The Double Deal

by Catherine Mann

  She touched his arm, looking up at him between thick dark lashes. “You made it clear you’re here for me. You couldn’t have been any more obvious.”

  The spark rattled his system. Yep. Busted. “Guilty as charged.” He held up the bag. “Hungry?”

  “Always.” Her lips parted slightly, that electricity passing between them like static on winter air.

  “Should we stay here or go to the kitchen—” His eyes locked with hers.

  “I have a suite here, like my own loft apartment.” Naomi seemed to move even closer to him, the distance between them feeling minimal, flimsy. “Let’s go there. It’s a little quieter.”

  He gestured ahead. “Lead the way.”

  * * *

  Anticipation and a splash of apprehension quickened Naomi’s steps as she led Royce to the elevator. Peeking her head around the corner, she checked for lingering family members in the hallway.

  The house, surprisingly silent for the amount of family present on the compound, seemed to aid her on her surreptitious mission. Not that, as an adult woman, she had to justify her time with Royce.

  But she didn’t want the complications of the questions her siblings would launch at her if they saw her inviting Royce into her private quarters. Soft steps across the dark wood floors, her hands trailing behind her, close to the rustic-inspired walls textured with paintings of the wilderness.

  The heat in the elevator had nothing to do with the temperature of the mansion, but everything to do with the heat of him radiating into her back. So close.

  An indulgence.

  She was allowed that.

  When the door opened to her loft in the east wing of the house, her stomach somersaulted. She couldn’t tell if it was nerves or from her pregnancy. Possibly both.

  Naomi tried to recall the last time a man had come into this space—her sanctuary. So different from the rest of the house, which boasted old Alaskan charm. Her narrow, long loft took inspiration from her eclectic spirit.

  Royce motioned for her to precede him out of the elevator, such a quiet man full of old-world manners. His hands tapped lightly along her trinkets that populated the built-in wood bookcase at the far wall of the loft, which separated her bedroom from the main living area. As if he was cataloging the knickknacks as a means of learning more about what made her tick. Certainly, the clusters of framed family photos spoke of her love of the outdoors—skiing, fishing, horseback riding.

  And a cherished photo of her mother, another of her sister Brea. Those losses never stopped hurting.

  That wall, past the sofa and coffee table where a smattering of photography books framed a pottery vase that had always been her favorite. Different sculptures from her travels were showcased and she found herself seeing them all through new eyes. His eyes. How surreal to have Royce in her space, in her home. So different from the stark igloo in the wilds. Having him here, where he could see some of who she really was, made her want to know more about him.

  “What does your place look like?” She knew from his file that he’d bought a condo on the outskirts of Anchorage.

  “I bought it already decorated.”

  “Oh,” she said, deflated. Not much to learn there.

  “Easier than hauling a bunch of meaningless furniture from Texas. I donated the old stuff to charity.”

  “That was really kind of you.” She was touched. Truly. But still, she wondered. “You brought nothing from Texas?”

  “Actually,” he said, “I did bring my vintage Pascal’s calculator.”

  “Oh wow, that’s really cool.” She envisioned him traveling with that seventeenth-century treasure, placing it in his generic condo along with his Saint Bernard.

  He was definitely an original.

  She walked deeper into her suite. During the day, her loft didn’t need any artificial light. Huge windows allowed the Alaskan sun to poke through, permeating the living area.

  Their footsteps were muffled as they strode along the Inuit rugs—gifts from her grandmother when Naomi had gotten her first college apartment, another cherished touch in this space.

  From the rough-hewn beam on a slanted, arched ceiling hung a crystal chandelier that sent prisms dancing on the cream-colored sofa, brightening the quarters.

  Tessie bounded ahead, examining the L-shaped kitchenette around the corner. Short-lived attention to the kitchen though. As soon as Naomi opened the sliding glass door to the glass-sealed balcony, Tessie padded over on fat paws, making herself comfortable outside.

