His mouth ascended her body, tasting the curve of her hip, the flat hollow of her stomach, the underside of her breast. She bit her bottom lip to keep from crying out, but when he covered the hardened peak of her nipple with his mouth, she did cry out, arching upward at the jolt of intense pleasure that surged through her. His tongue was hot and wet, he took her into his mouth and feasted hungrily on her. An ache spread through her body and centered between her legs, a pleasure that bordered on pain.
He moved to her other breast, gave equal attention there while he smoothed his palm over her hip, then her belly. His hand slipped between her legs, then slid between the sensitive folds there, stroking her gently at the same time he took her breast into his mouth.
It was more than she could stand. She moved urgently against him, raked his shoulders with her fingernails. “Trace, now, please!”
He needed no more encouragement. He spread her legs as he moved over her. His entry was hard and fast and she took him fully, lifting her hips to meet his. He made a sound, a deep animal-like noise, and moved inside her. She wound her legs tightly around him, wanting him closer still.
Lightning flashed, illuminating the room. Becca saw the fierce, wild expression on Trace’s face as he moved deep inside her, felt his muscles bunch and ripple under her hands. An urgent, driving need consumed her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and surged upward, meeting every thrust of his body with her own.
The climax hit her like an explosion and she nearly screamed from the force of it. She shuddered over and over, and he lifted her hips higher still while he thrust wildly. On a low guttural groan, he shuddered, too, and she held on tightly while they rode the intense waves together.
When he collapsed on top of her, his breathing ragged, his heart pounding, she sighed and slid her arms around his neck.
It was a long while before either of them moved. Trace heard the sound of the rain, a hard, steady drum on the roof, but it seemed that the thunder and lightning had moved into the distance. He was still trying to assimilate what had just happened, from seeing Becca with Reed at the restaurant, then at the top of his stairs, and now, in his bed. It all rushed together, and then there was only her, underneath him, naked.
The feel of her long, slender body under his gave him a primitive, physical sense of masculine satisfaction. He’d wanted her; he’d taken her. And the knowledge that she had wanted him, too, had only made it all the more powerful.
Because he didn’t want to break the intimate contact between them yet, he shifted his weight and rose on his elbows, then stared down at her. The haze of desire still lingered in her eyes, but he also saw the confusion. The despair.
“I didn’t want this to happen,” she said softly.
Irritation flickered through him. Like hell she didn’t. “You could have fooled me.”
When she stiffened underneath him, he cursed his loose tongue, then sighed and lightly kissed her lips. “Regrets are for the morning, Becca. Save them until then.”
She closed her eyes and nodded.
He felt the steady beat of her heart and the shallow rise and fall of her breathing. Her skin was warm and slightly damp from their lovemaking. And he was still afraid that he would wake up and realize he was dreaming. Or maybe he’d hit his head when he’d struck that boulder and none of this had really happened. He was still sitting in the front seat of his car on the highway, unconscious.
He brushed his lips over hers, then nibbled lightly at the corner of her mouth until he felt her relax again. She tasted real, he thought, and when she slid her hands up his back, he knew he wasn’t dreaming.
“I should go,” she said with a heavy sigh.
“You’re staying the night.” He moved to her ear, caught her lobe between his teeth.
She shook her head. “You know I can’t.”
“I know you can and you are.” He felt her shiver when he slid his tongue over her ear.
“No—” she sucked in a breath when he moved down her neck “—my mom will worry if I don’t come home.”
And she’ll want to know where you were, he thought. Or to be more precise, who she was with.
Once again, their past intruded. Once again, he pushed it aside. “You’re a big girl, Becca. She won’t worry if you call and leave a message you won’t be home.”
“No, I—”
“Yes.” He trailed kisses over her collarbone, then moved lower, nuzzling the soft rise of her breast.
Biting her lip, she arched upward, then raked her fingers through his hair.
“Yes,” she finally whispered, breathless, then sucked in a sharp breath when he moved lower. “Yes.”
The dawn had barely broken when Trace woke. Sometime during the night the storm had moved on, and the only sound to break the morning stillness was the steady drip of water from the eaves outside his window. A sense of deep contentment had settled heavily through his body. With great effort, he slid a hand over the warm sheets, found the space beside him cold and empty. Disappointment slammed into his chest.
For one brief moment he thought maybe last night hadn’t happened. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d dreamed about making love to Becca—though by far, it certainly felt as if it was the most real.
No, not a dream, he thought, breathing in her sweet scent. Thank God. She had been here last night, all right. In his bed, naked, as eager for him as he’d been for her.
So where was she now?
Frowning, he opened his eyes and looked around the room. No sign of her. When he saw that her clothes were missing, his frown darkened. Had she left?
Then the aroma of coffee drifted to him and, like a siren song, drew him out of bed. Slipping on a pair of jeans, he dragged a hand through his hair and headed for the kitchen.
His heart jolted at the sight of her standing at his kitchen sink, deep in thought as she stared out the window. Sleeves rolled to the elbows, she wore the pale blue dress shirt he’d had on last night. It skimmed her bare, creamy thighs and revealed long, sleek legs.
