“Why did you turn your back on your family before your father was caught? When Platinum Joe was still making money, why did you leave it?”
He didn’t take his stare from the road. His grip on the steering wheel turned his knuckles white. Letting out a ragged sigh, she dragged her hands through her hair. Perhaps if James knew more about her past, he’d stop blaming her for Clinton’s death. If he understood her more…
“Being very wealthy is surreal.” She shook her head. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that. I never really felt comfortable with it, even as a little girl. While my friends were getting a new Barbie for Christmas or a new dress, I was getting a pony or having a birthday party in Paris.”
He chuckled, the sound wry. “I celebrated my thirteenth birthday in Paris.”
“I celebrated my thirteenth birthday by getting drunk at one of Dad’s famous parties and passing out in the back of some musician’s car.”
The memory stole through her, cold and clammy and acrid. What would he say to that?
She traced the line of his profile with her gaze, waiting. He flicked her a quick sideways glance and said nothing.
“I think that was the real beginning of my disenchantment with wealth.” She turned back to the side window. “Gradually, I grew more and more disinterested in the trappings. My parents divorced, and the custody battle was horrible. I watched Dad drink and snort his way through many more wild parties after that. When I was eighteen, one of his business associates hit on me at one of those parties. The man had his hand up my skirt, pulling at my underpants before I knew what was going on. He told me Dad didn’t mind. Said with his money and my looks normal rules didn’t exist. Told me we were above society and could do whatever the fuck we wanted.”
“Jesus.” James’s flat expletive sounded through the Aston Martin’s cabin.
Sienna closed her eyes on the unpleasant memory. “I moved out the next day. If that’s what being rich was, I didn’t want anything to do with it. No one in my family tried to make me come back. The businessman turned up at my small apartment a week later. Told me he still wanted to fuck me. Offered to put me up in a penthouse apartment overlooking the harbor.” She snorted out a dry laugh. “He really couldn’t understand why I said no.”
“Who was the businessman?”
She looked at him, her stomach a knotted mess. “Why? You going to destroy him for me? Be my knight in Hugo Boss?”
“Yes.”
His response stunned her, even as it sent a lick of heat through her heart. “See? This is what I don’t like about money. It makes you believe you are a god, with no boundaries or limits. Not answerable to morals or ethics. The kind of things people who aren’t ridiculously wealthy hold dear.”
“There are plenty of poor arseholes in the world, Sienna.”
She chuckled. “True, but they can’t always pay their way out of trouble, can they? Or make trouble go away by signing a check. Dad found that out the hard way.” She shrugged, settling back in the luxurious passenger seat. “And now he’s where he deserves to be. Simple.”
“So you don’t paint for fame? For recognition? For money?”
Plucking at the high hem of her skirt, she shook her head. “I paint because I’d go crazy if I didn’t. I only ever wanted to earn a living from it so I never had to ask Dad for help. Things changed, of course, when Zach came to live with me. Then I needed to make a living to pay for his schooling, to keep him in a steady home with some semblance of normality.” She snorted again, smoothing her palm over her thigh. “Not really sure I’ve been doing a good job of that lately, what with you and Thomas St. Clair in my home.”
“Do you regret me ever knocking on your door?”
She lifted her head at his low question, her heart wild.
Did she? He’d turned everything upside down. He’d hurt her, embarrassed her, and angered her.
And yet he’d made her laugh, he’d gotten Zach back into school, he’d made her feel…
He’d made her feel, something she only ever really did when painting. He’d made her feel again. And believe. And hope.
“No.” She shook her head. “I don’t.”
Without a word or warning, he swung the Aston Martin in a sharp U-turn and pressed his foot to the accelerator.
She frowned, looking out the window. “Where are we going?”
He threw her a lopsided grin. “I told you, good coffee.”
A few moments later, he turned the sports car into the driveway framed on either side by a high solid-constructed fence. A panel of the wall slid open, revealing an opulent, architecturally designed home surrounded in lush gardens and ankle-high muted lights.
