by Francis Ray
“Wait.” Dominique opened the refrigerator door and pulled out the bottle of champagne Trent had given her. “Champagne and blueberries sounds like a natural combination to me.”
“A natural,” Trent agreed.
Giggling, Dominique followed. She was still laughing when Trent opened the door to his house and pulled her into his arms and silenced her with his lips.
Chapter Twelve
“What do you want to do first?” Trent asked on lifting his head. Dominique’s eyes widened in surprise. She had expected him to take her straight to bed.
“Since you don’t seem to have a preference, maybe we should drink that champagne. Hunting for berries, as I remember, can make a person thirsty.” Picking her up in his arms, he started toward the kitchen.
One arm hooked around his neck, her other hand holding the bottle of champagne, she stared up into his face with growing confusion. “Trent?”
“Don’t worry. I won’t be selfish and take all the berries for myself.” He stared at her with dark, hungry eyes as he sat her on the white tile counter. “You trust me not to do that, don’t you?”
She finally understood. Trent wasn’t going to jump on her and take, thinking only of himself. He valued her. Was there ever a man who understood her more? “Yes,” the word trembled over her lips as she drew the cold bottle of champagne against her.
“I’ll get the glasses.”
“As much as we’ve jostled it you’d better get the mop while you’re at it,” she called, trying to match his mood.
“Ye of little faith,” he said, opening a drawer for a corkscrew, then reaching into the glass-fronted blue cabinets and removing two wineglasses. “Besides, I’ve been curious about something.”
“What?” she asked, releasing the bottle to him.
“How champagne would taste on your skin.”
Dominique was extremely glad she was sitting. Her body seemed to go all soft inside. “Trent.” She wanted to kiss him again, taste him.
“Champagne first.”
Dominique barely managed to nod. They both knew what would come before the night was over.
The cork came out with a pop. Wine fizzled and foamed over the sides. Trent regarded the small amount of wine on the counter with a frown. “Maybe I should have shaken it again?”
Dominique accepted the long-stemmed glass, pleased her fingers trembled only slightly. “There’s always next time.”
His dark brown eyes seemed to narrow. “I’ll hold you to that.”
She swallowed, then moistened her dry lips. “What should we drink to?”
“To second chances and new beginnings.” His glass clinked against hers.
“Second chances and new beginnings.” She drank the wine, her gaze unable to leave his.
Slowly he took the glass from her hand and stepped between her legs and framed her face with hands that trembled. “I look at you and ache all over.”
Her hands covered his, her gaze steady and sure. “I feel the same way and I’m tired of fighting it.” Her lips gently touched his. “I want to be here with you. Only you.”
A fierce pleasure ripped through Trent. His forehead touched hers. “Despite what I said, I sometimes doubted.”
She exerted enough pressure to lift his head until their eyes met. “Now that you’ve shamelessly worn down my resistance, I hope you’ll live up to the promises you made each time you looked at me the way you’re now looking at me.”
“How am I looking at you?” he asked, his voice rough and strained.
“As if you could eat me with a spoon and lick your lips afterward,” she said, her voice shaky.
“That about covers it.” His lips met hers, warm and gentle, then with increased hunger. Dominique matched his hunger and tested the limits of his control.
He had intended to go slowly, make the night one they’d both remember and cherish. As soon as his tongue slipped into the dark interior of Dominique’s mouth and her tongue swirled around his, he knew he had overestimated himself and underestimated her.
He didn’t waste time thinking about his miscalculations. He just tightened his hold and enjoyed his downfall.
Need trampled through her. She strained to be closer. Trent helped by sliding her hips forward. His blunt arousal brushed teasingly against the notch of her thighs.
So close and yet too far.
His hands swept up her sides, closing over her breasts. His thumb flicked once, twice, across her nipple. She arched, pressing closer to the sweet pain. It was all the encouragement he needed. Lifting his head for an instant, he grabbed her top and jerked it up over her head.
