by Heidi Rice
Digging the makeshift barrier out of the bed, he slung the cushions back on the couch. Climbing in behind her, he gathered her shaking body into his arms until her back lay snug against his chest, her bottom nestled into his crotch.
He ignored the aching pain as blood pounded into his lap, grateful for the confining denim while waiting for her laboured breathing to even out—the renewed rush of heat not nearly as disturbing as the rush of tenderness.
Holding her wrist, he laid his arm across her body, careful not to touch any part of her that would make the torment worse. But the memory of spooning with her like this, after they’d made love that final time ten years ago, came flooding back to fill the void. Except that time his hands had caressed the compact bump of her belly, his head spinning with amazement and terror at what the future would hold.
Tortured thoughts of what she’d endured without him rose to the surface.
Eventually she stilled, the rigid line of her body softening against his.
Obviously, some remnant of the misguided kid he’d once been still remained. Because a part of him wanted to stay and hold her through the night, in case she had any more nightmares. But he couldn’t go back and erase what he’d done, and she wouldn’t want him here when she woke up in the morning.
So he’d just stay for a short while—until he was sure she was okay. Then he’d leave and get Mel to send over the divorce papers in the morning. So she’d lied about the miscarriage? Did he really want to know why? Delving into her reasons now wouldn’t serve anyone’s purpose.
But as he listened to the comforting murmur of her breathing his body relaxed against hers and all his sound decisions drifted out into the night, shooting across the Hudson River, heading up towards the Vineyard and back into fitful dreams.
CHAPTER TEN
SOMETHING HEAVY BECKONED Xanthe out of sleep. Deep, drugging, wonderful sleep that made her feel secure and happy.
Her eyelids fluttered open and her gaze focused on a hand. A large tanned hand with a tattoo of a ship’s anchor on the thumb was holding hers down on the pillow, right in front of her face. The hand looked male. Very male. And very familiar.
She blinked, struggling to bring her mind into focus, and realised that a male arm, attached to the male hand, lay across her shoulders. She drew in a deep breath, the scent of clean sheets and clean man reminding her of the good dreams that had danced through her consciousness before waking. She shifted, aware of the long, muscular body wrapped around hers, and his deep breathing made the hair on the back of her neck prickle.
Dane.
Thin strands of sunlight shone through the slatted blinds, illuminating the hotel room’s luxurious furnishings as the events of the evening before crowded in and her abdomen warmed, weighed down by the hot brick in her stomach.
She stole a moment to absorb the comfort of being cocooned in a man’s arms for the first time in... She frowned. For the first time in a decade.
Dane had always gravitated towards her in his sleep. She’d always woken up in his arms during the brief weeks of their marriage. It was one of the things she’d missed the most. And this time she didn’t have the stirrings of morning sickness to cut through her contentment.
She had a vague recollection of nightmares chasing her, and then his arms and his voice lulling her back to sleep.
Holding her breath, she shifted under his arm and inched her hand out from under the much larger one covering it.
The rumble of protest against her hair froze her in place.
Long fingers squeezed hers, before his thumb inched down her arm, sliding the sleeve of the T-shirt down to the elbow—the T-shirt that was supposed to be protecting her from the thoughts making her belly melt.
‘You playing possum?’ A gruff voice behind her head asked.
‘I’m trying to.’ She sighed, annoyed and at the same time stupidly aroused.
She could feel the solid bulge against her bottom, the unyielding wall of his chest that was sending delicious shivers of reaction up her spine.
‘Mmm...’ he mumbled, sounding half-asleep as his hand lifted and then settled on her thigh.
His calloused caress had goosebumps tingling to life as he trailed his hand under the hem of the T-shirt and rubbed across her hip.
Awareness settled between her legs and she rolled abruptly onto her back to halt his exploration.
His hand rested on her belly as he rose up on one elbow to peer down at her. His short hair was flattened on one side, and the stubble on his chin highlighted that perfect masculine dimple. Amusement and desire glinted in the impossible blue. Her breath squeezed under her diaphragm.
He’d always looked so gorgeous in the morning—all rumpled and sexy and usually a little surly. He’d never been much of a morning person, unlike her. But he didn’t look surly now. He looked relaxed and devastatingly sexy.
‘I didn’t plan to stay the night,’ he said, by way of explanation. ‘But seeing as I’m here...’
His hand edged down, that marauding thumb brushing the top of her sex. Her belly trembled in anticipation.
‘This isn’t a good idea,’ she murmured, trying to convince herself to push his hand away.
Pressing his face to her neck, he nuzzled kisses along her jaw. ‘Nope.’
The tremor of awareness drew her the rest of the way out of sleep and into sharp, aching need. He cupped her, slid his fingers through her slick folds, locating the knot of desire with pinpoint accuracy.
She gasped and rolled towards him, letting him lift the soft cotton shirt over her head and throw it away. He captured one aching nipple with his lips as his fingers continued to work their magic.
Memories assailed her of waking up just like this, with his hands and tongue and teeth beckoning her out of sleep and into ecstasy. She pushed back the rush of memory, the sapping tide of romanticism, until all that was left was the hot, hard demand of sexual need.
