Dynasties: The Elliotts, Books 1-6

by Various Authors

  Sliding off the sofa, she crawled on her knees across the soft beige carpet to his side. She wrapped her arm around one of his legs, her fingers resting on his strong upper thigh.

  “Of course not,” she replied quietly. “I didn’t mean it like that. But, Cullen, I can’t keep letting you pay my bills forever. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. God knows what would have happened to me after my knee injury if it hadn’t been for you. But I told you from the very beginning that I would pay back every penny of the start-up costs you put into buying this building and renovating it so I could live and hold classes here. Not to mention the money you put into my checking account every month, since the studio is still operating in the red.”

  She frowned at that. If anything, the monthly stipend bothered her more than his setting her up to teach dance classes. It reminded her too vividly of her own inability to fully support herself, of her dependency on a man to put a roof over her head and food on the table, and of the true nature of her relationship with Cullen.

  She was his mistress, and for all intents and purposes, he was her benefactor. It was a hard truth to swallow.

  “I’ve told you before you don’t have to repay me. It wasn’t a loan, it was a gift.”

  “Hell of a gift,” she muttered, only half under her breath. She knew for a fact he’d put more than a hundred thousand dollars into helping her get the studio up and running, and that didn’t include the generous chunk of money sitting in her bank account, earning interest even as they spoke.

  “The point is,” he said, stressing the words just enough to let her know he was changing the direction of the conversation, “you aren’t going to be able to teach classes for much longer. You probably shouldn’t be teaching at all, considering where it landed you the last time. And then what?”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but he held up a hand to stop her and continued.

  “I’m sorry, Misty, but I don’t want to be a long-distance father. I don’t want to be a long-distance father-to-be.”

  Her heart began to pound, her stomach rolling and pitching like an amusement park ride. “What do you want, then?”

  He took a deep breath, his chest puffing out as air filled his lungs, and covered the hand she had on his leg with his own. His long fingers engulfed her much smaller ones, the heat of his palm soaking into her bloodstream warming every inch of her body.

  “Come back to New York with me.”

  “What?” She sat back, startled. It was the last thing she’d expected to hear.

  “Come to New York with me. You can’t cancel classes and keep the studio open, but you can’t continue teaching, either. And I know you, Misty. Without something to do, you’ll be bored out of your mind in a week.”

  He squeezed her hand, the simple action conveying the importance of his plea.

  “So come to New York with me. It will be good for the baby. You need to rest, and my town house is quiet and comfortable. Plus, I’ll be there to wait on you hand and foot.”

  For the first time, she felt a stirring of amusement. “Hand and foot, huh?”

  A suggestive sparkle lit his eyes. He slid his fingers beneath her hand and turned it palm up before lifting it to his mouth.

  “Hand,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the very center, “and foot.”

  He molded his lips to the tip of one finger, sucking it gently into his mouth. A tidal wave of desire washed over her, sending her insides quivering. If she hadn’t already been sitting, heels propped against her bottom, she thought for sure she would have slid to the floor in a puddle of raw nerve endings.

  “Misty?” he asked softly. “Are you listening?”

  It took a moment for his words to sink in, and another moment to find her voice. Even then, all she could manage was a weak, “Mmm-hmm.”

  “Another reason I’d like you to fly back with me is to meet my parents. Now that they’re going to be grandparents, I’d like you to get to know each other.”

  The haze of longing clouding her vision slowly began to clear. His parents? He wanted her to meet his parents?

  Dear God, she could just picture the introductions. Mom, Dad, this is Misty, my pregnant exshowgirl mistress. Their eyes would bug out and their mouths would drop open…but only long enough for them to collect their wits and start in with the hostile glares at her and the lectures to Cullen about mixing his Elliott blue blood with that of a dancer of questionable breeding and obviously low morals.

  She’d rather walk naked down the crowded Vegas Strip.

  “Come on, Misty,” he cajoled. “You owe me.”

  Her eyes widened. “That’s what you expect in trade for everything you’ve done for me?” she asked, incredulous.

  “I meant, you owe me a few considerations for keeping this baby a secret from me for the past four months.”

  Well, he had her there. But still…meeting his parents? Wasn’t that a bit above and beyond?

  “Besides,” he went on, “it doesn’t have to be forever. Consider it a short vacation. You can come back here any time you want.”

  Still holding her hands, he got to his feet, pulling her up beside him. He drew her close and she went willingly, because it was where she felt safest, most comfortable.

  Being in his arms was like sinking into a warm, scented bubble bath after a long night of dancing under blazing hot stage lights in four-inch heels and a headdress that weighed as much as a small car. Only better.

  “And you never know,” he murmured next to her ear while he caressed the swell of her waist. “Maybe seeing where I live and meeting my family will change your mind about accepting my proposal.”

  Leaning back, she met his hopeful, expectant gaze and made her decision. For better or for worse, she did owe him something for keeping the pregnancy a secret for so long, and for all he’d done for her over the years—not the least of which was making her feel protected and special.