He caught a glimpse of a wisp of pink, lacy perfection masquerading as a bra just before his teeth closed over her dusky brown nipple and tugged. A cry of pleasure broke over her lips.
She heard him murmur something about berries, but couldn’t understand. She had only a heartbeat to wonder why, since her hearing was so acute. His mouth closed over the other nipple, his tongue sliding across the turgid point, and her thoughts scattered.
Unconsciously, her hands wrapped around his head, anchoring him in place. The sensation was exquisite.
She wanted to kiss him the same way. She wanted him to feel the same sharp urgency, so intense it was almost painful but filled with so much pleasure she was light-headed.
Releasing him, she jerked his shirt out of his jeans. Unsteady fingers fumbled the buttons free. Unerringly, her lips found his nipple buried in the soft texture of his chest hair.
Trent groaned.
Dominique smiled like a well-fed cat. She suddenly realized what he meant about berries.
“No more.” Trent pulled her head up and saw the pleasure in her face from giving him pleasure, and his knees almost buckled.
“Unless things have changed in eight years, there’s a lot more.”
Shock went through him at her words, and then another deeper, more complex emotion he couldn’t define. He felt weak and strong, the seducer and the protector. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted in a woman, and so much more.” Sweeping her up in his arms, he grabbed the bottle of champagne and headed for the master bedroom at the back of the house.
The spacious room lay in semi-darkness, but he had no difficulty finding the king-size bed. Setting the champagne on the nightstand, he pulled back the multicolored, Kente-inspired bedspread, then tenderly placed her on the cool, black cotton sheets. “Stay here.”
Dominique would have laughed if she’d had enough breath. Her knees wouldn’t support her even if she had any inclination to leave. She didn’t.
The snap of his jeans coming undone sounded overly loud in the charged atmosphere, as did the rustle of the denim material sliding down his legs. Her calming heart hitched.
Somewhere in the shadowed room she heard the faint hiss of a match. By the time Trent finished lighting the candles on the six arm, double candelabras on the mahogany mantel, her heart was racing. Faint whiffs of cinnamon drifted out to her. Golden embers from the gas logs glowed in the open, polished, brick fireplace.
She was being seduced. The fact that he didn’t have to go to such measures endeared him to her more.
Crossing the room, Trent turned down the thermostat and shut the door. Gaslight and candlelight, the only illuminations, played over his conditioned muscles and created shadows on his handsome face and lean body.
Silently he came to her, naked and majestic. She trembled at the sight of him, but not from fear.
A knee dug into the mattress beside her, and his hands cupped her face again. “I knew you’d look even more beautiful with candlelight dancing on your skin.”
A long, lean finger brushed across her lip, the curve of her jaw, then curved until reaching her nipple. She trembled. “I’ve imagined how you’d taste, but all my fantasies and speculations were pitifully inadequate. It’s not just the taste, it’s how you make me feel when my mouth is on you and I hear your cries of pleasure, and know they’re just for me.” His head bent, tak
ing the pebbly point into his mouth.
A shudder went through Dominique. Her body went liquid. Before she knew it she was minus her jeans and panties and Trent’s powerful body was crouched over hers. In a moment of panic a distant memory pricked up, but before she could respond to the fear his hand swept up her bare leg to the center of her body. A finger dipped inside.
A ragged moan of pleasure, not fear, slipped over her lips.
“I knew the fire was there. Waiting to be stoked, waiting to be found.”
He unhooked the front fasteners of her bra, his hands covering the silky firmness of her breasts, kneading the resilient flesh. His mouth came back to hers, his tongue dipping, twirling, in her mouth as his lower body touched hers maddeningly.
The ravenous and deeply erotic kiss stole what little control Dominique had left. Trent was right about the fire, only it was raging in one spot. She whimpered, twisting on the bed, her arms straining to bring him closer.
