Dynasties: The Elliotts, Books 1-6

by Various Authors

  Tearing his mouth away, he breathed heavily against her cheek. “Bedroom. Now.”

  “Yes.”

  Bending slightly, he lifted her into his arms and strode with purpose across the living room. He knew the layout of her apartment as well as she did. Not surprising, since he’d bought the building for her three years ago, after an accident on stage had damaged her knee and ended her career as a showgirl on the Las Vegas Strip. Her dance studio was downstairs, and she lived above.

  Cullen lived in New York, working hard for Snap—one of his family’s many successful magazine ventures—but he visited Nevada as often as possible. And whenever he was in town, he spent the night with her…in her bed.

  She lived for those nights. Waited for them, craved them, even though everything inside her told her it was wrong.

  He was five years her junior, his family—the Elliotts—one of the wealthiest and most prominent in New York. They couldn’t have been more different if they’d been born in opposite hemispheres.

  But from the moment she’d seen him, standing backstage after one of her nightly performances, there had been something about him. Something that drew her, kept her connected to him no matter how many times she told herself they should call off their blazing red-hot affair.

  Reaching the edge of the bed, Cullen laid her on the mattress and followed her down, covering her body with his own.

  “I love this,” he said, fingering the black fabric that barely covered her from chest to thigh. “But it has to go. I want you naked.”

  “You’re the boss,” she told him with a small smile.

  One side of his mouth quirked up in sensual amusement as his fingers slipped beneath the teddy’s spaghetti straps, sliding them over her shoulders and down her arms. She moved to allow him to uncover her breasts and pull the garment down past her hips and thighs.

  His beautiful blue eyes seared through her like laser beams. He openly admired her breasts, her belly, the triangular area between her legs hidden behind a swatch of black lace.

  Rising up from the bed, she helped him remove the lingerie completely. He tossed it aside, returning his attention to her bare, curvaceous form.

  She wiggled anxiously, wanting to touch him. Wanting him to touch her.

  “You’re overdressed,” she told him, grabbing the end of his tie and giving it a tug. The action brought him several inches closer, until their noses nearly touched.

  His chest rose and fell with his harsh breathing and she took a moment to run her hands over the wide planes of his pectoral muscles before her fingers moved up to the knot at his throat.

  She loosened the tie, taking her time pulling the length of silk free of his pristine white collar. Then she went to work on the buttons of his shirt, slipping them through their holes one by one. When she reached the bottom, she tugged the tails out of the waistband of his slacks, revealing his smooth, tanned chest and six-pack abs.

  She swallowed, overwhelmed by the sheer perfection of Cullen’s toned build. He’d mentioned once that he worked out several times a week in the company gym of Elliott Publication Holdings (EPH).

  And she reaped the benefits.

  Pushing the soft cotton off his shoulders, she pitched the shirt in the direction of her discarded negligee. Next came his belt, unbuckled and pulled through the loops of his pants. When her painted, manicured nails dipped behind the button at his waist, he sucked in a breath, sending his stomach rippling.

  “I hope you’re enjoying yourself,” he said through gritted teeth, “because I fully intend to repay the favor.”

  “Uh-oh. I’m in real trouble, then, because I am enjoying myself. Very much.”

  She flicked the button of his trousers open with her thumb, creating even more space for her fingers to delve and explore. The heat of his body—so close to the throbbing, insistent center of him—enveloped her, soaking through her skin and down into her soul.

  With the backs of her fingers brushing over the sprinkling of hair leading downward from his navel, Misty used the heel of her hand to push the zipper down. Slowly, the individual snicks echoed through the room.

  Cullen held his breath, the sensations she was creating were almost too much to bear. Each click of the zipper teeth separating seemed to reverberate through his bones, his teeth, his rigid, straining shaft.

  He’d been half-hard all day, anticipating the moment when he could tie up his Snap business in Vegas and sneak away to make love to Misty. The things she was doing to him now didn’t help matters, either. His blood was boiling, his head pounding. Much more, and he thought he might implode.

  She was amazing. Every time they were together, it was like fireworks on the Fourth of July. Hot, vibrant, spectacular. He was surprised they hadn’t set the sheets on fire years ago.

  If he told anyone, even his brother, how Misty made him feel in bed, they would have given him one of those sly, knowing looks and said, “Sure. She used to be a showgirl. What do you expect?”

  But it was more than that, because as explosive as they were in the bedroom, they worked just as well out of it. He wanted to make love to her as often as his schedule and physical endurance would allow, but he was equally happy to sit on the sofa with her and watch a movie or pick at day-old Chinese takeout.

  That’s what no one would have understood. What he didn’t particularly understand himself.

  The zipper reached its end and Misty dipped her entire hand into his pants, into his briefs to circle his pulsating length. His diaphragm seized, and his nostrils flared as he fought to pull air into his lungs. She stroked him, squeezed him, teased him until he wanted to scream.

  “Enough.” Before he lost it to her fingers instead of inside her where he most wanted to be, he grabbed her wrist and extracted her hand from his trousers. In a few jerky moves, he kicked off his shoes, socks, pants and underwear.