She desired Dane—she always had. But that was all it had ever been.
Reaching out, she cradled the bulge confined behind a layer of denim. ‘Why are you wearing your jeans in bed?’
‘Stop asking dumb questions,’ he grumbled. ‘And help me out of them.’
She didn’t need any more encouragement. This was wrong, and they both knew it, but it didn’t seem to matter any more. In a few short hours they will have declared the end of their marriage. And she wanted him here, now, more than she’d ever wanted any man. Just once more.
She released the button fly with difficulty, to find him long and hard beneath stretchy boxers.
‘Take them off,’ she demanded, pleased to hear the power, the assurance in her voice.
She was taking control. He couldn’t walk all over her any more. And here was the proof.
But as he threw the covers back and divested himself of the last of his clothes she found herself feeling strangely vulnerable as he climbed over her, caging her in.
‘Tell me exactly what you want, Red. I want to make you come so hard you scream.’
The words excited her beyond bearing. And terrified her, too. Reminding her of the boy who had once taken her to places no other man ever had.
She’d never been coy about sex, but she’d never been bold either—except with him.
Folding her hand around his huge length, she flicked her thumb across the tip, trying to regain control. Regain the power. Adrenaline rushed through her as his thick erection jerked against her palm.
His mouth took hers as his fingers delved into her hair and he angled her head to devour her. The scrape of his beard ignited tender skin...her tongue tangled with his.
He reached across her to grab a condom from the bedside table.
She took it from him. ‘Let me.’
‘Go ahead,’ he said, relinquishing control.
The fire in his eyes was full of approval, and a desire that burned her to the core. No other man had ever desired her the way he had.
She fumbled with the foil packet, her skin flu
shing at his strained laugh.
He chuckled. ‘You need more practice.’
She slipped the condom on, aware that she had never done this for another man. Determined not to let him know it. He wasn’t special, He was just...filling a need. A need that she had neglected for far too long.
Her thoughts scattered, centring on his thumb as he began to stroke her again. Stroking her into a frenzy. One long finger entered her and she flinched slightly. Evidence of their rough coupling the night before was still present, still there.
‘Hey...’ He cupped her cheek, forcing her to meet his eyes. ‘Are you too sore for this?’
His concerned expression had her heartbeat kicking her ribs. Bringing with it a myriad of unwanted memories. His rough hand holding her hair, rubbing her back as she threw up in the motel toilet. Those lazy mornings when the nausea hadn’t hit and he’d taken her slowly, patiently, watching her every response, gauging her every need and meeting it.
‘I’m fine,’ she said, precisely because she wasn’t.
Don’t be kind. Please don’t be kind. I can’t stand it.
‘Uh-huh.’ He didn’t look convinced. Holding her, he rolled, flipping onto his back until she was poised above him, her knees on either side of his hips.
‘How about you take charge this time?’ he said, and she felt her heart expand in her chest.
But then his thumb located that pulsing nub and every thought flew out of her head bar none. She had never been in charge of her hunger for him.
He coaxed the orgasm forth as she sank down on his huge shaft.
‘That’s it, Red. Take every inch.’
He held her hips, lifting her as she parted round the thick length, almost unable to bear the feeling of fullness, of stretching, but unable to stop herself from sinking down again to take more, to take him right to the hilt.
His harsh grunts matched her moans as she rode him, increasing the tempo. A stunning orgasm was racing towards her. Her mind reeled as his gaze locked on hers, encouraging, demanding, forcing her over that perilous edge as he gave her one last perfect touch.
She sobbed, throwing her head back, her body shattering as she came hard and fast. She heard him shout out moments later, his penis pulsing out his release as his fingers dug into her thighs.
She fell on top of him, her forehead hitting his collarbone with a solid thunk as her heart squeezed tight.
She closed her eyes, her staggered breathing matching the pounding beat of her heart as his large hands settled on her back and stroked up to her nape. Blunt fingers massaged her scalp.
He laughed, the sound low and deep and self-satisfied. Warning bells went off, but they sounded faint and unimportant, drowned out by the glorious wave of afterglow.
‘How about...before we finalise our divorce...’ his deep voice rumbled against her ear ‘...we treat ourselves to a honeymoon?’
She lifted herself off him with an effort. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘I’ve got a week’s vacation coming.’ He brushed his fingers down her arms, setting off a trail of goose pimples and reigniting those damn birthday candles. ‘I was supposed to be heading to Bermuda this afternoon, for a sailing trip to Nassau. I could postpone it for a couple of days.’
For a split second her endorphin-clouded mind actually considered it. Being with him—escaping from the endless stress and responsibilities of her job, from all the pain and regret of their past. But then her heart jumped in her chest and reality crashed in on her.
This was Dane. The man who had always been able to separate sex from intimacy in a way she never had. Or at least not with him.
She didn’t hate him any more. And he still had the ability to seduce her and turn her into a puddle of lust with a single touch, a single look. She couldn’t risk being alone with him for another hour, let alone for another night.
‘I don’t think so,’ she said.
She climbed off him and bent to retrieve his discarded T-shirt, suddenly desperate for clothing. But his hand clamped on her wrist. His face was devoid of the lazy amusement of a moment ago.
