“We should go upstairs.” Her voice came out ragged. Stripped of her usual composure it sounded rough and desperate.
“Public sex not your kink?” He chuckled, continuing the path his lips were trailing down the v of her top. His tongue flickered out, caressing the delicate skin of her chest.
“It’s hardly public,” she said, grabbing his chin in her hands and forcing his face upwards. “But I want you all to myself.”
“Greedy,” he whispered, his breath hot on her face as she bent down for another taste of him.
Her fingers tangled in his hair. They kissed as they walked to the stairs, blindly. He bumped them against the doorframe.
“Ow! You’re a terrible driver.” She giggled.
“You’re not supposed to distract the guy behind the wheel,” he responded, nipping at her ear.
With each step they climbed her body bumped against his. The heat inside her burned white-hot in anticipation. She knew how good he would make her feel and that heightened her excitement.
“Go quicker.” She tugged him up the last few stairs and into her bedroom.
“I’m controlling the pace here, Miss Jackson. I’m going to get you there as slowly as I please.” The double entendre stoked the fire in her belly, making her ache in all the right places.
She closed her eyes and melted into him. As she hit the bed, she reached up and hooked her fingers into the waistband of his jeans, tugging him so he fell forward onto her.
A hand landed hard next to her face. “Feisty little thing, aren’t you?”
“I know what I want.” She kept one hand at his waist and cupped the back of his head with the other. Her fingers threaded through his hair as she yanked him forward, meeting him for a bruising kiss.
He pulled back, his strength making quick work of her futile attempt to hold him in place. “I told you before, I’m controlling the pace and I’m going to take it slow.”
To illustrate his point Evan slipped his hands under her top and pushed it up over her belly, dragging the fabric with him. She was revealed inch by tormenting inch before his hands reached the soft cup of her bra. Without removing her top, he cupped her breasts and flicked her already hardened nipples through the lace.
Bringing his lips to her belly button, he worked his way up to the bottom of her ribs, to the sensitive space just below the scalloped edge of her bra. His tongue flickered over her, feather-light and aiming to tease.
“Evan.” His name came out as a groan, tension mounting within her at an alarming rate.
His hips pressed against hers, the hard length of him out of reach. Mercifully he pushed the top over her breasts and dipped his head to one sensitive peak, sucking through the lace. His teeth tugged at her, and an orgasm built while he took his time working her into a frenzied state.
She bucked, arched, thrust, writhed. Yet he held release from her with such expertise she couldn’t hate him for it. He worked her body like a painter works a brush, bringing to life pleasure so vibrant it made her gasp.
He looked at her and for a moment she lost herself in the arctic depths of his eyes. “Seeing you give in is going to do dangerous things to me.”
“Who says I’m going to give in?”
“I can feel it.” His lips blazed a trail away from her swollen nipple to the waistband of her jeans. He undid the button with great care, dragging the zipper down at a snail’s pace. A white patch of lace covered her, but soon it and her jeans were sliding down her legs and pooling at her feet. He used the bunched fabric to restrain her ankles while he traced the outline of her with his fingertip.
“So soft,” he murmured.
He nudged her open, and she was so desperate for release that she offered no resistance. As his lips connected with the tightly wound bundle of nerves at her sex, she forgot the world. Memories, hurt, and logic all slipped away as she rode the waves of pleasure to new heights. He coaxed her, drawing her out slowly while he taught her how to wait, how to build, how to focus. When she finally came it was with an intensity that shook her to her very core.
Her hands bunched by her sides, her head pressing back into the bed. Evan wore a satisfied smile that said he’d done exactly what he planned to do by bringing her so completely undone that she no longer knew who she was or what she was supposed to be doing.
Chapter Fifteen
As Christmas approached more snow fell, capping the high points of the hills and making it difficult to come and go from the estate. Evan found himself using this as an excuse to spend more time with Stella. He’d also decided to scale back his work to a less punishing pace until January, which would give Matt and Melanie the break they both needed and also give him a chance to work on his secret project.
The lines had blurred with Stella during the course of the last week. His original goal of convincing her to sell him the estate had somehow gotten mixed up with a highly inconvenient attachment to her. Waking in her arms, her soft golden hair splayed out across his chest, scrambled his brain. But he had to come to grips with reality—this was not some fairy-tale where they woke up to find their problems solved. Carefully, he lifted his arm from under Stella’s sleeping body. She murmured and rolled over, snuggling against his chest. It was almost lunchtime but they’d made love so many times last night neither of them could muster the energy to get out of bed.
Made love. Since when had it turned from sex to making love?
Shaking his head, he got out of bed. He wasn’t even sure what he felt any more. She’d burrowed her way into his life against his will. But she would leave soon. And even if she sold him the estate, what would come of it? She’d still be on the other side of the world and he would be here, alone. Ruined for other women.
“Evan?” A sleepy voice made him turn. Stella was wrapped up in the bed sheets, looking mussed in the sexiest possible way. Her blue-green eyes blinked at him as he stood in the middle of her bedroom naked and staring out the window. “Come back to bed.”
