But he could give in to the desire raging through him. The need to touch, to caress, to claim.
His thumb moved over her mouth, and his body tightened. Mind racing, pulse pounding, breath staggering from his lungs, Rick watched as her eyes closed and she turned her head into his caress. His fingers touched her smooth, soft skin. In the reflected light of the neon world thirty stories below them, her flesh looked like golden honey and he hungered for her as if it had been years rather than weeks since he'd last touched her.
"I need you," he said softly, not really sure if he'd spoken the words aloud—because they were repeating over and over inside his mind, like a tape stuck in permanent rewind.
"I need you, too," she said, and moved into him, pressing her body along his, inflaming them both.
"Now." Rick took her face between his palms, letting his fingers spear through her long, loose hair at her temples, and the red-gold strands lay across his skin like cool silk.
He kissed her, taking her mouth, plundering her warmth and drawing it deep inside him, where the cold still lurked in the dark corners of his heart. He held her, pressing her tightly to him, as if he could pull her into his body, making her a part of him.
She moved in even closer, as if sensing his need and sharing it. She cupped the back of his head in her palm and kissed him back, showing him her hunger, her need, and Rick reveled in it. Her hands slid across his back, stroking, caressing and all he could think was that there were too many clothes in the way of claiming her.
Reaching behind her, he undid the zipper of her dress and as the fabric spilled away, his fingertips wandered down her spine. She wore no bra and her panties were nothing more than a tiny piece of elastic with a scrap of lace attached. In seconds, they were gone, the elastic snapped in his eagerness to touch her. To hold her. To claim her one more time. To feel all of the things he'd only discovered in her arms.
"Rick—" She broke the kiss with a gasp and breathed his name in soft exhale of breath that staggered him. Then she scooped her hands around to his chest and pushed his suit jacket down and off. Her fingers tore at the buttons of his shirt and he stepped back to help her, because she was taking too long and he needed to feel her skin flush with his. Shared heat, soft to hard, smooth to rough.
Yanking his shirt off, he laughed when she grinned, and a flash of something warm and hot and desperately dangerous pushed through him. She was more, so much more than great sex. So much more than the woman who carried his child. She was light and heat and smiles and laughter. She was everything he'd always dreamed of and everything he knew he couldn't have. And he wanted her more desperately than he'd ever wanted anything in his life.
He tore off the rest of his clothes, then grabbed her close again, sliding his hands up and down her body, pressing her tightly to him. "You feel so good," he murmured as he dipped his head to kiss the curve of her shoulder.
Her head fell back, exposing her throat, and she said on a sigh, "You feel wonderful against me, Rick. I love it. I love how you kiss me." She lifted her head and met his gaze. Running her tongue across her bottom lip, she admitted, "I love how you feel inside me. I love what you make me feel."
His blood roared in his ears. Heart pounding against his chest, he couldn't breathe and didn't care. She was all that mattered. The next touch. The next kiss. The next taste of her.
He was hard and ready and wasn't willing to wait another second for her. Dragging her down to the lush carpet in front of the wide windows overlooking the strip, Rick scraped his hands up and down her body. He kissed her, plunging her depths, tasting, caressing, exploring her secrets and taking all she had to give.
Eileen held on tightly and met his tongue stroke for stroke. As his hands fired her blood and scorched her body, she planted her feet on the thick, soft carpet and lifted her hips in a silent plea. She wanted him within her. Needed to feel him fill her.
His hand swept down and cupped her and she groaned tightly, as tiny ripples of expectation shimmered through her. "Yes," she whispered, sliding her hands across his chest, smoothing, stroking. "Touch me, Rick. Touch me."
"Always," he murmured, and then he did. Dipping first one finger and then two into her depths, he stroked her, setting a rhythm that tantalized her even as he reached deeper and touched her soul. She felt the connection and hoped he felt it, too. Hoped he knew that she was giving him all that she was. Hoped he could believe in her.
