by Alison Kent
“Don’t worry,” she murmured. “I’ll protect you.”
Her soft, even breathing signaled she’d fallen asleep before he could summon a reply. As he started to doze, he tightened his hold on Natalie, realizing for the first time since returning to New York, he finally felt as if he’d come home.
6
THE SOFT CLICK of the door jarred Natalie awake. She opened her eyes and blinked several times, momentarily confused by the opulent, unfamiliar surroundings. No way was she tucked inside her sofa bed in her minuscule apartment.
“I woke you.”
The sound of Joe’s quiet voice made her smile. She turned over, keeping the sleek Egyptian cotton sheet tucked around her, not sure what she was supposed to do now. Walking away before she ended up getting hurt made the most sense. Too bad the stirring need in her belly kept her flat on her back.
She summoned up her sauciest grin. “Now that you’ve got my attention, what are we going to do about it?”
He chuckled and handed her a bottle of icy cold water before he slipped out of his trousers, giving her ample time to drool over the sight of his nude body. “I’m sure we can find something entertaining to pass the time.”
Armani might enhance his incredible physique, but only a stellar gene pool could’ve created such sheer perfection. He was all wide shoulders, with a tapered waist, lean hips and powerful legs. And he was hers—for the moment.
He slid into the bed beside her and hauled her up against his side. After a much-needed drink of cool water, she handed him the bottle, then smoothed her hand down his chest. “A few things come to mind,” she murmured, placing a string of kisses over his torso.
The sharp intake of breath could’ve been his or hers. She couldn’t say and really didn’t care so long as he stoked the fire already starting to simmer between them into a full-fledged inferno. Would she ever get enough of this man? She didn’t think so, but only this night was allowed. Anything more and she knew she’d never recover a second time.
His hands settled on her shoulders and he very gently urged her away from him. “Let’s talk.”
She frowned. Talk? What was wrong with him? Men didn’t talk after having sex. They were supposed to want more sex, or go guzzle beer and watch sports on TV. Or in her father’s case, go rebuild a carburetor on the kitchen table in a barely habitable mobile home, while she hid out in her room to avoid witnessing another messy scene with the latest barfly that had followed him home. She suppressed a shudder.
She shut the door on a past she’d never completely forget no matter how far away from Shitsville, U.S.A. she’d come. Folding her arms across Joe’s stomach, she flashed him another wicked smile. “We could discuss how you’re going to make me come again.”
His eyes darkened considerably. A very good sign. “Why don’t you tell me something about yourself besides your last name?”
Not exactly what she wanted to hear. “There’s not much to tell,” she said. Correction, there wasn’t much she planned to tell him. Only Arianne and Isabel knew the truth, and she trusted them with her life. Literally, she mused, because if anyone ever found out that Natalie Trent was really just a poor kid from the trailer park on the wrong side of town, all the doors she’d worked so hard to open would slam in her face. No chichi designer or model would give her the time of day. The only elbows she’d be rubbing would be in the unemployment line. “I live in New York and work as a freelance fashion reporter.”
He set the bottled water on the nightstand. “Do you enjoy it?”
“Who wouldn’t?” She caught herself before her enthusiasm spilled over. “Clothes, travel,” she added with a flippant shrug. “Parties. What’s not to like? If a gal chooses to work, it’s the perfect job.”
Except she didn’t choose to work. She wasn’t the bored blueblood she pretended to be. The only reason she could afford the designer originals she’d dreamed of owning was that the magazines she’d pored over as a kid now paid her top dollar for her articles. Deep discounts and designer generosity kept her in the latest fashions. The magazines paid for her trips to Paris and Italy to cover fashion shows and previews. Invitations to all the right parties and events came her way because the socialites and celebrities liked to see their name in print. She moved in a world where people would look down their nose jobs at her if they ever found out she wasn’t one of them. She’d done her share of slinging hash and sitting behind a desk all day pushing paper for peanuts to know she could never go back, either.
“What do you do?” she asked before she could stop herself. She wasn’t supposed to want to know more about him. Tonight was about getting laid and dulling the edge of her razor-sharp libido. Something she wouldn’t mind repeating.