The demand was issued between a glimpse of her bare backside as she rolled over and the delicious sounding noise that came as she sighed in a state of almost-sleep. Tempting as it was, he had to start distancing himself. That way when she left, it wouldn’t feel like he was losing the best thing in his life.
“I’ve got to get some work done.” He pulled on his jeans and grabbed his sweater from where it had landed on the floor last night. She pouted over her shoulder, her plush lips pillowing as she pressed them together. “My boss is a real pain in the neck.”
“I’ll bet you are.” Stella laughed into her pillow, her breathing evening out before he’d even finished lacing his shoes.
He reached over to where she slept and brushed a stray strand of hair from her face. A gentle smile tugged at the corners of her lips. How had he let himself fall for the one girl he couldn’t have? He’d never wanted a relationship before, seeing what his mother had gone through in her failed search for love would be enough to put anyone off. She wore not only the emotional scars but the physical ones too. When he was with Stella he felt like his world was full of purpose.
But he’d already let it get too far; he had to break away and protect himself.
Evan slipped out of the estate and made his way down to the cottage. Since he was sharing Stella’s bed most nights, he’d been able to keep his secret project under wraps. Matteo had been out a few times to help him, and the sight of his friend’s red utility vehicle parked out front made him smile.
The door to the cottage was unlocked and Evan pushed it open with a gloved hand. “Matt?”
“In the bedroom,” he called out, his words cut off by the sound of an electric drill.
Evan kicked his boots off onto the rug that had been laid down near the door. They didn’t want to traipse snow and mud across the new engineered hardwood floors. The cottage had been transformed. Gone were the bland cupboards in the kitchen and the ugly floral back splash tiles behind the sink. Gone was the well-loved green couch and the chunky old TV. It’
d all been replaced with modern, high quality upgrades. Nothing too flashy, of course. But it was simple, comfortable. Elegant.
The whole project was a gamble. He’d planned to upgrade the cottage and propose to Stella that they let Ethel move in—that way she could retire but still be close to the estate, which had been her home for the better part of the last five decades. She’d be able to have some peace and privacy, but it wouldn’t isolate her. It was perfect, really.
The only potential snag in the plans would come if Stella wasn’t interested in either a, selling to him or b, writing it into the sale that Ethel could live in the cottage free of charge.
“How’s the shower coming along?” Evan poked his head into the bathroom and let out a low whistle. “Wow, that looks great.”
The bathroom had received the most significant upgrade. New shower, new sink, new mirrors, new tiles. The palette of soft blues and cream looked traditional enough that Ethel would enjoy it yet it was still neutral and modern enough that it wouldn’t need to be upgraded again for a while.
“Are you going to bring Stella down to have a look?” Matt looked up from where he was drilling a new cabinet into the wall.
“Yeah, I think we’re close enough now.” He surveyed the room. “Let’s hope she likes it.”
…
Stella was sure Evan had been by her side a minute ago, though in the permanent haze of sex-induced relaxation it was quite possible she’d imagined it. Smiling, she rolled out and pulled the covers up under her chin. She’d come to appreciate the perks of chilly weather, namely the activities one could engage in to keep warm.
Her phone beeped from the little table next to the bed, warning her that her battery was about to die. It was the only sound it’d made in the last day. Not a text, call, or an email had come her way from anyone in Australia in over twenty-four hours. Tempted as she was to believe it was because people were respecting her privacy during her personal leave, deep down she knew it was because no one would care enough to contact her. Even her work email was a ghost town.
Little did they know she was having the best, most emotionally-charged sex of her life.
A stab of guilt caused her to sit up. Was it wrong to be enjoying herself so much? It wasn’t like she had much control over that. Evan was far too tempting. She’d seen a side of him only glimpsed at during their younger years. A side that was commanding, sensual, and loving beyond anything she could have expected. Beyond anything she would ever have thought to ask for.
From her vantage point in bed, the time capsule caught her attention, almost calling to her. She should open it. Her grandfather had left it for her knowing she would do right by him and fulfil her promise. On several occasions she’d reached for it over the last few weeks and she’d chickened out every damn time.
But she owed him at least a peek through the contents.
Swinging her legs out of the bed, she reached for her robe and wrapped herself in white, fluffy cotton. She brought the box back to the bed and slid the lid off with trembling hands. Tears immediately pricked the backs of eyes when she spied her grandfather’s handwriting. It was barely legible. She had a stack of birthday and Christmas cards with that same chicken-scratch scrawl, and the very sight of it made her feel like he was right there beside her. She slid the letter out of its envelope and unfolded the paper as carefully as one might handle a precious treasure.
To my darling little star,
You have lit up my life from the very second you entered this strange and wonderful world. I know things have not always been easy for you, and I know that at times you were lonely. But I want to reassure you that I never once stopped thinking about you in all my trips away. After your father died, you were my sole purpose for being—everything I did, everything I built, was for you.
