What the Heiress Wants

by Kristina Knight

  “I don’t normally do this sort of thing,” she said. “Sleep with a guy on the first date, I mean.”

  “As you said earlier, there’s a first time for everything.” He stepped closer to her, and she finally released the zipper. Her right thumb went under the thin strap over her shoulder, and then she stopped. Connor felt as if he were frozen in place. Less than a foot separated their bodies; her brown eyes were wide in the dim light, her chest rising and falling quickly. His own breathing was rough in his ears, which was odd. He did this kind of thing plenty, but never once had he felt quite like this. As if the world might stop spinning if she didn’t push that strap off her shoulder.

  Miranda took a step back and kicked the ugly flip-flops off her feet. He didn’t care if they were technically on some weird fashion color trend—shoes that ugly should never mar feet as pretty as Miranda’s.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Nowhere,” she said, her voice soft in the room. “Just putting a little space between myself and those windows. Even if they are one-way glass.”

  “Nervous?”

  “About putting on a show for all of Las Vegas?” She shrugged nonchalantly. “Why would a debutante like me care about something like that?”

  Connor chuckled. “That may be the first time you’ve referred to yourself as a deb or a socialite without a hint of condescension in your voice.”

  “Tonight, I don’t care so much about who I used to be.” The strap pushed past her shoulder, but the dress didn’t fall. Connor advanced, feeling a little like a lion on the prowl.

  “What do you care about tonight?”

  “Doing whatever Miranda Clayton wants to do.”

  “As long as that includes doing me.”

  She laughed, and the sound tinkled like the keys of Cole Porter’s piano. “Is that come-on supposed to make my knees weak?”

  “Something like that.” Her back came in contact with his wet bar, and she started working the other strap loose. Connor reached out, taking the strap in his hand. “I think I can help you with that,” he said as the fabric slid over her shoulder, and the dress began its long descent down her body. It slid past her breasts first, revealing a strapless, lace bra in black. Over her flat belly and past her hips, to display matching lace panties, then fluttered down those long, long legs he’d been salivating over since Thanksgiving to pool at her feet.

  Connor unbuttoned his shirt. Miranda reached out to push it from his shoulders. He reached for his belt buckle, but her soft hands were already there. Connor sucked in a long breath when the backs of her hands came in contact with his lower abdomen. She raised her gaze to his, and for a long moment, he only looked. He wanted to imprint this moment, the way he’d imprinted the glyphs in the overhang. An earthquake could hit the desert tomorrow, demolishing everything, and he would still know the colors used in the paintings and how smooth the edges of the carvings were. He wanted to remember Miranda that way. How soft her skin was, the exact color of her chestnut hair, how her eyes seemed to draw him in so deep he wasn’t sure he would ever be able to get out of their depths.

  He raised his hands to her face, cupping her cheeks and tracing the lines of her cheekbones with his thumbs. She licked her lips, and her hands stilled at his waist. Connor lowered his mouth to hers, and it was as if the entire penthouse ignited. He held her head in place so he could taste her lips. The room seemed to swim in fire, which he knew was a trick of the neon outside and how badly he wanted to be inside Miranda. Her hands fisted at the waist of his pants, and Connor pressed into her, trapping her hands at his waist.

  And then her arms were around his waist, her hands raking over his back. Connor slid his hands into all that long, red hair, tilting her head to give him better access to her sweet mouth.

  “If we don’t move, I’m going to take you against this bar.”

  Lascivious thoughts of what he could do to her pinned against the bar slid into his mind. He could lay her over all that rich mahogany and use his mouth on her body until she begged him to stop. He’d never felt the urge to tie a woman up, but the image of Miranda bent over one of the tall stools at the bar with her wrists bound in one of his silk ties flashed in his mind, and his dick tightened.

  “At least it would be memorable,” she said, the drawl in her voice slowing a bit more, the words breathy.