  Once he was naked, he climbed onto the bed, pushing her to her back as he straddled her thighs. Bracing his weight on his arms, he leaned forward and took her mouth the way he’d fantasized all through the long flight from New York.

  She responded as she always did—passionately, with her whole heart and soul. Her arms wrapped around his neck and he sank down on top of her, luxuriating in the feel of her soft breasts pillowed against his chest.

  Shifting beneath him, she somehow maneuvered so that his legs were no longer bracketing her. Instead, hers were now locked at the small of his back. He could feel her heels digging into his buttocks the same as her nails were digging into his shoulders.

  He liked it. Maybe too much. Although, with Misty, it didn’t seem to be a case of too much, but never enough.

  Tugging at her bottom lip with his teeth, he broke their earth-shattering kiss and blazed a hot, damp trail down her body. He skimmed the slope of her throat, the rise of one breast, stopping to explore the tight bud of her nipple. He circled the areola with his tongue, then closed his mouth over the tip and began to suckle.

  Misty writhed beneath him, making those sexy little mewling sounds in her throat that drove him crazy.

  All day, he’d imagined the things he would do to her once he could break away and get to her apartment…the things she would do to him. But now that he was here with her, both of them naked and mindless and desperate, he didn’t think he had the patience for any of them. He was hard and throbbing and simply wanted to sink himself inside her, then stay that way forever.

  Lifting his head, he gazed down at her, chest heaving, blood rushing through his veins like a forest fire.

  “I can’t wait,” he grated. “I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

  And then he was thrusting inside her, buried to the hilt. Their gasps mingled as sensations washed over them, the friction almost too much to bear.

  “Cullen,” Misty panted, her fingers raking across his back, sure to leave marks. “Wait. We didn’t use protection.”

  For a second, her words didn’t make sense. He could barely hear her over the rushing in
his ears. She felt amazing, so warm and wet and tight around him. Better than ever, if that was even possible.

  Then suddenly what she was trying to tell him sank in.

  He’d forgotten the condom. Dammit.

  He pulled out immediately, shaking his head in disbelief. “I’m sorry, Misty. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve never been that careless before, I swear.”

  She smiled gently, wiggling out from under, then turned over and shimmied across the lavender coverlet toward the nightstand. “It’s all right. I’m sure we caught the mistake in time. I don’t think there’s any need to worry.”

  He didn’t reply, but hoped to hell she was right. It wasn’t like him to forget something as important and ingrained as protection.

  His eyes remained glued to her bare back, bottom and legs while she opened the top drawer of the bedside table, rooting around for a loose foil packet.

  Such a close call should have cooled his ardor. Should have, but didn’t. His mouth was still dry with wanting her.

  She came back, crawling the few feet to the end of the bed, the shiny square held up between two fingers. “Got it,” she said, her grin widening triumphantly.

  Tearing one edge open with her teeth, she removed the latex circle and tossed away the empty wrapper. His eyes were riveted to her slim fingers as she held the condom lightly in both hands and slid it competently—mind-numbingly—down his rigid length.

  He held his breath the entire time, afraid that if he moved, if he didn’t hold completely, absolutely still, he would lose control and embarrass himself. His abdomen was concave with the effort not to inhale, his arms and legs shaking with the desire to reach out, topple her to the bed and simply take her. Ravish her.

  She brought out the animal in him, no question. With any other woman, he would have tried to temper his response, hold back his natural instincts. But with Misty, he could do anything and know she was right there with him. Her passions matched his own, and she was daring enough to try anything once.

  “Two seconds,” he rasped, clenching his fists to keep from grabbing her.

  Her brows drew together in confusion.

  “That’s how long you’ve got before I lose my patience and take over.”

  “Uh-oh. I guess I’d better make the most of the time I have left.”

  Rather than backing off, she drifted closer until they were thigh to thigh, chest to chest. She placed an openmouthed kiss on his chin, nipping lightly with her teeth as her lips slid away.

  “One,” she murmured.

  Her fingers wrapped around the base of his erection and she gave a little squeeze, sending pleasure skyrocketing through every cell and nerve ending of his body.

  “Two.”

  Before she could count to three or do anything else that threatened to send him over the edge, he grasped her wrists, lifted them above her head and leaned forward, toppling them both to the mattress. They bounced slightly, and Cullen found Misty’s brief giggle infectious.

  Still grinning, he crushed his mouth down on hers, at the same time running his palms down her body, over her arms, breasts, waist, hips. When he reached her thighs, he nudged them apart and settled more securely, hovering just above her feminine warmth.

  With a single forward thrust, he sank inside, then froze, waiting for the ripple effect of the nearly knee buckling sensations to subside. His heart pounded hard in his chest, threatening to break through his rib cage.

  Beneath him, Misty squirmed and moaned, raking her nails across his back and tilting her hips in an effort to drive him even deeper. He didn’t think it was possible, but he was happy to let her try.

  Bending her knees, she hugged his waist with her legs, and he began to move. At first his strokes were long and slow, as he took his time to enjoy the clasping heat of her moist sheath. But after only a minute or two, he knew he wouldn’t last and began to increase his pace.

  “Yes. Cullen, yes.”