Sienna stiffened in her seat. “Is this…?”
As if she hadn’t spoken, James drove the Aston Martin through the gate and into an open garage in which sat a Bentley, a Ferrari, a Mercedes, and a Lotus Esprit. Killing the engine, he released his seat buckle and twisted to face her. “Do me a favor, okay?” A small grin played with his lips. “Pretend those other cars aren’t there and my home is furnished by Ikea?”
She laughed. “O—”
He kissed her.
…
He shouldn’t have done it. Not in the car.
The second his lips touched hers, the need to bury his hands in the exquisite tumble of her hair and make love to her mouth with his tongue overwhelmed him. He was beyond caring who she was—the woman Clint had killed himself over—and only cared about what she was—the woman who stirred within him passion and compassion and the need to protect and cherish. It wasn’t possible, he was a Dyson after all, but there it was.
Her story of her childhood, the trappings of money he knew well, laid bare for him to judge, condemn, or accept.
The courage it must have taken to share that with him was beyond his understanding. Her trust in him, to give such a tormented part of her soul to him when he’d done little but play with her emotions, humbled him. And made him ache for her all the more.
He swept his tongue over the silken softness of her lips, aching to deepen the kiss. She whimpered, brushing a hand at his chest just above his pounding heart. The contact—no more than a feather-light caress—sent a jolt of concentrated heat into his groin. He groaned, fisted his hand in her hair for a moment, and then pulled back.
Desire and pleasure flushed her face. Her closed eyes fluttered open. The tip of her tongue touched her bottom lip. “James…”
He gave her a small smile and shook his head, even as his very soul demanded he pull her into his arms and kiss her again. “Coffee. Good coffee, remember?”
She laughed, a soft sound he enjoyed listening to so much. “This coffee better be the world’s best coffee.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “What, you don’t believe me?”
Her lips twitched. “Let’s just say the build up better have payoff.”
His gut clenched at her words. Christ, he wanted to undress her, he wanted to explore every inch of her delectable flesh as he revealed it, his tongue and lips discovering her curves, her dips, her secrets. The payoff to a build up he’d been both resisting and stoking since he’d seen her at Clinton’s exhibition.
With a silent curse, he opened his door and climbed out.
She alighted as he walked around to her side, her hair spilling over her shoulders as a breeze played through the auburn waves. Her eyebrows dipped into a frown.
“Is there a problem?”
“I never do this.”
“Coffee? I have decaf if it helps.” He grinned. “Good decaf.”
She huffed out a laugh. “Not coffee, this.” She indicated his house, her stilettos clinking together as they dangled from her fingers by the ankle straps. “Going to a guy’s home. I don’t do this. I’ve never felt comfortable doing this.”
He studied her profile, his throat tight. What did he do if she changed her mind and wanted to leave? It wasn’t just that he wanted to kiss her again. He wanted to keep spending time with her. As simple
as that. “Do you feel comfortable with me?”
Her frown deepened, and then with a smile, she closed her door and took the three steps separating them. “Yes, I do. And considering the second time we met, I think I’m allowed to say that’s surprising.”
A thick pressure wrapped around his chest. She was making light of the way he’d treated her—the revenge-driven, alpha-male, lust-mad treatment from a caveman in a suit. Would he be so forgiving if the situation were reversed?
He didn’t want to contemplate an answer. He wouldn’t like it.
She smiled up at him, the moonlight reflecting in her eyes. “C’mon, Mr. Dyson. I’m ready for the payoff.”
She turned on her bare heel and, shoes swinging beside her thigh, walked toward his home.
The gentle, unaffected sway of her hips undid him. Turned him inside out. He’d never wanted a woman so much as he wanted her, and yet, with every second in her company, a simple truth struck him: it was much more than base lust and manipulative desire.
So much more.
…
James’s home didn’t require an actual key to enter. He punched in a series of numbers on a keypad next to the front door before turning the brushed-steel doorknob and pushing the door wide. “Mia casa.” He waved his arm through the opening.