  She circled three times, clearly enjoying the sun as she plopped down, rolling her back out. The dog seemed blissful.

  After such an emotional night watching over her father, Naomi needed comfort, needed a distraction. She’d always prided herself on being independent, but had to confess, the way Royce had shown up at the hospital, the way he was here now with his dog and pastries—so eccentrically wonderfully himself—she was on the verge of tears.

  He touched something in her soul. And as much as that scared her, it also drew her in.

  He held up the bag of pastries again. “Are you hungry?”

  “Yes,” she said, “for you.”

  With a growl of approval, he tossed the bag onto the black marble table tucked in the corner of the L between her kitchen and living area.

  His hands slid up to span her waist with a bold, large grip. She cupped his shoulder, ready, eager to step into his embrace.

  In a smooth move, he lifted her and set her on the edge of the table. She gasped in surprise as the stone chilled through the denim of her jeans.

  “Okay?” he asked.

  “Absolutely.” She clutched his shoulders and pulled him to her for a kiss, mouths and tongues meeting in the familiarity of lovers who’d explored each other thoroughly. Well, as thoroughly as they could in such a short time. Breaking off with more than a little regret, she touched her tender lips as if to hold in the sensation of him.

  As she leaned away, she heard a rustle beside her and realized he was opening the pastry bag. She eased back to see...Royce tearing off a corner of the pastry and stirring it through a cup of berry jam.

  Hmm... Her senses came alive at the scent and at the playful glint in his intense eyes. He was such a delicious contradiction, never ceasing to surprise her. How much more was there to learn about this man?

  He brought the bite to her mouth and she opened, but then he popped it into his own mouth playfully. As he chewed though, he pinched off more for her and offered it up. She angled forward for the taste, teasing her tongue along his fingers. Her eyes slid closed at the burst of flavor, sweet fruit and salty him. His pupils widened in response to a last flick of her tongue.

  She thrust aside the pastries and tucked her hands into the back pockets of his jeans, digging in her fingers. Closer, she willed him. Needed him. Until he stepped between her knees and kissed her again, openmouthed and fully.

  Her senses sharpened, the taste of him, the scrape of his unshaven face under her fingers. The crisp scent of Alaskan air on a man filling her every breath. Hmm... And thinking of him filling her sent her mind reeling again.

  His hand slid under her sweater, his touch warm and raspy along her flesh. He tunneled farther, sweeping the lamb’s wool up and over her head. He growled low in appreciation, cupping her breasts, his approval of red satin quite clear. Her nipples went hard, her skin everywhere tightening with a need for more of this touch, more of him.

  Clamping her legs around his waist, she locked him nearer, lost in the connection she’d been aching to recapture. Arching toward him, she pressed for a fuller joining and, yes, thank goodness, yes—he took the hint. His hands slid behind her and freed her bra in a deft sweep.

  She made fast work of the buttons in his flannel shirt, sweeping it off his broad shoulders. She flung the body-warmed fabric across the room to rest on top of her sweater.
Her fingers trembled, her ache for him so intense. She fumbled with the top button and zipper on his jeans while he tugged her jeans over her hips, lifting her briefly, then pulled the fabric along her legs.

  She took the moment to soak in the sight of him.

  His washboard stomach gleamed in the sunshine. She reached to trace down, down, down farther still, following the crisp sprinkling of hair in a narrowing trail to his freed button, the V of his open zipper.

  Royce flung her pants to the floor and stepped closer. The marble felt cool and slick against the backs of her bare legs. Only her satin panties separated her from total exposure. Her eager hand freed his arousal and his eyes slid closed. He flattened a palm on the counter for a second as if to steady himself.

  A surge of feminine power curled through her as she stroked him, her thumb rolling over the first pearly glisten. His throat worked in a long swallow before he opened his eyes. The intensity, the raw passion in his gaze left her breathless.