And then her thoughts splintered as his thumb stroked her most sensitive spot. "Rick, I … need…"
"I know, baby," he whispered, his breath dusting warm across her face. "I know."
"Be in me," she said, and locked her gaze with his. "I need you to be inside me."
His jaw tightened, but he shifted, moving to cover her body with his and in seconds he was within her, claiming her, taking her higher, faster, than she'd ever been before. She moved with him, rocking her hips, finding the rhythm he set and she stared up into his eyes as the first explosion shuddered through her. Eileen called his name and held him tightly as she rode the wild wave of sensation cresting within. Moments later, he joined her and together they drifted slowly back to solid ground.
When the world stopped spinning and she thought she could gather enough breath to speak, Eileen said softly, "Happy wedding, Rick."
He lifted his head to stare down at her. "Same to you."
And if a small corner of her heart ached because she was in love with a man who would never believe that, she didn't let him know it.
* * *
Chapter 11
«^»
One month later, Eileen still wasn't sure if she'd done the right thing or not. Oh, she was married. She had pictures of the event to prove it.
She just wished she felt married.
But that wasn't easy when your brand-new husband insisted on treating you like a temporary roommate. A roommate he had great, amazing, mind-boggling sex with, of course. But still, there was no closeness out of their bed. He was hardly ever at home, spending most of his days—even the weekends at his office. And she couldn't even see him there, since the temp agency had, true to their promise, sent a substitute secretary until Margo returned. Between Eileen's work at Larkspur and his hours at the office, the only time they ever saw each other was in bed. And once the sex was finished, he went to sleep, turning from her even as he prepared for her to leave him. There was no late-night cuddling and whispered conversations about the future. How could there be, she asked herself, if he didn't think they were going to have a future?
Eileen had tried to remain cheerful. She'd been right there, every day. Trying to prove to him that she wasn't leaving. But she could see it in his eyes that he didn't—or couldn't—trust her to stay.
"How's the new house coming?"
"What?"
"Hello?" Bridie grinned and grabbed a cookie for herself.
The scent of cinnamon sugar filled Bridie's kitchen and felt cozy and warm. As November drifted into December, the weather was cold and dreary, but being here, Eileen thought, really helped dispel the chill she carried inside her.
"Your new house," Bridie prodded. "How's it coming?"
The new house. Another sore spot. Eileen frowned. Rick had bought the huge Spanish-style house on a bluff overlooking Pacific Coast Highway
without even consulting her. He said he'd wanted to surprise her. But the plain truth was, she thought, he was just trying to give her a gilded cage. By buying her a big house, he'd hoped to keep her there. To give her something she couldn't have gotten for herself.
But the house wasn't a home. It wasn't cozy and small like her old cottage. It was empty and sterile and, so far, not exactly the land where dreams were made. She rattled around in the big place by herself more often than not and couldn't even convince him to help her pick out furniture.
"It's not," she finally said, blurting out the truth, before she could talk herself out of it.
"What do you mean?"
Eileen grabbed one of her sister'
s homemade snickerdoodle cookies and leaned back in her chair. "I mean, we don't even have any furniture. It looks like a warehouse. The few pieces I brought with me from the cottage hardly fill up a corner of it."
"For Pete's sake, Eileen. Take some time off work and furnish the place."
She crumbled the cookie slowly, watching each crumb drop to the table and bounce. "I don't want to do it alone, Bridie. It's our house. Or supposed to be. He should be a part of it."
"But…"
"But…" Eileen wanted to unload on her sister. God knows, she needed to talk to someone about this. But at the same time, she felt almost disloyal talking about Rick behind his back. Damn the man, couldn't he see that she loved him? Couldn't he see that he was pushing her away by not reaching out to her? Did he care?
As if sensing Eileen needed a change of subject, Bridie shifted gears. "I still can't believe you're married to my old boyfriend."
Eileen was grateful. She didn't want to think about her troubles right now. For this one moment, she wanted to enjoy being in her sister's happy home. This was what it should be like, she thought. This was how she and Rick should be living. With clutter and laughter and the sound of kids in the background. Instead, she had emptiness and silence.
