Yes, that could work.
Forcing a calm she didn’t feel, she escaped from the bedroom to the adjoining bathroom, where she removed the pearl-and-blossom tiara from her hair, washed her face and brushed her teeth. On the other side of the porcelain sink sat his razor, shaving mug, toothbrush and other masculine sundries.
She felt as if she were trespassing on his inner sanctum. The feeling was uncomfortable. Intimidating. Provocative. She wanted to open closets and drawers; search out secrets; know him in a deeper, truer way. She would never invade a person’s privacy, though. Especially not Cole’s. She was already venturing too far into his personal space … and he into hers.
He would “plant his seed within her.” Firmly, forcibly, place it there.
A prickly anticipation rushed over her, and she busied herself with a steamy soak in the Jacuzzi tub to help calm her nerves. Afterward, she unpinned her hair from its upsweep and spent some soothing time brushing the wavy mass to a high sheen.
She rarely wore her hair free like this, except to bed. No amount of brushing kept it civilized for long. Phillip had suggested she cut it for efficiency’s sake. At the time, she’d been working as the financial aid director of the university where he taught, and their schedules had left her little time for styling it. Although she’d always considered her long hair to be one of her few physical attributes that might be considered a plus, she had planned to have it cut. But then Phillip had disappeared, her father had had the heart attack and she’d been forced to quit her job at the university to run the bridal shop. The time she spent on her hair no longer seemed to matter.
She wouldn’t think of those long-ago days she’d spent with Phillip now … or the fact that she would soon be sleeping with another man. Making love to another man. Thrusting aside a confusing tangle of emotions, she searched the overnight bag for her nightgown and robe.
She found instead the candlelight-lace negligee that Lianna had urged her to wear. Her devious friend had obviously switched it with the demure night apparel Tess had packed. Making a mental note to kill Lianna, she rifled through her suitcase in a frenzied attempt to find something—anything—to wear other than the negligee. Sheer, sexy lace would set exactly the wrong tone.
Unfortunately, she had packed only for one night, reluctant to tote too much unwieldy luggage through the crowd of reporters and to the wedding ceremony itself. She found only the slacks and sweater she would wear to work in the morning.
Tess ground her teeth in annoyance. If only she were staying in a private room, her friend’s mischief wouldn’t matter. But she was staying here, in Cole’s bedroom. With Cole. She would not wear a negligee.
A knock at the bedroom door startled her. “Tess?”
Her pulse spiked at the deep, sexy rumble of his voice. “Yeah?”
“May I come in?”
“Oh … um, yes.” She would have to ask to borrow a shirt, or maybe pajamas. But she couldn’t answer the door in a towel! That, too, would set the wrong mood.
She heard the door handle turn and catch. “The door’s locked.”
Of course it was. She hadn’t entirely trusted him to keep out Glad for the few minutes’ reprieve her distrust had won her, she tugged the bath towel off of her, flung it onto a towel rack and hurried to the armchair in the bedroom where the wedding gown lay. “Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot that I’d lacked the door. Didn’t want any of your household staff to walk in on me. I’ll be right there.”
As she talked, she stepped into her wedding gown—minus the petticoats and underwear—and fumbled with the back buttons. She wasn’t able to reach the very top ones. She paused for a moment in a desperate attempt to calm the rioting of her heart, then strode across the room and opened the door.
Cole stood with his shoulder against the jamb, a champagne bottle in one hand and two stemmed glasses in the other. A lock of his dark hair had fallen across his forehead, and the vertical groove beside his mouth had deepened, though the only smile she saw was in his eyes. “Your hour’s up.”
So was her temperature and her pulse, and her heart, which had risen into her throat at the sight of him.
He strolled past her into the bedroom, his powerful presence proclaiming it as his domain; proclaiming ownership of all within. Calm down, Tess. He can’t take more of you than you’re willing to give. He wore a black-trimmed, jade green robe that emphasized the vivid green of his eyes and the sweep of his thick dark brows and lashes. The soft sheen of the fabric somehow accentuated the ruggedness of his face and the muscular build of his body. A warrior in silk.