‘Why not?’
He looked genuinely irritated by her refusal, which told her all she needed to know.
‘Because I have a company to run. I’m CEO of Carmichael’s now—I can’t afford to take time off,’ she finished, giving him the face-saving answer.
She couldn’t tell him the real reason—that she didn’t want to risk spending time alone with him. He’d think she was nuts. Maybe she was nuts.
She was stronger, wiser and older now, with a healthy cynicism that should protect her from remaking the catastrophic mistakes of her youth. But the new knowledge that Dane had only abandoned her because he’d thought she’d abandoned him left a tiny sliver of opportunity for those old destructive feelings to take hold of her emotions again—especially coupled with more mind-altering sex.
She didn’t want to be that idiot girl again, and if anyone could sway her back into the path of destruction it was a juggernaut like Dane. And the worst of it was he would remain unscathed. The way he always had before. For him, sex was always just sex—and that hadn’t changed, or he would never have suggested another night of no-holds-barred sex after the tumult of the last twenty-four hours.
But why wouldn’t he when he didn’t have to worry about stirring up old feelings because he had never loved her the way she’d loved him? He’d only suggested marriage because of the guilt and responsibility he’d felt over her pregnancy—and, however her father had interfered in their break-up, it was obvious their marriage had been doomed to failure.
Deep down, she would always be a romantic—an easy target for a man like Dane who didn’t have a single soft or sensitive or romantic bone in his body.
He’d never let her in. Had never let his guard down during the whole three months they’d lived in that motel.
He finally let go of her wrist and she scooted to the edge of the bed to put on the T-shirt, feeling awkward and insecure, reminded too much of that romantic child.
‘So you’re running daddy’s company now?’
She dragged the T-shirt over her head. ‘It’s not his company any more. It’s mine.’
Or it would be as soon as she had Dane’s signature on those divorce documents and the controlling 6 per cent of the shares could be released to her.
She swallowed down a prickle of guilt at her deception. Dane had no claim on Carmichael’s—it was simply a paperwork error. A paperwork error that, once corrected, he need never know about.
‘He hated my guts when we were kids...’
The non sequitur sounded casual, but she could hear the bite in his voice and knew it was anything but.
What did he expect her to say? That her father had been a snob and had decreed Dane unsuitable? How could she defend Dane without compromising herself and her decision to take on Carmichael’s after her father’s death? The company had meant everything to her father and she understood that now—because it meant everything to her. And if a small voice in her head was trying to deny that and assert that there was more to life than running a successful business, it was merely an echo of that foolish girl who had believed that love was enough.
‘He didn’t hate you,’ she said. ‘I’m sure he just thought he was doing what was best for me.’
Even as she said the words they sounded hollow to her, but she refused to condemn her father. He had loved her in his own way—while Dane never had.
‘Did it ever occur to you that if I’d been able to see you that day, things might have turned out differently?’ He raised a knee and the casually draped sheet dipped to his waistline.
His expression was infuriatingly unreadable. As always.
‘I don’t see how.’ She hesitated, trying to force thick words out past the frog in her throat. ‘And it worked out okay for both of us, so I have no regrets.’
She turned away from the bed, desperate not to be having this conversation. It would expose her. She didn’t wa
nt him to know how hard it had been for her. How much losing him and their baby had hurt her at the time. And how much else it had eventually cost her.
But he reached over and snagged her wrist again. ‘That’s bullshit. And you want to know how I know it’s bullshit?’
‘Not particularly,’ she said, far too aware of the way his thumb was stroking her pulse, hoping he couldn’t feel it hammering in her wrist like the wings of a trapped hummingbird.
‘Last night you had a nightmare about losing the baby,’ he said. ‘That’s why I stayed. That’s why I was here when you woke up. Maybe if I had been able to do that ten years ago, I wouldn’t still need to do it now.’
Her pulse pummelled her eardrums. She wanted to ask him how he knew she’d been having a nightmare about the miscarriage. But she definitely didn’t want to know how she’d given herself away in her sleep. She felt vulnerable enough already.
‘You didn’t need to stay. I would have been fine. I’ve had them before and...’
She realised her mistake when his expression hardened.
‘How many times have you had them before?’
Too many.
‘Not often,’ she lied.
‘That bastard.’ His fury wasn’t directed at her, but still she felt the force of his anger.
‘It’s okay. Really. I’ve come to terms with what happened.’
‘Don’t lie, Red.’
He hooked his thumb round her ear, brushing her hair back and framing her face. The gesture was gentle, and full of concern. Making her heart pulse painfully.
‘You can lean on me—you know that, right?’
‘I don’t need to lean on you,’ she said, denying the foolish urge to rest her head into the consoling palm and take the comfort he offered.
‘What are you so scared of?’ he said, cutting through the defences she’d spent ten years putting in place.
‘I’m not scared.’ How could he know that when he had never really known her? ‘Why would I be?’
‘I don’t know—you tell me,’ he said tightly. ‘Why did you let me go on believing you had an abortion yesterday?’
She stiffened and pulled away from him. How could he still read her so easily?