Because he needed a minute before he spoke—and because he needed something to steady himself—he leaned against the doorjamb and watched her.
Her hair, a wild mass of sandy-brown waves, swept over the soft curve of her shoulders. She’d always disliked the rain, he remembered, because it brought out the curl in her hair.
And yet, that’s exactly where he’d found her last night. Standing in the rain. Waiting for him.
To think that he nearly hadn’t come home at all, that he’d be in San Francisco right now if his car hadn’t spun out and kissed that boulder. He certainly wouldn’t have thought he’d be glad he’d crunched his bumper, but he was. For all he cared, he could have totaled the whole damn car as long as it brought him back here.
Last night, the only thing he’d cared about was making love to Becca. And as he stared at the woman standing in his kitchen, he realized that the only thing he cared about now was making love to her again.
He moved behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, then pulled her close. Knowing she was naked under his shirt made his blood heat. “My shirt never had it so good,” he murmured.
A blush rose on her cheeks. “I put my damp clothes in your dryer. I hope that’s all right.”
“It’s fine.” He knew she was holding back from him. He could hear it in the formal tone of her voice, feel it in her body. Part of him wanted to know what she was thinking, but part of him didn’t, was afraid she’d completely pull away if he asked.
“I made coffee, too,” she said evenly. “I’ll get you a cup.”
When she started to move away, he tightened his arms around her. “Coffee can wait. I need to do this first.”
He nuzzled her earlobe, then raked his hand upward through her hair to expose the back of her neck. He heard her soft intake of breath when he lowered his mouth and lightly nipped, felt her shiver in his arms.
He slid his hands under the cotton shirt, skimmed the curve of her hips and her bottom.
Her skin was warm and soft, like rose petals, he thought. He could feel her pulse and breath quicken, matching his own. And when he moved upward to cup the round firmness of her breasts, she moaned and dropped her head back against his chest.
Gently he kneaded the soft flesh in his hands, felt her nipples tighten under his touch. She arched her back, pressing against him, and it felt as if every drop of blood in his body dropped below his waist. He lowered one hand between her legs and slipped a finger into the moist heat of her body, knew that she was as ready for him as he was for her. Kissing her neck, caressing her breast, he continued to stroke her, moving in and out. Gasping, she gripped his hips, then tried to turn. She cried out as the climax hit, and he felt the shudder move through her.
Turning her in his arms, he unzipped his jeans and shoved them down, then cupped her buttocks and lifted her. She wrapped her arms and legs around him and rose over him; he moaned when she slid down the length of him. He thrust hard and fast, groaning, then felt the insanity overtake him, too.
Her head resting on his broad chest, Becca lay in Trace’s arms and waited for her senses to return. Through the haze of lingering passion, awareness of her surroundings slowly returned. The distant hum of a tractor, the bark of a dog. The steady beat of Trace’s heart, the warmth of his bare skin against hers. She’d lost all perception of time and place, wasn’t even certain how, or when, they’d ended up back in bed. She glanced at the bedside clock, was stunned when she realized it was nearly eight. It seemed that only minutes ago she’d been standing at the kitchen sink, preparing herself to face him, to be casual and completely comfortable with the fact that they’d just spent the night making love.
But then he’d touched her and once again her body had betrayed her.
Her date with Reed last night had been a disaster. She’d foolishly thought that accepting the man’s invitation to dinner would help her forget about Trace, and though she’d done her best to be attentive, it hadn’t taken Reed long to figure out that her mind wasn’t on their meal or on him. It took him even less time to figure out who her mind was on.
And if that hadn’t been embarrassing enough, it had been Reed who suggested they make an early night of it, then casually mentioned he’d seen Trace leave the restaurant.
Even as she was driving home, she told herself she wasn’t going to Trace’s. And then when she’d turned the car around, she told herself she would just talk to him for a minute, explain why it wasn’t a good idea for them to see each other. The entire time she’d stood on his landing, she’d argued with herself to get out while she still could. She hadn’t.
Last night he’d told her regrets were for the morning. But strangely, she had none. Even if she could, she wouldn’t change what happened between them. No matter what happened now, she would cherish every moment.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked when she started to pull away.
“To get my clothes.” But she didn’t resist when his arm tightened around her.
“I threw them away.” His hand slid over her hip. “Why don’t you put my shirt back on so I can take it off you again?”
“I seem to recall I was the one who took it off,” she replied tartly.
“Okay, so now it’s my turn.”
She rose on one elbow and looked down at him, then quietly said, “You know I have to go.”
With a sigh, he dropped his hand away. “I’ll pick you up tonight at seven-thirty.”
“Trace—”
“Just dinner.” He reached out and brushed her hair away from her shoulder. “Morelli’s still makes the best pepperoni pizza.”
Sneaky bastard, she thought. He knew she could never turn down a Morelli’s pepperoni pizza. And after last night, how much harm could meeting him for a pizza do?
But still, she couldn’t bring herself to say yes. Didn’t know if she could trust herself to be close to him again.
“I’ll try,” was the best she could answer him, told herself that at least she’d have an option later if she came to her senses.