He’s not a warrior, and you’re not his conquest—or his enemy. Then what was she to him? Not one of his lovers. Not really his wife, since their vows had been lies. What could she ever hope to be to him?
He set the champagne bottle and glasses on a table, then reached for a wall switch and dimmed the lights to a golden glow. Barely sparing her a glance, he sauntered with easy masculine grace to his bed and flicked back the covers. He then opened a drawer beside the bed and tossed a small package onto the nightstand. Condoms.
Did he think he would need more than one? She couldn’t imagine that. But then she did imagine that, and her blood stirred.
She wondered if he wore anything beneath his robe. Dark, silky curls glimmered across a bare expanse of his chest. His tautly corded legs and suntanned feet were also bare. She suspected he wore nothing at all beneath the loosely sashed silk. The idea of all that raw male power barely sheathed aroused a tingling heat beneath her skin … and a wicked sensuality deeper within her. She wanted to run her hand up his bare thigh and feel his muscles clench.
She had to hold that sensuality in check.
He turned his attention to her then, like a thousand-watt spotlight, heating the very air between them. After a long, silent stare, he ambled around her in a close half circle, his gaze never leaving her—a male animal circling his intended mate. She caught the faint scent of soap and a citrusy, woodland fragrance that reminded her of orange groves, summertime lemonade, fragrant forest glens. But beneath the lightness of the aftershave lurked a vitally male redolence that brought to mind their frenzied, heated kiss in the chapel.
She wouldn’t think about that kiss now, or the way she’d nearly come undone in his arms.
“You’re still wearing your gown,” he observed, coming to a halt before her.
“I forgot to pack my night clothes.” Nervously she raked a long, stubborn auburn lock back from her face. His eyes followed the movement, then drifted over her unruly hair. Did he think she was foolish or vain for wearing it so long? Would he find her more attractive if she had cut it? She didn’t think so. She sensed approval in his silent regard. Warm, sensual approval that made her want to feel his hands sifting through her hair. “Do you have a shirt or pajamas I can borrow?”
His gaze left her hair and descended in a slow perusal of the rest of her. She realized then that the bodice of her off-the-shoulder gown gaped open a little too much because of the unfastened top buttons in the back, and the skirt clung to her hips and legs rather wickedly because of the missing petticoats. She was also barefoot. And bare-legged. In fact, entirely naked beneath the thin ivory satin.
She supposed she should feel self-conscious. She didn’t. A naughty, wanton compulsion coursed through her. Despite her better intentions, she wanted to entice him.
She couldn’t give in to the impulse! She knew what lay beneath his calm nonchalance. Fire. Sexual fire. Play and you’ll get burned.
A noticeable heat now simmered in his eyes, and huskiness softened his voice. “You don’t need a shirt or pajamas. And I’m glad you’re wearing the gown. I’ve thought all day about how I’d like to take it off of you.”
Erotic warmth pulsed through her at that prospect. “Actually, I … I’m glad you brought that up.” She squared her jaw in a show of strength to counteract the weakness of her knees and the disturbingly throaty quality of her voice. “I won’t need help taking off the gown, and I wi
ll need a shirt or pajamas. I’d rather that we don’t take off any more clothing than absolutely necessary to … um…” a flush climbed into her face and a breathlessness overtook her “…get the job done.”
Incredulity flickered in his stare.
She went on in a nervous rush, “We’re here to fulfill specific demands of the will and the curse, and that’s what we’ll do. That’s all we’ll do. This is serious business. Not…” her voice wavered only slightly “…pleasure.”
His brows gathered like storm clouds, and she braced herself for a clap of thunder or jagged fork of lightning. But he turned with his usual nonchalance to the bottle of champagne, pried the previously popped cork out with his thumbs and filled both glasses with the pale, frothy liquid.
“A toast.” He handed her a glass. “To … serious business.”
He’d even made the word “business” sound sensual. Unnerved, she clinked her glass with his and indulged in a fizzy, fortifying swallow of the cool, fragrant champagne. Regardless of how she tried to look at the situation, the prospect of their intimate involvement shook her.