  “I’ll go with you to New York,” she told him, and was rewarded with a wide smile that revealed a row of straight white teeth, as well as his pure, unadulterated happiness.

  “But I won’t marry you,” she cautioned before he could get carried away. She waved a pointed finger under his nose for emphasis. “That’s not part of the bargain.”

  His grin didn’t waver as he lowered his head and covered her mouth with his own. “We’ll see.”

  Once Misty had agreed to accompany Cullen back to Manhattan, he wasted no time putting the wheels in motion.

  He called the pilot of his family’s private jet to let him know they would be wanting to leave first thing in the morning, made arrangements for someone to take over the classes at her studio, then carried Misty to the bedroom and deposited her on the mattress near the headboard, pillows propped behind her back.

  No matter how much she protested that she was well enough to pack her own bag, he wouldn’t hear of it. She had to sit there, watching and talking him in the right direction as he pulled her suitcase out of the closet and proceeded to fill it.

  She didn’t know whether to laugh or cringe at the way he stuffed her things together without folding, without giving a thought to the fact that the heels of her shoes might snag the delicate fabric of her skirts and blouses. When she pointed it out, he made a valiant effort to fix the problem, but eventually gave up, telling her that he would replace anything that got damaged in transit.

  And even though they’d been sleeping together for four years, sharing the intimacies of a married couple, she was amazed to find that she still blushed to see him sorting through her lingerie drawers. He seemed to take great pleasure in picking which items she would take with her to New York, waggling his eyebrows and leering until she doubled over in laughter.

  When he was finished, he zipped the suitcase closed and set it aside, then helped her change for bed. Climbing in beside her, he stroked her hair and held her until they both drifted to sleep.

  The next morning, they drove to the airstrip in his rental car, and five ho
urs later landed on the East Coast.

  The trip passed with surprising ease, a thousand times more comfortable and quiet than a commercial flight would have been. Cullen even made sure there was food on board so she would have a meal before they landed.

  But everything about the posh plane and Cullen’s solicitousness only served to remind her of how very out of place she would be in his world. She didn’t need to worry about how long she could stand to stay with him at his Upper West Side town house. After a week, he and his family would likely be begging her to leave and forget she’d ever heard the Elliott name.

  She’d slept on the plane, so by the time they arrived at his place, she was wide awake and practically shaking with nerves. Why she was so anxious about simply seeing where he lived, she wasn’t sure.

  A part of her expected to find a brood of Elliotts on the other side of the door, their eyes filled with condemnation, ready to attack. Another part of her thought it was probably the simple act of moving in with him—even for the short term—that had her palms shaking and her knees quaking.

  He wanted her to meet his parents. He wanted to be an active participant in the remainder of her pregnancy and in their child’s life. That all felt entirely too…domestic to her. Too much as though once she dipped her toes into the pool of his personal life, she would never be able to get out.

  It might be a step up for her, but not for Cullen, and she had no intention of dragging him down. If he married her, he would become a laughingstock within his circle of friends, not to mention lose the respect of his peers at EPH and in the business world.

  No, she would never put him in such a position. She cared too much about him.

  He helped her out of the luxurious black Town Car he’d arranged to have pick them up at the airport, then scooped her into his arms and carried her up the front steps of his well-maintained brownstone.

  Setting her on her feet, he dug his keys out of his pocket, then took her hand and led her inside, leaving the door open for the driver to follow with their bags. When that was done, he tipped the man and locked the door again after seeing him out.

  He turned back, his mouth curled in a soft smile, his fingers buried in the front pockets of the same jeans he’d worn at her apartment.

  “I like your house,” she told him, glancing around a second time at her surroundings.

  It was obvious someone of considerable wealth lived here, but the place wasn’t quite as opulent as she’d expected. Instead, what she could see looked useful and lived-in.

  The floors were hardwood, polished to a glossy sheen. Large rooms sat off to either side of the doorway and small foyer.

  One was a living room area, complete with a large-screen plasma television, black leather sofa and chairs and a stereo on the shelves along the far wall.

  The other room seemed to be Cullen’s home office. A desk stood at the far end of the room, complete with a computer, phone and lamp. The wall shelving on this side of the house was filled with books of all shapes and sizes, and there was even a window seat facing the street where a person could curl up to read on a rainy afternoon.

  “Thanks,” Cullen said, coming up behind her and curling his hands over her bare shoulders. “I want you to consider this your house, too. Make yourself at home. Snoop around, if you want, so you know where everything is. And if there’s anything you need, don’t be afraid to ask.”

  She nodded slightly, but knew she would only ever feel like a guest here.

  “Are you tired?” he asked, rubbing the nape of her neck with the pads of his long, strong fingers.

  “Not really,” she answered, but she couldn’t help moaning at the bone-melting sensations he was creating with his talented hands. Her head fell forward and her eyes slid shut.

  “In that case, why don’t we get you unpacked and settled in?”

  His arms dropped back to his sides and he took a step away. She straightened, biting back a moan at the loss of his mesmerizing attentions.

  “Then maybe we can crawl into bed,” he added.