Too modest to walk across the room naked, she pulled on his shirt again, then glanced over her shoulder. The look in his eyes as he watched her told Becca she better get out of here quick or she’d crawl back between the sheets with him and do everything they’d already done all over again.
Seven
T he twenty-two-thousand-square-foot Ashton Estate was built on the highest hill of the property’s nearly two hundred acres. Sprawling exterior walls of cut, cream-colored stone, brick turrets and tall rock chimneys welcomed invited guests, and the luxurious interior of high ceilings, marble floors and spacious rooms impressed even the most sophisticated visitor.
To Lilah Ashton, who’d lovingly helped design and decorate the mansion, the house was everything. Until her husband’s death, it had been the center of her social existence. Parties, fund-raisers, concerts—events at the Ashton estate were legendary, as well as memorable. Lilah had basked in the attention and respect her home had garnered. But to Trace, the elegantly appointed rooms and gardens had always felt more like a museum than a home. He appreciated the beauty and the design, but as a place to live, the main house had always felt cold. For the most part, he’d preferred the stark simplicity of his room at boarding school to the aloof formality of Ashton Estate.
“I’m so glad you could join me for breakfast, dear.” Lilah lifted the white china tea cup and delicately sipped her custom blend of cinnamon and orange pekoe. “I know what a busy schedule you have, but I just wanted to thank you again for last night.”
Trace eyed his mother carefully over his coffee cup. He’d been out in the vineyard inspecting a new section of hybrid vines when she’d called and asked him to meet her on the veranda. His first thought was that she’d seen Becca leaving the estate this morning, but since his mother was not typically an early riser, he’d quickly rejected the idea.
Still, he knew that his mother had something on her mind other than thanking him for last night. Sooner or later, she’d get around to the real reason she’d asked him here.
He just wished it would be sooner.
Lilah gestured toward a basket of assorted baked items. “Would you like a croissant?”
“I had one already, thanks.” He’d also had bacon, eggs and potatoes. He hadn’t realized how ravenous he’d been until he’d sat down and the cook had served him a plate. Apparently a night of making love with Becca had created one hell of an appetite.
And not just for food, either, he realized.
He couldn’t wait to get his hands on her again, couldn’t wait for her to be naked and moaning underneath him.
Realizing this was not exactly the best time to be thinking about Becca naked, Trace quickly forced the image out of his mind.
“Did I tell you how much I love the present you gave me?” Lilah asked, adjusting one corner of the blue scarf she’d skillfully knotted around her neck.
Several times, Trace thought, but decided not to call her on it. Clearly she was distracted this morning, and unless he missed his guess, she also appeared a little nervous. “I’m glad you like it, Mom.”
“It was such a lovely party.” Lilah’s hand shook slightly when she sipped her tea again. “It was very nice of Stephen to join us.”
Ah.
So that’s what this breakfast was really about. Stephen. If his thoughts hadn’t been so consumed with the night he’d spent with Becca, he would have realized it much sooner.
“Very nice,” he agreed, reaching for the carafe of coffee.
“Oh, let me do that, dear.” Lilah poured the coffee, then anxiously adjusted the scarf around her neck again when he picked up his cup. “So what do you think?”
“Good coffee.”
She frowned at him. “You know perfectly well what I mean.”
“Actually, Mom—” Trace set his cup back down “—I don’t. But I think, in a very roundabout way, you’re asking me if I approve of you and Stephen dating.”
“I
wouldn’t say we were dating exactly,” Lilah said, blushing. “Just a couple of dinners, to talk about business, of course. But he has expressed an interest in me, on a more, ah, personal level.”
Trace wasn’t certain what his mother meant by “personal,” but he did know that this conversation was beginning to make him downright uncomfortable. There were some things children simply did not want to discuss with their parents.
“If you want to go out with Stephen, Mom, you should.”
Lilah stared at her tea. “It’s barely been seven months since your father was killed. You know what people might say.”
Trace lifted a brow. “Since when does Lilah Ashton give a damn what people might say?”
“I don’t suppose I ever did,” Lilah said with a shrug of her shoulder. “I think I’m more worried for Stephen than I am myself. I learned a long time ago how to ignore and deflect gossip, but Stephen, well, he’s a good, honorable man. I would hate to cause any problems for him, and let’s face it, scandal goes hand in hand with the Ashton name.”
How true it was, Trace thought, but for his mother to display more concern for someone other than herself showed tremendous change on her part. “I doubt there’s anyone outside our family who knows that better than Stephen. He can handle himself.”
“I loved your father with all my heart.” Lilah dropped her gaze and sighed. “But I realize now it was a selfish, possessive love. I knew he saw other women, but I had my house and children and everything money could buy. I thought that was all I needed.”
“And now?” Trace asked.
“And now I know it isn’t.”
Trace studied his mother’s face, saw the sincerity of her words. “You really like him, don’t you?”
The blush rose on her cheeks again. “Not many people get a second chance in life. I’m so afraid I’ll mess it up.”
“You won’t.” He covered her hand with his. “And even though you don’t need it, you have my official permission to date Stephen.”
Name Your Price Page 7