He drank to the toast, lowered his glass and watched her. “Make no mistake, ma’am,” he drawled. “I always try to mix business with pleasure.”
Her fingers reflexively tightened around the smooth, cool champagne glass, and she fought the urge to press it against her overly heated face or between her breasts. “I’m not saying that this … business of ours … should be unpleasurable, but—” Her words caught in her throat as he slid a hand around her waist and drew her to him. “Wh-what are you doing?”
“Sitting.” He sank into an armchair and stationed her on his lap; or, more specifically, on his thigh. He’d whisked the skirt of her gown out from behind her before pulling her down, and it billowed around her as she descended. Which left only the silk of his robe separating his sinewy thigh from her naked bottom. His warmth and hardness sent heat shimmering along her every nerve. “Sitting is allowed during a business transaction,” he murmured, his breath a hot torrent against her jaw, “isn’t it?”
“I … I suppose so.” She couldn’t think clearly enough to resume her discussion of the point she’d been trying to make. His hand had splayed below the small of her back. The other cradled her hip. Heat radiated through the ivory satin from his touch. And his handsome, virile face hovered near hers, generating chaos within her.
“You’re not wearing anything underneath,” he whispered in a strangled tone of discovery, “are you?”
“No.”
A muscle flexed in his jaw, and his hands tightened on her. Her heart nearly beat its way out of her chest. Slowly he removed the champagne glass from her hands and set it aside while his gaze touched her face, her hair, her throat … her breasts, barely contained within the gaping bodice of her gown. Her nipples hardened against the satin just from his visual exploration.
When he met her eyes again, she nearly melted from the force of his heat. “I want you, Tess. And business has nothing to do with it.”
Desire spiked so sharply through her that she reached for him in panic, catching his strong, clean-shaven jaw between her hands. “Cole, listen, please,” she implored. “What we’re doing tonight is just business, and that’s the way it has to be. I don’t want things to get too … personal … between us.”
He shut his eyes with a pained frown, turned his face and pressed a lingering kiss into the sensitive core of her palm. “Why?” The long, drawn-out word rushed hotly across the moist place where he’d kissed her, sending spirals of heat to her stomach.
“Because I’ve only known you a week.” A good enough reason, but not the important one. How could she possibly tell him that he affected her too deeply? “Less than a week.”
“It doesn’t feel that way, Tess.” His stare blazed and bandied with hers, pressing for deeper intimacy. For entrance to her soul. “It feels like I’ve known you all my life.”
Her throat tightened with both fear and desire. She couldn’t doubt his sincerity. She felt the same—as if she knew him in a profoundly fundamental way that had nothing to do with chronological time. And though she hadn’t intended to share anything too personal with him, she heard herself pouring out a very basic truth. “I’ve never been intimate with anyone I wasn’t in love with.”
Something deep within the forest of his eyes darkened, as if a cloud had eclipsed the sun, and she felt tension steal over him. With a frown and a groan, he shifted her deeper into his arms and kissed her—a hot, probing, possessive kiss that stunned her with its intensity. He lodged her against the cushioned arm of the wingback chair and prolonged the intercourse of their mouths until her blood ran hot and her arms came around his broad, taut shoulders. “Then fall in love with me,” he uttered against her mouth. “Fall in love with me, Tess.”
She knew she should pull away from him—run away from him—but his seductive heat lured her into another kiss. “I can’t do that,” she breathed at the first opportunity. “I can’t… Ohhh!”
He’d abandoned her mouth for her throat, lavishing hot, humid kisses down the side and back up again. Exquisite sensations distracted her, aroused her, but she had to make sure he understood the limitations. “Only what’s necessary. We won’t do anything that’s not absolutely, positively—”
The decree ended on a little groan as he swirled his tongue down to the shadows within her gaping bodice. His mouth crossed the upper swells of her breasts in light, tingling passes that focused her attention entirely on him.