  Misty’s soft voice, mewling in his ear, sent flames licking through his bloodstream, heading straight for his groin.

  “Misty.” He breathed her name like a prayer, nipping at the tender spot between her neck and shoulder.

  She cried out, arching her back and clenching around him as the waves of orgasm washed over her. He pumped his hips. Harder, once. Faster, twice. Stars burst behind his closed eyelids and he gave a guttural groan as everything inside him exploded.

  “I should go.”

  Cullen’s chest rumbled with the softly spoken words, jostling her awake just as she’d begun to drift off. She lay snuggled in his arms, her head on his shoulder, one arm draped across his stomach.

  Stifling a sigh, she pushed away from him and sat up, keeping the sheet clutched above her breasts. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she watched him sit up on the edge of the bed, then move around the room retrieving his clothes.

  This was the part of their time together that she liked the least—when Cullen had to leave. He didn’t always come over just to sleep with her and then take off. Sometimes he spent the night and they would have breakfast together in the morning. Once in a while, he even stayed for a few days and they would do normal everyday things together like watch television or take a walk in the park.

  But no matter how long they were together, she hated to see him go. It made her heart hurt and emphasized the charade that was their relationship.

  They were having an affair, that was all. They were never going to end up together, with a house and kids and a minivan in the driveway.

  For one thing, she wasn’t the minivan type. She was an ex-showgirl with bigger dreams and better taste. If she hadn’t fallen on stage and ruined her knee three years ago, she would still be dancing in one of the flashy casinos on the Las Vegas Strip.

  For another, Cullen wasn’t the marrying type. He was twenty-seven to her thirty-two, but even if he weren’t five years younger, he came from one of the wealthiest families in Manhattan. The likelihood of his wanting to spend the rest of his life with a woman like her—of his family ever allowing such a thing—was slim to not-a-chance-in-hell.

  But the simple facts of the situation didn’t keep her mind from making the occasional trip down fantasy lane, imagining what it might be like if she weren’t an ex-showgirl/dance instructor and he weren’t a high-powered magazine executive. If they were normal, everyday people who had met in some normal, everyday way.

  She didn’t spend long wishing for things that could never be, though. She was happy with her life, and happy with what she and Cullen had, even if she knew it wouldn’t last.

  For now, it was enough.

  And she could certainly do worse…had done worse, considering some of the real treats she’d dated in the past. Compared to them, Cullen was a veritable Prince Charming.

  In a tailored Italian business suit.

  Dressed now, he stood at the end of the bed with his hands in his pockets. Scooting out from under the covers, Misty grabbed her silk robe from a hook on the back of the closet door and shrugged it on, looping the belt loosely at her waist.

  “I’ll walk you out.”

  He gave an almost imperceptible nod and they moved together through the living room area to the front door. She released the locks and turned the knob, but before she could open the door, Cullen stopped her with a hand on her wrist. When she lifted her head to meet his gaze, his eyes were smoldering.

  Leaning in, he slid a hand under her hair to cradle her neck and kissed her until her bare toes curled. A full minute later, he pulled away and she clutched at the door to keep from melting into the carpet at their feet.

  “If I didn’t have to get back to New York by morning,” he murmured softly, rubbing her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, “I’d drag you back to bed and keep you there for a week.”

  “If you didn’t have to be back in New York by morning,” she whispered in return, “I’d let you.”

  One corner of his mouth lifted in a subtle grin and his arm dropped to his
side as he stepped through the doorway, onto the landing above the stairwell that led to the alley at the back of her dance studio.

  “I’ll call you.”

  She nodded, then stood at the top of the stairs as she always did to watch him walk away.

  Two

  Four months later—late April

  The music from the studio sound system, mixed with the staccato beat of her students’ feet on the hardwood floor, pounded through Misty’s head, making her wonder if she’d manage to stay on her feet.

  For months now, she’d been fighting dizziness, nausea and a laundry list of other symptoms associated with the early stages of pregnancy. She’d thought, with the first trimester out of the way, that she might start to feel better. Instead, she felt worse.

  Today was especially bad. She’d barely been able to get out of bed, and ever since had been fighting waves of lightheadedness and the need to lie down.

  But she had classes to teach, and if she missed even one, her plan to become self-sufficient and support herself on the income from her dance studio would be in jeopardy.

  Three years ago Cullen had bought this building in Henderson, just outside Las Vegas, for her and had it completely refurbished, turning the downstairs into a studio large enough to teach both children and adults.

  As much as she’d hated taking his charity, he’d insisted, and the condition of her knee at the time hadn’t given her much choice. It was either accept Cullen’s generosity or risk being homeless in a matter of weeks.

  But she’d promised him—and herself—that she would pay him back. Every cent, once the studio became profitable.

  Unfortunately, that had yet to happen. What she made on her classes went for the little things like food and electricity, but Cullen was still paying for the general upkeep of the building and business.

  She hated that, hated feeling like a kept woman, a mistress, even though that was exactly what she was.

  It wasn’t her affair with him that made her uneasy, but the fact that he was supporting her financially. It felt too much like he was leaving money on the nightstand for services rendered.