  Having sex with Miranda on his back would definitely be memorable and cause for replacing the bar once whatever this was between them fizzled out. He wouldn’t care to relive having sex with Miranda there every time he came home. At least making love on the bar wouldn’t be illegal in some states, like tying her up would. Besides, he didn’t want to waste the fifteen seconds it would take to find a tie in his closet. Connor lifted Miranda to the bar top. He stepped between her knees, wrapped her long hair around his hand, and pulled gently to expose her throat to his mouth. She braced her hands behind her on the bar and wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer.

  He found her breast with his free hand and began teasing the pebbled nipple with his thumb. She arched her back when he flicked his nail over the puckered skin. Connor nipped at the throbbing pulse in her neck and then released her hair to play his hand over her spine while his other hand continued to work her nipple. He kissed his way to her breasts, replacing his finger with his mouth. He sucked her lace-covered nipple into his mouth, and she hissed. She released the edge of the bar, arms coming around his neck to hold him in place, then she inched her hips forward, tightening her legs around his waist. He blew softly on the wet lace covering her breast, and the nipple puckered more.

  God, making love to a woman was fun. He considered their positions again. He wanted her under him, wanted to be inside her when he made her scream out a release. And he didn’t want to destroy the bar top in the process.

  “Hold on tight,” he said, putting his hands under her hips to lift her from the bar top. She squealed and tightened her thighs around him. Connor grimaced. If he didn’t lose the trousers soon, his penis was going to cut right through them like a sword. He deposited Miranda on the leather sofa.

  For a long moment, he couldn’t move. Didn’t kick his pants into the corner, didn’t clench his fists or sink down on the sofa with her. He watched. Red hair spread over the black leather. Her chest rose and fell in a fast rhythm, and those long, long legs moved restlessly over the smooth leather. Black lace covered her core and breasts, blending with the leather and making her look as if her body were in pieces. He wanted to watch her shatter into millions of tiny pieces. Wanted to hear her shout his name.

  She raised her arms, inviting him down, down, down. And Connor felt himself falling, even though he hadn’t moved a muscle. He couldn’t quite explain it, but he knew if he knelt on that sofa, if he kissed her again, something big would change. There was still time to stop this. Time to turn back the clock before he turned his life upside down.

  He didn’t want to turn back the clock. Didn’t care what might change. He wanted to be with Miranda, even if he didn’t know what would happen next. But he didn’t want to think; he just wanted to feel.

  Connor took a condom from his wallet and palmed it as he unzipped his trousers. He kicked them off, along with his boxer briefs, and then sheathed his penis. As he knelt on the sofa, he reached his hand between them, hooked his index finger into her panties and slid them down her legs before settling his hips against hers.

  “Connor. Please.” Her voice was a whisper in the room as she maneuvered to wrap her long legs around his waist.

  He found her center and pressed in. She was warm and wet and ready for him, and this time it was Connor who hissed in a breath. God, he didn’t want this to end, and yet he knew he couldn’t make it last. Miranda lifted her hips, pulling him farther into her core, and he began to pump.

  “God, Miranda, you shouldn’t have done that,” he said, but he wasn’t really angry. What man could be angry wrapped around five feet seven inches of fiery woman?

  “Oh, I t
hink it was the right move,” she said and arched her back.

  The lace of her bra was rough against his chest. He nipped at her lower lip as his hands reached around her to release the catch. He tossed the last scrap of fabric aside, and they were skin to skin. Her hands found his nipples, scratching over them as she met him thrust for thrust.

  Connor was close, too close, and he didn’t want to leave Miranda behind. He reached between them, his thumb finding her clitoris. He flicked over the hard nub, and felt her body tighten beneath him. She forgot to move for a moment, her back bowed, her legs tight around his hips. Connor worked the little bud while his hips thrust into her. Flick, thrust. Flick, thrust. Miranda closed her eyes. Her hands went around his neck to fist in his hair.

  “God.”

  Flick, thrust. Flick, thrust.

  “Connor.”

  Flick, thrust.

  “Connor.”

  Flick, thrust.