  With slow deliberation, he swiped two fingers through the cup and traced a small swirl of jam over one of her nipples, following to clean the fruit away with his mouth. The warmth of his tasting tongue and the cool air on her wet skin provided the most delicious contrast. He nipped the last taste, sending sparks of pleasure crackling through her. Then he scooped more of the jam, eyeing her lower, lower still, with only a hint of warning that he intended to...

  Yes.

  He eased her back to lie down on the table, her legs dangling. He twisted the edges of her panties in his grip until the satin snapped. Cool air swept over her heated core. Kneeling, he guided her legs over his shoulders. Then... Ahh...

  The touch of his finger circled her tight bundle of nerves for tantalizing moments before he replaced the sensation with his mouth. Desire spread throughout her body. Her head fell back as he laved, his undivided attention on her. The gentle sucking along her skin, the light rasp of his tongue, sent shivers of pure pleasure down her spine. She gripped the edge of the marble tabletop, her fingernails sinking in deep.

  Her release came hard and fast, rocking through her. She bit her bottom lip to hold back the cry of release as shower after shower of shimmers spread through her.

  “You,” she gasped simply. “I want you.”

  Standing, he nipped over her shoulder to draw on her bottom lip. “You are a fantasy come true.”

  His words sent a thrill along her spine. Her heart tripped over itself in anticipation of more. Of him.

  He inched her hips nearer to the edge. “Condoms or no condoms? I’m clean. There’s been nobody in a year.”

  A year? His words, along with the thick pressure of him, right there, so close teased her perilously near completion again.

  “Go ahead,” he urged, “surrender. I’ll take you there as many times as you wish.”

  His bold confidence sent a charge through her, reminding her of how he’d coaxed her to let go before. And she realized he was in complete control of this moment between them. A thought that called for contemplation when she wanted nothing less than to think.

  She banned all other thoughts from her mind but the here and now.

  “There is no need for a condom. None. It’s only you and me.”

  Growling, he leaned over her, his hand flat on the table by her ear. Her fingers dug deeper into his flanks as he thrust inside, his low growl of possession echoing through the spacious kitchen. Clamping her legs around his waist again, she urged him deeper, faster. Still she wanted more of him, no holding back. She whispered her wants, even her fantasies, into his ear, delighting in the feel of his throbbing response to her words.

  She lost herself in the frenzy of the moment. Nothing could compare to the intensity she felt now in his arms. For a moment, she could forget there was an outside world, concerns for her future in the company, for providing stability for her child.

  Royce brought her just shy of release again and again until their bodies slicked with sweat. The musky scent of them together blended with the sweet stickiness of the raspberries and sugary fruit juice.

  Locking her ankles tighter behind him, she inched closer and rolled her hips against his. They’d lost the isolation of the retreat, but for this moment at least she had him to herself again. She didn’t have to think about all the chaos and fear in her life.

  His pulse throbbed in his neck. He dipped his head to her breasts, increasing her pleasure with a flick of his tongue. The tingling in her veins gathered low and pulsed, tighter still until she gasped. Then again.

  She couldn’t hold back the moan and, thankfully, he quickly kissed her, took her cries of release in his mouth. She bowed upward and into his arms as he thrust again, again, again, until finishing with a hoarse shout muffled against her neck. Her arms went limp with exhaustion around him. She tried to hold on, but her body had melted with weightless bliss. Royce’s hold on her tightened and he swept her into his arms.

  Sleep pulled at her, pushed her eyelids down. In waves, she faded further and further away from consciousness. The exhaustion from all the stress finally catching up to her, making her bone tired, worries racing to catch up with her again.

  Naomi felt Royce carry her to bed for a nap, and the flashes of reality melted into her dreams.

  * * *

  In Alaska, late winter sunsets never ceased to dazzle as if to make up for the fact they came so early half the year. But this? Damn. He’d have a helluva hard time beating this one.

  Tessie walked up to the glassed-in balcony, sniffing the air three times before losing interest and setting off in a half prance to explore the rest of the suite.