  “I told you, I’m not very tired. I slept on the plane.”

  One black brow winged upward and a devilish glint lit his blue eyes. “Who said anything about sleeping?”

  Five

  Cullen sat at the foot of his bed, listening to the sounds of Misty moving around in the bathroom. Every few seconds, he caught a glimpse of her as she set something on the sink or rearranged his toiletries to make room for her own bottles and jars.

  It had taken him half the night to convince her to unpack fully and make herself at home, rather than leaving her clothes in her suitcase or in only one drawer, and her makeup and beauty items in their case on the nightstand.

  Now she was putting things where they would be if she lived here, but she was doing it reluctantly.

  He drew a deep breath and rubbed the lines forming across his brow. This was going to be more complicated than he’d thought.

  Misty and the baby belonged with him. He wanted them in his house, in his life…but he wanted them to want to be there.

  From the expression on Misty’s face every time he made a remark about incorporating her into his home or family, he wasn’t sure that would ever happen.

  The noises from the master bath died down and he lifted his head to find Misty standing in the doorway. She looked nothing like the woman he’d first seen on that Las Vegas casino stage four years ago.

  Then, she’d worn a skimpy, sequined costume that showed off all of her hot feminine assets to perfection and caught his attention faster than a flare gun being fired next to his ear.

  Now, she looked like a PTA mother or Manhattan socialite—the sexy kind that got every man’s temperature rising and every woman sharpening her claws. And he should know; he’d known his fair share of both.

  If she thought she wouldn’t fit in with his family, with his lifestyle, or just here in New York, she was wrong. Misty could fit in anywhere in the world, primarily because she was the type of woman who forced the world to conform to her instead of the other way around. Vibrant, beautiful, self-assured. Except for this moment, when she looked nervous and unsure.

  Pushing off the bed, he rose to his feet and took two steps in her direction. “Everything okay?”

  She nodded, but her teeth worrying her lower lip belied the motion.

  “I think so. I’m not sure you’ll like where I put everything. I had a lot of stuff and had to move some of your things around.”

  “I’m sure it’s fine.”

  She cast a glance over her shoulder and Cullen rolled his eyes, deciding he had to do something or she’d fret herself sick the rest of the night.

  “Come here, Misty,” he said softly.

  Her gaze turned back, landing on him. Without question, she drifted toward him, her pink low heeled slides nearly disappearing in the tall thick nap of his bedroom carpet.

  As soon as she was close enough, he reached out and engulfed her in both arms, pulling her snug against his chest. “Don’t be nervous,” he whispered into her hair. “You belong here. With me.”

  She didn’t respond, but he felt the shudder roll through her body. He pressed a kiss to her temple, then her cheek, then her lips, a burst of pleasure filling his chest as she opened her mouth beneath his.

  His fingers wound through her hair, holding her in place as their tongues parlayed. Every dormant hormone flared to life and started coursing through his bloodstream like a forest fire.

  It had been four months. Four long, dry months when he’d dreamed of Misty, fantasized about taking her to bed, but had been unable to do so because she’d been avoiding his phone calls, hiding her pregnancy from him.

  He waited for anger or annoyance or a need for revenge to rear its ugly head, but he felt nothing along those lines. Only lust and a protective instinct so sharp it nearly crippled him.

  His hand slid down the line of her body, coming to rest on the mound of her belly. On his child.

  He lifted his head, breat
hing heavily. “I want to make love to you, but I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “You won’t,” she said, her voice thin and feathery.

  With his left hand cupping her stomach, he brought his right hand around to cradle her face. “But I’ve never made love to you before while you were pregnant, and you just got out of the hospital.”

  She mimicked his posture, putting one hand at his waist and placing the other along his jaw. “I was in the hospital because I wasn’t careful enough with my health, not because there was something wrong with the baby. They kept me there until they were sure I was okay, and you’ve taken excellent care of me ever since. You won’t even let me walk around on my own, if you’re there to carry me,” she added with a teasing grin. “I’m fine. And I want you to make love to me.”

  His gut clenched until he thought he might double over with the impact her words had on him. She had humbled him, while at the same time making him feel like the most powerful man in the world. She treated him like a hero…her hero, and damned if he didn’t want to be one for her.

  He released her long enough to walk around the bed and fold back the covers, dimming the lights while he was there. When he returned to her side, he tipped her head back and kissed her, letting her know how much he wanted her, how he felt about her.

  At the same time, they began to slowly undress. His hands slipped beneath the hem of her sweater, luxuriating in the silken smoothness of her waist as he pushed the top upward. Her fingers fiddled with the buttons at the front of his shirt, loosening them one by one.

  Raising her arms, she allowed him to strip the top up and over her head. As soon as she was free of the garment, she returned the favor by running her hands over his bare chest and pushing his shirt off his shoulders. Her touch raised trails of blazing heat beneath his skin, causing his breath to catch.

  She pressed her lips to the hollow at the base of his throat and Cullen had to clench his fists to keep from throwing her down on the bed and taking her like some hardened criminal newly released from prison.