He toyed with the length of her hair, sifting his fingers through the curly ends. “I retired from the Navy two months ago. Now I do investigations,” he said.
Her self-preservation radar went off like a fire alarm. “Investigations?” She strove for a calm she was nowhere near feeling. Telling herself she had no reason to panic was a useless endeavor, especially for a woman with something to hide. “Like background checks, looking for deadbeat dads, that kind of thing?” she asked, grateful her voice didn’t betray her. The same couldn’t be said for her rapidly accelerating pulse or the fear settling in her chest.
He regarded her for a moment before answering. “Background checks are part of the job,” he said. “I—”
“You know,” she blurted before he could continue, “why are we wasting time with conversation when there are much more pleasurable pursuits we should be exploring?” In a blatant move intended to distract him, she rose up and straddled his hips. “Like this.”
She moved against him, rolling her hips. Thankfully he took the hint and gripped her behind, his fingers biting into her skin as he rose up so they were face-to-face. She wound her legs around him and draped her arms over his shoulders. “Make love to me, Joe,” she whispered. “We’ll talk later.”
Without allowing him an opportunity to argue, she caught his lips and kissed him. Slow. Long. Deep.
The flames instantly ignited, filling her with heat. By the time he shifted their position so she was beneath him with her legs wrapped tightly around his waist, Natalie no longer knew where fantasy ended and reality began, but that didn’t stop her from enjoying every second of the tender way Joe made love to her.
She lifted her hips to meet his, taking in every inch of his full, hard length. Supporting his weight with his elbows, he rose above her, dragged his fingers through the hair curling at her temples and brought his mouth down to hers for another hot kiss.
She swept her hands down the sculpted landscape of his back to his buttocks, her fingers pressing into the play of muscle with each slow thrust. She wanted all of him. A fair trade, considering the dark-haired devil had taken the one thing she’d sworn to not give him—her heart.
Unwilling to go there, she willed the thoughts from her mind and concentrated on the exquisite pleasure of their joining. Later, when her consciousness wouldn’t be quite so easily distracted, maybe then she’d determine how to protect herself from being hurt by him. Now, all she wanted to think about was the incredible buildup of tantalizing pressure with each steady stroke of his body inside hers.
As if she hadn’t just experienced the most mind-blowing orgasms of the century, her desire climbed with lightning speed and quickly spun out of control. Their mating became wild, mindless, almost primal. Just as she was close to the brink of orgasm, Joe slowed the pace.
With her eyes still closed, she ended the kiss and tipped her head back. Her neck arched and her body tightened around him as renewed pleasure coalesced through her once again, building with such fierce intensity his name tore from her lips as she flew apart beneath him. Liquid heat spread through her limbs, but she held him to her, her hips rising to accept all of him as he followed her over the edge into pure bliss.
Once the tremors slowed, he carefully moved off her and pulled her close
. Tucked against his side, she laid her head on his chest and clung to him, taking in the sound of his ragged breathing and the pounding of his heart beneath her ear. This one night together would be forever etched upon her memory.
Memories, she thought and snuggled closer. That’s all she’d ever have with Joe, she realized, because no matter how she might want more, once he discovered the only thing they really had in common was a zip code, there wasn’t a chance in hell she’d ever be more to him than a good time. Guys with Harvard degrees didn’t marry girls like her. They used them for as long as the fun lasted. Well, no way would she allow him to trample all over her ego, or her foolish heart, ever again. Once had been enough to last her a lifetime.
Regardless of the cost, she remained determined to stick to her original plan. Get laid and move on—no regrets. The no regrets part had her worried.
The minutes ticked by with agonizing slowness as she waited for him to fall asleep again. Assured by his deep, even breathing that he’d done just that, she carefully eased away from him. He frowned in his sleep and rolled to his side, his arm reaching across her vacant pillow.
“I’ll be right back,” she whispered. Apparently satisfied by her lie, he groaned and seemed to relax. She tiptoed around the bed for her dress and shoes. Her thong was history, so she didn’t bother with it as she slipped into her dress, then hunted for her bag. She finally found the Fendi hidden partially beneath the bed. The clasp had opened and she crouched down to scoop up the contents that had spilled onto the carpet.