  Royce felt content on the reclining cream sofa at the center of the temperature-controlled sunroom. A dance of vibrant oranges and reds soaked the mountains, casting the landscape in a fiery blaze.

  And while the view was damn impressive—breathtaking even—it was the woman in his lap that made his pulse quicken. Instilled that sense of wonder. Naomi curled up against him, a silk black robe draped over her curves. He adjusted it slightly, careful not to let the strands of her dark hair catch under his arm.

  Making love to her again had seriously complicated things between them. But then he suspected nothing with Naomi would ever be simple. Protectiveness hampered things too, given her independence. And if he did act on the impulse to work for her family’s company, he would have to figure out what to do about their relationship. Quickly.

  He stroked her long hair, letting the silky strands glide between his fingers. “Is your family going to come looking for us?”

  “No, we live separate lives here, each of us with our own quarters. We’re all adults, who happen to be related. The lodge feels like condos. We all come and go as we please, but the communal areas still make it easier to have business meetings here if need be.”

  “Sounds like an efficient setup.”

  “It is.” She angled back to look at him. “Were you serious about considering joining the company?”

  “I’m considering it,” he answered simply.

  She nodded, looking away again. “I know our setup here may seem strange to you since you come from a small family. But we’re all close, for so many reasons.”

  He stayed silent, sensing her need to talk. Her family had been through so much, and they were going through hell now.

  Naomi toyed with the belt on her robe. “When all of us were kids, Dad would wake us up early on Saturday mornings. He would caution us to be extra quiet, to tiptoe so we didn’t disturb Mom. We’d all bundle up and go to Kit’s Kodiak Café.” Her tensed muscles relaxed against him with every word. “Best food in the world. We kids would order off the Three Polar Bears Menu. We always ordered the same thing—reindeer sausage, eggs and tall stacks of pancakes served with berry syrup.”

  He pressed a kiss to her temple. “Your dad sounds like a great guy.”

  “Yes, he is, very
down-to-earth in spite of his wealth. Mom and Dad were emphatic about wanting us to grow up with values, no silver spoon. We had to make our own way in the world.”

  For a moment, he wondered if she was still working to win him over with stories about her rich but “regular folks” family story. Yet, with all the stress she was under, he couldn’t bring himself to confront her on that. “Your father is quite a legend around here. I look forward to meeting him.”

  “He really is a good man. A little gruff sometimes, but good. After Mom and Brea died, he struggled though. Uncle Conrad stepped in to run the company. Dad became...lost. And so terrified something would happen to us. We had bodyguards, nannies...”

  “And then you got sick.”

  “I was so scared. He’d only just started to come back to us.”

  “You were scared about him? You were a teen with cancer. You had every right to be scared for yourself.”

  “Oh, I was. And the staff was great in helping me deal with that. They helped me keep myself together around the family.”

  “Naomi... I’m sorry. You should have had your mom, your dad, everyone around you.”

  “I’m here, and I’m tough.” A twist in his arms and suddenly, her face was inches from his, lingering in the space between a kiss. With a wicked grin resting on those plump lips, she kissed him once, twice, nipping and even teasing a hint.

  He cupped her head, deepening the kiss.

  The kiss held the promise of something more. Or would have. If not for the sound of the elevator bell. And damn, the privacy door had been left open. Two distinctly masculine coughs echoed through the open door between the sunroom and her sitting area.

  The separate suites in her family’s lodge-style mansion afforded a certain level of privacy, but bottom line, much of her family did still live in the same house. He was so used to a solo life, this blended lifestyle felt alien to him.

  Bracing for a confrontation, Royce glanced up fast to find... Hell. Naomi’s brothers Marshall and Aiden closing in fast.

  Surprise glinted in Marshall’s eyes as he tucked his hands into his jeans pockets, his plaid shirt untucked. “Sorry to interrupt, sis. I came to say hello. I didn’t realize you were, uh, entertaining.”