His mouth left hers again. She moaned her protest, then gasped in shocked pleasure as he kissed her in the most intimate of places. She was helpless to fight the tightening of her body being pushed over the edge. When it came she cried out Trent’s name in helpless surrender.
He was there.
Gathering her still trembling body in his arms, he slid into her moist warmth, only to retreat and return again. His body set up a relentless rhythm that she matched and followed effortlessly. This time, when completion came they were together.
Rolling to his side, Trent took Dominique with him, his breathing labored. He had never known making love could be so explosive or satisfying. Never had he experienced anything like it. Somehow he sensed he never would with another woman. Dominique had challenged and broken rules he had established to live by. Tonight she had done it again.
Perhaps because he had had to share a bed until he was in his teens he liked sleeping alone, and he liked doing it in spacious comfort. His gaze returned to the woman in his arms, her black hair spilling over his pillow, her bare shoulders. His arms tightened. He couldn’t imagine leaving her.
Warm lips pressed a kiss to her lips. “You’re all right?”
Her eyelids fluttered open to reveal languid black eyes. “Wonderful.”
“Good.” He reached for the bottle of champagne and splashed a dab over her navel. “Time for dessert.”
* * *
Dominique stretched luxuriously in Trent’s large bed early the next morning, then hastily drew her bare arms back beneath the covers. The bedroom was still chilly. Trent had forgotten to turn the thermostat back up until a couple of hours ago.
Her pleased smile broadened. It wasn’t that he had forgotten. He had been busy with other things. All of them fantastic.
She thought she knew her body, knew about sexual pleasure, but with a mixture of tenderness and aggression Trent had shown her much more. She had absolutely no desire to be anyplace except where she was.
Content for the first time in years, she smiled and snuggled against Trent’s muscled warmth. His arm came around her waist dragging her closer.
He spoke without lifting his head, “If you want to go jogging, I’ll go with you.”
“I’d rather go riding.”
His head came up, a frown on his face until she threw one long leg over his waist. His eyes darkened to tiny points of desire. Catching her by the waist he shifted, allowing her to straddle him.
She captured the pulsating warmth of his manhood and guided him. Eyes closed, she savored the exquisite pleasure of them being joined inch by incredible inch.
“Look at me.”
Her eyelids fluttered open. What she saw in the depth of his gaze filled her in an entirely different way. She wanted to tell him, but no words came. She knew a way.
Her body moved against his, with his. Her knees locked at his sides, felt the power and the passion of his body beneath her, felt her own power as a shudder ripped through him. Her hands braced against his chest, she took them to the point of no return.
She collapsed on his chest. His hand stroked the damp, smooth curve of her back to the roundness of her hips.
“Lady, what you do to me,” he said, when he had enough breath to do so.
Satisfaction curled through Dominique. “I’m glad, because you’ve given so much to me.” She felt him smile. “I didn’t mean that.”
Chuckling, he put his arms around her and she found herself hoisted in his arms. He started to the shower. “I told you I love it when you talk dirty to me.”
* * *
Dominique was nervous. Janice would surely be up by seven-thirty, and once she saw Dominique wearing the same clothes she’d know. Then, there was another problem. Her hand lifted to her damp, tangled hair.
“It really looks fine,” Trent said, brushing his hand across her head.
Dominique knew her hair was a tangled mess. She didn’t regret helping to get it that way, but she did regret having to face her godmother.
“Come on,” Trent said, tugging her hand.
“Maybe I should go in alone,” she suggested, biting her lip.
“No deal. We’re in this together. Janice is not going to crucify you.” Stopping, he stared down into her troubled face, then took her into his arms. “It will be all right.”
“I hope so.”
“Have I let you down yet?”
Raising her head, she quirked an eyebrow. “That, I believe, is the reason I’m in the predicament I’m in.”
“I told you I aim to please.” Kissing her on the nose, he continued the short distance to the door and knocked.
“Come in,” called Janice.