Leaning forward, Eileen grabbed another cookie and this time she took a bite. "Gee thanks. What does that make Rick, the ultimate hand-me-down?"
Bridie's big blue eyes rolled. "Oh please. Let's see, he broke up with me in senior year of high school, so I'm thinking … no."
"That's right," Eileen said, straightening in her chair as memories drifted through her mind like stray clouds across the sky. While her brain worked, her gaze shifted, scanning her sister's tidy blue-and-white kitchen as if looking for something. Idly she noted the kids' drawings stuck to the refrigerator doors, the small fingerprints left on the sliding glass door leading to the screened-in patio and crayons and coloring books scattered over the freshly waxed floor.
But she wasn't really seeing any of it. Instead, she was reaching back in her memory and discovering something she'd long forgotten. "You didn't break up with him, did you? He left you."
"Yeah," Bridie said. "And just before homecoming, too, the rat." Grinning, she added, "Lucky for him, I've decided to be a good sport and forgive him."
Excited, Eileen shook her head and leaned forward, bracing her arms on the polished oak table. "No, don't you get it? He broke up with you before you could break up with him."
Confusion filled her sister's eyes. "And this means … what, exactly?"
Eileen opened her mouth to speak but was cut off when a red-haired toddler burst into the room, tears streaking her tiny face.
"Mommy, Mommy," three-year-old Becky ran across the floor and slammed into her mother's right knee. "Jason won't let me fly with him."
"Honey, Jason can't fly. He—" Bridie's eyes widened as she jumped up. "Fly?" Already headed out to the backyard, she shouted, "Be back in a minute," and rushed out of the room.
Becky climbed up onto Eileen's lap, stole a cookie and leaned back against her. "Boys are dumb," she said around a bite of cookie.
Eileen stroked her niece's soft-as-silk hair and kissed the top of her head. "I'll remind you of that in about ten years."
But the little girl wasn't paying attention. She'd already slid off her aunt's lap and stretched out onto the floor, grabbing up her favorite purple crayon. While she watched her niece, Eileen smiled to herself, patted her abdomen and whispered, "No flying for you unless we're on a plane, deal?"
Then her smile slowly faded as thoughts of Rick poured back into her mind. Years ago, he'd broken up with Bridie to avoid having her break up with him. And Eileen had to wonder if his first marriage hadn't ended because he'd held back from Allison, too. Just as he was doing now, with her.
Oh, he hadn't actually left her. But he might as well have. He was hardly ever home—in that cavernous, impersonal house he'd bought for her. He kept himself at an emotional distance. He wouldn't be drawn into conversations. He didn't even want to talk about the baby or make plans, as if he already knew he wouldn't be a part of any plans Eileen might make.
He cared for her, she could see it in his eyes. He still turned to her at night, drawing her to him, giving her his body but not his heart. But otherwise, he moved like a ghost through her life.
There, but not connected.
Present, but not a part of anything.
Physically there, but emotionally distant.
He kept walls up around his heart in an attempt to protect it. But he didn't even realize that in building the walls, he was shutting love out, never letting it in. He was already cutting her out of his life so that when she left, he wouldn't be hurt.
And she didn't know if she could find a way past his defenses.
* * *
Two days later, nothing had changed and Eileen's legendary impatience was near implosion point. And she simply couldn't wait one more day to have her say. Waiting, trying her limited store of patience, wasn't helping. Maybe nothing would, a quiet, sad voice whispered in the back of her mind.
But she had to try.
And since he was leaving for a four day business trip to San Francisco, it was now … or wait some more.
She chose now.
Eileen was dressed and waiting in the kitchen when Rick came downstairs. She heard him long before she saw him, since his footsteps on the uncarpeted oak staircase echoed in the stillness.
The whole house was like an echo chamber. Wide front windows with a view of the ocean. Empty rooms. Unadorned floors. Nothing on the walls.
It felt abandoned.