  “Oh. God. Connor,” she said as her body tensed beneath his. For a second, she was motionless, and then he felt her inner muscles moving against him as the orgasm took her.

  Flick, thrust. Thrust. Thrust.

  Connor rested his weight on his elbows on either side of Miranda and let the wave crash over him, too.

  “Sweet mother,” she said after a moment.

  Connor grunted in reply. When he knew he could stand without falling over, he got up, disposed of the condom, and then returned to the sofa. Miranda hadn’t moved. She lay on the sofa, hand over her breast, eyes closed. She wasn’t asleep; he could tell from the still-fast rise and fall of her chest. He slid behind her, gathering her to him, her back to his chest. Her legs tangled with his. Arms around her waist, he buried his nose in her neck, breathing her in.

  Magnolias.

  He felt the urge to plant an entire grove of the trees. He’d never felt the urge to plant anything.

  She wrapped her hands around his, snuggling in to him, and he felt her breathing steady.

  He kissed the sensitive spot behind her ear.

  “Do that again, and I might require an encore.” She wiggled her butt against him.

  “Do that again, and you’ll get that encore,” he returned, feeling his dick pulse to life again.

  She chuckled. “I’m just going to rest my eyes for a second,” she said.

  The music flicked off, and the only sounds left in the living room were their beating hearts. The sounds of their breathing. Miranda went limp in his arms, and he knew she slept. Connor didn’t mind. He watched the neon shadows out the window, imagining he could hear traffic or the sounds of tourists from far below.

  He’d gone on a date with Miranda Clayton. Slept with her. Couldn’t imagine not repeating the experience at least a thousand more times.

  They’d known one another for five months, but up until a few weeks before, had barely spoken. Now he couldn’t imagine not talking to her. Having dinner with her. Catching the scent of magnolias whenever she was near.

  He’d never, not once in his thirty-one years, thought about life with a woman at his side. Had always, in fact, considered relationships of any sort a mistake. How could he not? Helena and Caleb were possibly the worst example of a relationship in the history of marriage.

  But with Miranda, he was tempted. Working together. Playing together.

  Gage and Callie made it work. He’d never seen his younger brother happier.

  Connor’s eyes became heavy, and he felt his arms loosen around Miranda’s waist. She snuggled back against him and sighed. It was a happy sound in the quiet apartment.

  This was all too fast. Too soon. Too perfect.

  And maybe, just this once, perfection was within his reach.

  Chapter Nine

  Through December and into January, Miranda felt as if she were living in a world where anything was possible. She had challenging but fun work, and she spent most nights and weekends with Connor. Finally, at twenty-eight, the life she’d always wanted was within her reach.

  She looked around the conference room at the representatives of some of the largest eco-branded resorts and destination points in the western hemisphere and smiled. “The magazine will have a serious thrust toward eco-tourism. We’ll feature properties, tell vacationers where to go and what to do, and we’ll highlight volunteer opportunities on both an international and national level. I’ll forward the test magazine to your emails within the week, and we look forward to hearing from you.”

  The potential advertisers asked a few questions about logistics for the magazine, sustainability, the carbon footprint of the eco-magazine, and how that might change the footprint of the entire Reeves Pub operation. Connor and Miranda answered the questions, and one by one the advertisers gathered their packets and filed out of the office. An intern met them at the door to escort them to street level.

  Once they were alone, she took a deep breath and sat back in her chair. She stretched her arms from side to side, trying to work out the kink that had developed while she worried over the presentation. “That went better than I expected.”

  “What are you doing for dinner tonight?” Connor put his strong hands on her shoulders and kneaded her tight muscles. “And you should make an appointment with Callie. Massage therapy is in the health plan now, you know.”

  Miranda drew away from him, thinking of their deal. No in-office displays of affection. It was bad enough that some of the employees were still thinking of her as a traitor because she was William Clayton’s daughter. She didn’t want even more talk.

  “This isn’t a good idea,” she said.