She couldn’t stop her smile. Who was this man before her? Not the James she’d met on the steps of the St. Paul Cathedral. Nor the same man who’d appeared on her doorstep only a few days ago. This man was funny, relaxed, friendly, approachable, and…and…
Her heart quickened. “Perfect.”
His nostrils flared. His stare held hers. “I couldn’t have said it better.”
He snaked his arm around her waist, pulled her to his body with a gentle tug, and claimed her lips with his.
She didn’t resist. What was the point anymore? They’d played their games. They’d battled their desire. Now all that remained was pleasure. Pleasure absolute.
He walked her backward into his home, slanting his lips over hers, delving his tongue into her mouth. He smoothed his hands up her throat to cup her jaw, resting his fingertips on her cheeks. He stopped walking long enough to kick the door shut behind him before moving deeper into the foyer.
The marble floor chilled her bare feet, icy against her soles. The contrast to the heat of his lips and hands sent a ripple of delight through her. She whimpered into his mouth, her backward steps as he directed her into his home trusting.
When the marble beneath her feet became soft carpet, she broke the kiss, her breath ragged.
He gazed down at her, his eyes ablaze. “Too much?”
“Not enough.” Her heart hammered in her throat. “I just need to…draw a breath before I do this.”
She tossed her stilettos onto the closest chair—a pale-gray leather sofa—and then pressed against him, sliding her hands up his chest, over his shoulders, and into his hair. “And this.” She pulled his head down to hers to kiss him.
He groaned into her mouth, fisting his hands in the fabric at the small of her back to haul her harder to his body. His teeth nipped at her bottom lip, drawing its fullness into his mouth. He sucked, the gentle pressure flooding her with wicked pleasure. She pressed her hips forward, wanting to feel his arousal grinding to her belly.
James growled his approval, his mouth travelling her jaw, up to her ear as he dragged his hands down her back to her hips. “Don’t do that, Si.” His hot breath fanned her ear. “Not unless you plan on ending up naked in my—”
She rolled her hips again.
With a groan, he snared the high hem of her dress and pulled it up over her body.
The room’s cool air kissed her bare skin. Her nipples pinched into pebbled tips. She stood motionless as he took a step back and roamed his gaze over her body. He sucked in a deep breath, his eyes lingering for a heartbeat on the dusky points of her breasts, the tiny triangle of her delicate black lace G-string.
“Christ.” His nostrils flared. “You are even more beautiful than I…”
He didn’t finish. Instead, he closed the distance between them and framed her face in his palms. Her breath hitched as he smoothed one hand down her throat to cup her breast. Her nipple beaded against his firm touch and he dragged his thumb over the puckered point of flesh.
Her knees trembled at his touch. A mounting need filled the pit of her belly. She moaned. What would she do if he was to—
He moved his mouth to her breast and Sienna gasped, clawing at his back. Holy hell. Oh holy hell, it was so good.
She bowed her back, fisting her hands in his hair as he nibbled and sucked on her nipple. Ribbons of raw pleasure unfurled through her. She clung to him, the intensity of his touch a fire engulfing her.
Her knees wobbled again.
He tore his mouth from her breast and gazed down into her eyes. “Please don’t tell me to stop.”
“No way.”
“I mean”—he brushed his thumb over her bottom lip, his stare holding hers—“I will if you want me to. I promised coffee—”
“Good coffee.”
“Good coffee,” he amended, smiling at her soft tease. “And if you want me to slow down—”
She reached for his belt, slipped her fingers between it and his flat stomach, and tugged him toward her. “Does it look like I want you to slow down?”
He chuckled. “No.”
She laughed. On fire. She was so on fire… “Then shut up and make love to me.”
He scooped her up into his arms. “Done.”
In two steps, he deposited her onto the closest sofa, capturing her lips with his, teasing out her pleasure with gentle swipes and thrusts. His hands moved over her bare breasts, pinching one nipple and then the other. She moaned, arching on the cushions.