She'd stewed about this for two days. Her dreams had been filled with it. And now it was time to make a stand. It was time to force Rick to talk to her. To make him see and admit, at least to himself, that he was shutting her out.
He came around the corner from the living room and stopped dead when he saw her. He wore a dark blue suit, pristine white shirt and a bloodred tie. His aftershave, a spicy mixture, drifted to her from across the room and she had to take a deep, calming breath to keep from rushing at him, throwing herself into his arms.
She knew he'd welcome her embrace.
There was nothing wrong with the physical side of their relationship, except for the fact that that was all they had going for them at the moment.
He set his garment bag down in the doorway, then shoved his hands into his pants pockets. "I thought you were going into the shop early today."
At least he listened to her when she talked. That was something.
"I called Paula," Eileen said. "She's going in to accept the deliveries." She took a long sip of her coffee, swallowed it, then set her cup on the counter. "I asked her to help me this morning, because I needed a few minutes with you before you left. We have to talk."
As if someone had hit a light switch, she actually saw those now-familiar shutters slam down over his eyes. He didn't have to physically back up for her to see him put more distance between them. "Can't," he said shortly. Checking his gold wristwatch briefly, he looked back at her. "Have to leave to catch my flight and—"
She interrupted his flow of excuses. They weren't good enough anymore, and she wouldn't let them stop her. "Rick, you can't just ignore me."
He walked past her toward the coffee pot. Pouring himself a half a cup, he glanced at her. "Nobody's ignoring you, Eileen."
He was so close his aftershave seemed to surround her. And yet, he was further away from her than ever. "Okay, poor choice of words." She reached up and tightened her ponytail before dropping her hands to the edge of the cold, gray—yes, gray, God, was everything in his world gray?—granite counter. Steeling herself, she blurted, "You're not ignoring me. You're placating me."
"What?"
At least she had his attention. She swallowed hard. Now all she had to do was keep it. "This house for instance."
He took a drink. "I thought you liked the house."
"I do, but that's not the point."<
br />
He took another sip of his coffee and looked at her over the rim of the cup. "Then tell me what is."
Eileen just stared at him for a couple of heartbeats. Was he really that obtuse? "You bought this place without even telling me."
He stiffened slightly. "We already went over this. I wanted to surprise you."
Yeah, they'd gone over it. When she'd freaked out over his buying a house on a hill in Laguna as casually as most men bought a new shirt. She'd been bowled over by the beauty of it and hurt by the fact that he hadn't even included her in the decision to buy it. But it was hard to stay mad at a man for buying you a darn mansion. Even if she did miss the coziness of her cottage. "Congrats. It worked."
A muscle in his jaw twitched. "What're you getting at, Eyeball?"
The use of her old nickname should have warmed her. It didn't. It was simply something he tossed her, like throwing a hungry dog a meatless bone. He used it to pretend they were close. To somehow assure himself that everything was fine. It wasn't. She sighed, tipped her head back and looked him squarely in the eye. "We have to talk."
Rick's stomach fisted.
Every muscle in his body tightened as if waiting for a blow. He'd been expecting this. But even he was a little surprised that this moment had arrived only one short month after their wedding.
Watching her, his heart turned over. Her red-gold hair, in the ponytail she wore when she was going to work at her flower shop, swung like a metronome behind her head, ticking off her movements. It bounced when she walked and seemed to swing even harder when she was mad. It was a soft, shining indicator of her moods. And he loved the way it moved with her. She wore jeans and an old sweatshirt with a faded Santa lying in a recliner emblazoned across the front.
Everything about Eileen got to him.
Living with her, being with her all the time had been both heaven and hell. Hearing her voice in the darkness, having her no more than an arm's reach away during the long nights was more happiness than he'd ever known. She sang—badly—in the shower, cried at television commercials and thrived on the most appalling fast-food diet he'd ever seen. When happy, she laughed with a wholeheartedness that made him envy her joy. She'd stormed back into his life and turned it all upside down.
SLEEPING WITH THE BOSS Page 11