Her nipples soon begged for the heated glide of his tongue, but he withheld that from her, refusing to dip any lower. His hand, meanwhile, coursed across the satin of her gown, around the curve of her hip and upward, inciting a riot of sensation everywhere he touched. Her body moved beneath his hand in helpless response. He stopped short of her breast. A maddening thing to do.
He distracted her from that flagrant neglect, though, with the hot, sensuous glide of his mouth down the slope of a breast. She held her breath and bit her lip in keen anticipation as he grew nearer to the rigid peak. Nearer, yes, but not touching. Not … quite … touching! His forceful, increasingly ragged breaths steamed into her bodice, sensitizing her all the more.
And then his thumb strummed over one satin-covered nipple, and his tongue dipped inside the satin to lash across the other aching crest. Shards of pleasure pierced her. She gasped, moaned and closed her eyes to savor the surprise.
Pleasure heated and expanded as his fingers fanned across her breast and caught the tightened bud between them, working it into a sharply reactive point beneath the satin. His tongue coaxed the other into exquisite hardness, and pleasure compounded into need. Heat gathered and pulsed low in her womb and between her legs, driving her hips into motion. She needed more than he was giving. She needed to feel his hands and mouth on her everywhere. Everywhere.
As if she’d cried that need aloud, he lifted his dark, warrior face and peered at her, his gaze hot, his color high. “Feel free to stop me, Tess,” he invited in a hoarse whisper, “from doing anything that isn’t absolutely, positively necessary.”
She hissed in a breath and ground her teeth and sank her fingers into the smooth brawn of his shoulders—not because of what he’d said, but in an effort to tame the fire that threatened her control. “Okay,” she whispered. “Okay.”
But even as she said it, her hands drove up into his hair, tangled at his nape and forced his face back down to her breasts as she writhed against him in silent demand. He expelled a loud, harsh breath and took what she was offering. Gone was the teasing; the slow, light touches. He pushed the gown down enough to liberate her breasts, and with his face contorted in fierce concentration, he savaged her.
Oh, but in the most blood-stirring way.
He suckled and circled and drew each mound into his mouth until her body bowed up into a hard arch. He ran his hands down that arch, groping every curve, and when he reached the tangle of her skirt, he thrust his hand beneath it. He stroked
her thighs in long, hard, provocative caresses. She trembled and gasped and parted her legs, giving him freer access to the tender insides of her thighs. He groaned her name, slid out from the armchair to his knees and shoved her skirt above her hips, his gaze smoldering. And then his fingers surged into hot, needful places … gliding, delving. Pumping to the rhythm she remembered from his kisses.
Her blood caught fire, and she became the rhythm—wild, sinuous undulation. He pushed deeper. Harder. And his mouth was there, along with his thrusting fingers. Pure, vibrant sensations radiated through to her very core. She didn’t know exactly what he was doing, or how he was doing it, but he wasn’t “planting his seed.” He wasn’t following directions.
She didn’t stop him, though. Wouldn’t think of stopping him. Because whatever he was doing, it was very, very necessary. The importance grew with every deep, rhythmic slide of his fingers, every swirl of his mouth, until the need and the pleasure escalated into the hardest, longest, most blinding climax of her life.
Intermittent waves of torrid contractions left her trembling. Panting. Feverish and dazed. Acutely sensitive to every touch—the fall of satin against her legs as he dropped her skirt into place; the shift of his body as he reached for her; the slide of his hands on her bare shoulders and back; the stir of his breath against her hair.
Fear rose within her, stronger than before. Never had she been so utterly possessed by sexual passion. Never had she climaxed with such stunning force. But worst of all, even knowing that he’d deliberately seduced her away from her better judgment, she still wanted him. No good could come from it. He wasn’t hers, and never would be, but his potent lovemaking might make her forget that. Though the pain of losing Phillip had indelibly scarred her, she had the feeling that Cole could do much worse. She had to rally her defenses against him.
But when he hoarsely whispered her name and turned her face toward his, she didn’t resist his kiss. Couldn’t resist it. Her body had been too well primed for loving, and now she craved the feel of him. She expected a sweet and tender kiss to soothe her after that explosive climax.
HOT-BLOODED HERO Page 11