For a long time I have wanted to tell you the truth. I wanted you to grow up knowing where you came from. But, for the sake of the security I had built for you, I couldn’t. Now that I am no longer here, and the estate belongs to you, I can finally tell you. You will find everything you need here. I kept it all so that one day I could give you the most precious thing of all—the truth.
Please don’t hate me for not confessing sooner. When you grew up, I feared too much time had passed. Each year it got harder and harder. When I got sick, I was terrified of losing you so I was selfish. I also wanted you to have a mother in your life and I’d hoped that she would grow to love you. But I fear I was wrong there as well.
I know this was the cowardly way to tell you and I hope you can forgive me.
Your loving grandfather.
Nicholas
Stella’s breath caught in her throat. Her heartbeat pounded and blood rushed in her ears. There was a reason her grandfather had wanted her to come here, and it wasn’t nostalgia. Placing the letter beside her on the bed, she lifted a small stack of papers bound by a clip. Her birth certificate lay on top, the name and date correct. Her place of birth was listed as London, England. But the surprise of her birthplace was eclipsed by the name printed in the column reserved for the mother’s details.
The mother she had known all her life was not listed.
Beneath her birth certificate was the death certificate of her real mother. The date matched Stella’s birthday.
It felt as though the wind had been knocked out of her. Her mouth hung open, time seemed to slow to an inconceivable pace. The paper shook in her hands as she tried to calm herself, tried to make sense of it all. For a moment she wondered if it was real. Perhaps she’d fallen asleep and dreamed up this crazy story to give herself a reason to stay. But deep down she knew.
It explained so many things—the fact that she was nothing like the woman who claimed to be her mother. The ease with which she’d left Stella behind to chase money. How she’d manipulated her without a shred of guilt.
Stella riffled through the remaining contents of the box. A stack of old photos was bound with twine, and she unknotted it slowly. The picture on top showed her father—young and with a huge grin on his face, his arm slung around a woman’s shoulders. The woman was heavily pregnant, with light hair, and her eyes hadn’t even left his face long enough for her to gaze at the camera. A scrawled note on the back confirmed that she was Stella’s real mother.
An hour later, Stella had reconstructed the past using old letters, photographs, and legal documents. Love letters between her father and her birth mother were full of tenderness and passion, the kind Stella thought to be a myth. She could see why her father had fled to Australia upon his wife’s death, and how in his grief he’d accepted an offer of escape from a friend. He must have thought he was doing the right thing, giving his daughter a mother figure…
The venomous letter from her adoptive mother explained why her grandfather had never told Stella the truth. The non-disclosure agreement threatened everything he had, including the thing he valued above all else—Stella. It probably hadn’t meant anything once she’d legally become an adult and her adoptive mother no longer had control over her living situation, but she could still see why her grandfather had worried about telling her the truth. Perhaps she would have resented him.
Hated him, even.
But the fact was, that even in this new light, her situation remained the same: she was alone. She never would’ve had the chance to know her mother, and her grandfather had made sure she had some connection to the estate with her yearly visits. Instinct told her that he’d done what he could.
If only she hadn’t died…
Stella’s life might have been very different. She traced the outline of one of the letters to her real mother, her father’s erratic cursive spelling out the agony he felt when away from her. The envelopes were postmarked from all over the world; France, Germany, Africa, New Zealand. They’d been apart so frequently and yet it didn’t diminish their love. In fact, the letters showed the increasing strength in their bond. It was proof love existed without agenda, without manipulation, without lies. Without greed.
&
nbsp; The box felt as though it weighed a ton, heavy with memories and revelations. Gathering the pieces of paper scattered around her, Stella re-packed the box and replaced the lid.
…
Evan had spent the walk back up to the estate trying to figure out how to fix this irresponsible, messy situation he’d put himself in. He didn’t do relationships.
Keep telling yourself that. Delusion is a good look on you.
Every night since they’d returned from London, he’d slept in Stella’s bed. He’d spent his days showing her around the countryside, teaching her the best way to get a fire going and where to get the best pictures. Then he’d tempt her back to bed as early as possible. If that wasn’t a relationship, then he didn’t know up from down anymore. Each morning he promised himself that he would put a stop to it. Each night he told himself that they had an end date, therefore it wasn’t a real relationship and one more day wouldn’t hurt.
Just one more day. Just one more night.
Like an addict, he kept going back to her, drawn in by her sweet smile and gentle touch. He’d pushed her to the edge—seen her anger, her sadness, her passion. He’d seen what she was made of and he couldn’t turn away from it. As he climbed the stairs to her room he steeled himself. It had to end soon. In a few days, Christmas would be here and then she’d be gone, and he’d feel her loss more keenly than he’d ever felt anything else in his life.
You need to cut it off now. Take her to the cottage, tell her what you want and then put an end to it before you both get hurt.
He opened the door to her room and found her sitting on the bed with a box in her hands. She looked at him wordlessly, her eyes red and watery. The box had something written across the side and he instantly identified the handwriting as belonging to Nicholas.
“Are you okay?” He hovered at the threshold.
Millionaire Under the Mistletoe Page 16