“You are so beautiful.” He skimmed his fingers over her stomach and traced her folds through the lace of her knickers. “So beautiful.”
Heat flushed over her and she pushed her hips upward. God, she wanted him to touch her there, without the barrier of her Kmart undies.
“You’re wet for me.” He stroked her pussy, rolling a fingertip over the button of her clit, his lips searing a path over her jaw. “I love it.”
Her body ached, impatient for more. “I love you touching me. It feels…”
He slipped his fingers beneath the lace of her G-string.
Exquisite pleasure erupted in her core. She thrust up into his penetration, her breath shallow. “Oh wow. Oh wow…”
He slipped another finger into her sex and scissored the two inside her. She cried out, his touch driving her closer to an edge she wasn’t ready to fall over.
“Christ, Si.” He nuzzled the base of her throat. “You are exquisite.”
She circled his wrist with a tight grip and shook her head. “I don’t…I don’t want to come yet.”
He raised his head, stilling his fingers inside her. “I promise I’ll make you explode many more times tonight.”
She whimpered, releasing her hold on his wrist. “You better.”
“I will.” He nipped her lip with a gentle bite and then captured her nipple with his mouth again.
Oh wow…
He shifted on the floor beside the sofa, dragging his mouth from her breast to the hitching plane of her belly. “Keep going…” She squirmed on the sofa, the leather cool against her flushed skin. “Keep going…”
He stroked his fingers over the sweetest spot inside her, his lips and tongue exploring the shallow dip of her navel.
The delicious pressure inside her grew tighter. Hotter. “James.” She squeezed her eyes shut, her toes curling. “I-I’m going…I’m going to…”
He withdrew his fingers, chuckling at her protesting moan. “I want to taste you when you do.”
He removed her G-string in one fluid move.
Chapter Ten
His head spun. He’d been with more than one woman in his life, but none had affected him like Sienna. None had awoken in him a need, a desire beyond comp
rehension to give her more pleasure than he took.
All that mattered was bringing her to the pinnacle of rapture over and over. In doing so, he would reach his own.
The powerful desire should have scared him. It didn’t. He’d never felt something so right before.
Heart racing, he slid up her body, the exquisite sensation of her bare skin like a brand against his chest through his shirt, and crushed her mouth with his. He took utter and complete possession of her lips, her tongue, fisting his hands in her hair as he did so to hold her exactly where he wanted her to be.
She groaned into his rough kiss, grinding the curve of her sex to his rigid length as she clawed at his chest, his neck, down his back.
Groaning in return, he moved his mouth to her throat and wriggled his hands between her arse and the sofa.
“Suck,” she ordered on a shaky breath. “Please.”
Waves of raw pleasure crashed through him and he drew on the side of her throat with hungry desire. Wild. She was so wild and uninhibited and perfect.
She arched against him, scraping her nails at his back. “Again.”
Fresh pain licked through him, at once pleasurable and addictive.
He sucked harder on her neck, scoring her flesh with his teeth this time.
“Oh God, James.” She rolled her head, presenting him more of her smooth neck. “That’s good.”
He journeyed up to her ear, nipped at her earlobe, and then snagged his fist in the silken strands of her hair and yanked her head to the other side, capturing her throat with his mouth as he did so.
“James…” She raked her hands over his hips. “I want…I want…” Sliding her hand down to his groin, she lowered the zipper of his fly.
His erection sprang free, barely contained by the silk of his boxers.
She slipped her fingers around its trapped length, her moan thick with appreciation. “Impressive.”
Pleasure licked through him, tight and hot. His. She was his. His and no one else’s. No one. No—
“She was mine, brother. Mine.”
Clinton’s words, his hurt snarl. In his head.
Fuck.
Tearing his lips from her, he staggered from her body. Guilt. Christ, guilt lashed at him. Tainted his pleasure. Angered him. He ground his teeth, studying her.
The Stubborn Billionaire (a Muse novel) Page 12
