breast, repeating his attention, as she shuddered against him.
It was too much and not enough.
Finally, he lifted his head. “You’ve got the most beautiful breasts I’ve ever seen,” he said thickly. He traced the edge of one nipple, then the curve of her breast until she wanted to moan in response. “They’re full but firm and uptilted. The nipples are tight and hot. Gorgeous.”
His words sent heat coursing through her veins, arousing her even more. She tugged at his tuxedo tie until it hung loose and undone. “Let me see you.”
Her hands went to the buttons of his shirt, while he shrugged out of his tux jacket. Once he’d gotten rid of his jacket and shirt, he pulled his white undershirt over his head and she was greeted by the sight of his smooth chest with its flat abs and defined muscles.
“Tit for tat. We’re even,” he said, his voice husky.
She ran her hands over his biceps, then trailed them over his chest. “You’re in fantastic shape.”
“I try even with my work schedule,” he murmured back, cupping her face and drawing her down to him.
He kissed her deeply, giving her his tongue again and again, his hands on her breasts, then caressing her back, and then hiking her skirt so she could straddle his bent leg.
She moaned, her fingers tangling in his hair.
On and on, it went. Their movements more feverish, the slide of his leg against the juncture of her thighs sending her higher and higher while the brush of her leg against his arousal brought him more fully erect.
Finally, when she thought she could stand no more, he lifted his head and gazed at her. “I want you. Badly.”
She shook her head, sanity returning with a thunk. “We can’t.” She started to pull away but he held firm. “We shouldn’t even have kissed! I’m writing an article about your company. I need to remain impartial.” Not to mention the fact that she had an absolute rule against casual flings; they just didn’t agree with the women in her family.
He grimaced. “Believe me, I don’t think you’ve shown any problem remaining impartial where I was concerned in the past.”
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me tonight.”