  “If you think they haven’t already caught on, you’re delusional. That isn’t an insult,” Connor said as he drew his brows together. Miranda wanted to relent. “It’s a statement of fact. I can’t keep my hands off you. When you walk into a room, I’m told my freaking face lights up, and as annoyed as I know that should make me, it doesn’t. Because it means you are around.”

  The intern returned. “Anything else I can do before I check out for the evening?” she asked. The young girl was a student at UNLV and had worked primarily in the newsroom until this afternoon. Her quizzical gaze shot between Connor and Miranda, noting the small distance between their bodies Miranda guessed. Of course, the employees’ thoughts mattered. She didn’t want it to matter, but it did.

  “We’re good, thanks,” Connor said, dismissing the girl.

  “Well, you two have a good time tonight then,” she said and closed the door behind her.

  “They know?” Miranda felt as if she couldn’t breathe. Was she—were they—that transparent? And why hadn’t Lila said anything?

  “They know, and I, for one, don’t care. I should, but I don’t. I’m not sure what that says about me.” He didn’t move away from her. And he had reason to after what went down between him and Alyssa.

  He didn’t care who knew.

  Those five words circled her brain. Connor didn’t care who knew about them. The knowledge warmed her heart. Maybe, if he didn’t mind, she could push her own worries into some deep, dark corner where she would forget about them.

  At least, she could try. Deliberately, Miranda turned her back on Connor, leaned back in her chair, and shrugged her shoulders. His hands were on her in a second, kneading the tired muscles and making her insides go all Jell-O-y. God, but she was a fool for this man. She didn’t care.

  “Okay, then, what am I doing for dinner tonight?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know? Six o’clock?”

  Miranda grinned, and her stomach did that flip-flop thing, like it always did when Connor surprised her. It was nearly four o’clock, and she still needed to mock up a few pages of the eco-zine. “Sounds perfect.” Spending the evening with Connor was always perfect. “But I need to come back here by eight to finish up.”

  “I’m pretty sure your boss won’t fire you if the final mockups aren’t on his desk by nine a.m.”

  “Yes, but since my boss and I are doing a walk-through of the newly renovated
Heck ranch for one of the first features, I want everything to be perfect before I head home tonight.”

  “You could stay at my place and cut a solid half hour off your commute.” Connor turned her chair to face him, and she could see her favorite of the new mock-ups on the presentation panel behind him. Connor and work. Coming to Las Vegas was definitely the right move to make, both for her career and her life. “You work too hard.”

  She snorted. “Says the man who is usually here until after ten p.m.”

  “I like my work.”

  “So do I.”

  He tapped a kiss on the top of her head, and Miranda felt as if she were glowing. Sex with Connor was amazing, but the little touches and kisses and glances were so much … more.

  He walked her back to her office and, at six on the dot, he knocked on her doorjamb. “Ready?”

  Miranda saved her progress before turning off her monitor. She grabbed her bag, and together they walked down the hall. Connor took her hand at the elevator, and Miranda didn’t draw away. On the first floor, instead of going to the parking garage, Connor turned to the front door. They walked hand in hand the two blocks to the Fremont Street Experience, and Miranda gawked at him.

  “The Reeves brother who doesn’t gamble is taking me to Fremont?”

  “We have a reservation.”

  “On Fremont?”

  “Something like that,” he said, and his blue eyes seemed to dance.

  They went into the Golden Nugget, one of Miranda’s favorite hotels, past the casino floor, and onto an elevator that dropped them near the hotel pool.

  “I’m not dressed for swimming,” she said, waving at her pencil skirt and silk blouse. “And it’s barely seventy degrees.”

  “Swimming is entirely optional,” he said, as he opened the door to the Hideout, a private area near the pool that could be rented out for parties.

  Miranda stopped short. On easels were prints of the of the magazine’s new main pages she had completed only a day before. Lila handed her a glass of wine, and a few of the office workers offered congratulations. No one said anything about her entering with Connor or holding hands with him. She didn’t catch any sideways glances. Miranda didn’t know what to say about the employees’ non-reaction to her and their boss or to the blown-up images of the layouts she had designed.