Squeezing Dominique’s hand, Trent opened the door and curved his arm around her waist so they walked through the door together. “Good morning, Janice.”
“Morning, Janice,” Dominique greeted slowly.
Janice glanced up from behind the refrigerator door. “Good morning. Breakfast is almost ready.”
“Is there anything I can do?” Dominique offered, breathing easier since her godmother didn’t look at her any differently.
“If you can handle the French toast, Trent can set the table,” Janice said, closing the refrigerator door and placing a package of breakfast ham on the counter.
Both jumped to do as she asked. Soon they were all sitting at the table. After Janice had given the blessing, she looked at Trent and said, “I guess we’ll be seeing more of you.”
Dominique almost choked on her toast. Her gaze went to Trent, and knew they were both thinking of the term literally.
Clearing his throat he answered, “Yes. I hope that’ll be all right with you?”
Janice turned to Dominique. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure,” she said, feeling Trent’s approving gaze on her.
Janice picked up her coffee cup. “Looks like I’d better double up on the groceries.”
“Hey, I don’t eat that much,” Trent protested.
“No, but you and Paul will together,” she told him.
“You’re sure?” Dominique asked.
Janice set her cup down before answering. “The only thing I’m sure of is that I’m not sure of anything.”
“Sounds like me after I met Dominique,” Trent said thoughtfully.
“And look how that turned out,” Janice commented.
Dominique blushed.
Trent grinned.
She wanted to throw her toast at him. Instead, she stood. “I need to get to the studio. I have a lot to do before Samuel Jacobs and his family arrive.”
“Give Samuel and his wife my best,” Trent told her.
“I will.” Dominique went to her room with a smile on her face. Life was definitely on an upswing.
* * *
Samuel Jacobs’s grandson, Michael, was a rascal. But a cute rascal. It was obvious five minutes after he came into Dominique’s studio already dressed in his new gray, striped overalls that his grandparents doted on him. It was just as obvious that his mother made sure her
son knew she was in charge.
His sister, Gia, was a chubby five-year-old with a sunny disposition and a giggly laugh that was infectious. Dominique looked at the beautiful little girl in the snug-fitting purple tutu, tiara and rouged cheeks, and knew the outfit was all wrong.
“Mrs. Marshall, may I see you a moment, please?”
“Of course.” Frowning, the mother followed.
Dominique dug her hands into the front pockets of her navy trousers. This wasn’t going to be easy.
Dominique’s mother, Felicia, had taught her all about the fierceness of a mother’s love. Dominique didn’t think Mrs. Marshall was any different. One wrong word and she would be out the door.
Dissatisfied customers, especially those as influential as the Lloyds, could ruin her business. But she had to take the chance.
“I don’t think the costume is right for Gia. She has too much energy.”
Mrs. Marshall’s lips tightened. “What do you suggest?”
Dominique took a deep breath and plunged in. “The classic setting for such a photograph would suggest serenity. That’s not Gia. She bubbles over with life. I want to show that. I’d like her to come back in a long, white summer dress and small white straw hat, and shoot her in front of a background of wildflowers with the sun setting in the distance, with a kite in her hand.”
The mother emitted a startled outcry—“Oh!”
“What is it, Carolyn?” asked Mrs. Jacobs.
Dominique thought, Here it comes, but held her ground. If she were going to be a photographer she had to do it without compromising her principles.
“Ms. Everette just suggested another pose for Gia instead of the ballet costume, and I agree with her,” Mrs. Marshall said. She turned to her daughter. “You get to fly a kite, Sweetie.”
Gia smiled broadly, then glanced at the ceiling. “Will it fly in here?”
Mrs. Marshall faced Dominique. “I’m sure Ms. Everette will think of something. Isn’t that right?”
“You just leave everything to me.”
* * *
How do you get yourself into these things? Dominique thought as she tried to figure out a way to suspend the kite with the illusion of the wind tugging at it in the studio. A fan might work if it were far enough awa—