“Natalie?”
Her hand stilled and her heart thundered in her chest. Squeezing her eyes closed, she stayed down, praying he’d go back to sleep. Maybe she should just behave like an adult, she thought with a hefty dose of disgust. Stand up, thank him for successfully contributing to the end of her sexual sabbatical and walk out the door without a backward glance.
Preferring the coward’s way out, as soundlessly as possible, she carefully lifted her head to peer over the edge of the mattress. He slept, although the frown still creased his forehead. Slowly releasing the breath she’d been holding, she hurriedly shoved the contents back inside her gold bag, snagged her shoes and crept out the door as silently as a cat burglar.
In the corridor, she stopped to slip on her shoes and attempted to finger comb her hair into a semblance of decency. No music could be heard from the ballroom downstairs, but she did catch the quiet murmur of conversation as she neared the staircase. At nearly four in the morning, she hadn’t expected to find any lingering guests or their host.
Holding her head high, she made her way down the curved staircase, relieved when she spied only the wait staff restoring order to the ballroom. She rushed toward the exit and found her coat and the one remaining signature gold box with this year’s gift of coveted Monticellos. After double-checking to make sure that her name was on the box, she shrugged into her long black wool coat, took her new shoes with her and left the mansion.
By the time she reached her apartment, her pulse had returned to a more normal rhythm and she was finally able to breathe again. Without bothering to shrug out of her coat, she carried her new Monticellos into the tiny living room, pressing the play button on her flashing answering machine resting on the end table before she dropped onto the sofa bed.
“Natalie, it’s me, Arianne.” An edge of nervousness filled Arianne’s voice, something Natalie couldn’t ever remember hearing before. “Huge emergency,” Arianne continued in a rush. “We have to move brunch up to eleven.”
She considered dialing Arianne, but after a glance at the clock on the DVD player, she quickly dispelled that notion. At four in the morning, Arianne would be sound asleep. Isabel would probably be up, if she was even home, but Natalie needed sympathy, not I-told-you-so’s. The answering machine clicked off. Natalie wished she could turn off her emotions as easily.
Refusing to think another minute about anything other than the new Monticellos, Natalie carefully removed the lid with a reverence that would have Isabel rolling her eyes. She peeled back the monogrammed tissue paper to reveal an awe-inspiring pair of black linen mules with a floral design made from fuchsia and lime-green rhinestones across the vamp. She lifted one from the box. Two-inch heels? Sensible low heels? For her?
She frowned. Not that the shoes weren’t stunning, and she knew they retailed close to five hundred dollars, but what on earth was Rafe thinking? Her in low-heeled shoes? She was a definite skyscraper-kind-of-shoe gal, and Rafe Monticello made a point of knowing the preference of each of his guests at the annual New Year’s Eve celebration.
Oh, well, she thought with a shrug and tried them on anyway. They would look fabulous with her black Dana Buchman suit and lime-colored silk Dolce & Gabbana sequined tank. She admired the shoes. As she expected, a perfect fit.
Just like Joe.
She blew out a stream of breath. So what was she supposed to do now? she wondered, slipping the shoes inside the complimentary gold Monticello monogrammed dust bag before returning them to the box. Her plan had worked like a dream. She’d most definitely gotten what she’d wanted because there wasn’t an ounce of sexual frustration left in her entire body. Even her pinkie toe was relaxed. She’d managed to walk away without a single word, too, just as he’d done to her last year, classifying the payback part of her plan a huge success.
Unfortunately, the no-regrets aspect was giving her the most trouble. In her determination not to give her heart away, she’d gravely miscalculated, because it was impossible to give something away that had already been stolen from her—three hundred and sixty-five days ago to be exact.
WAKING UP ALONE hardly surprised Joe any more than the sharp sting of disappointment that Natalie had snuck out in the early-morning hours without so much as a goodbye. He’d been so certain he’d finally gained her trust. In some ways he had, if the way she responded to him counted for anything. But apparently not where it mattered most.
He was finally free of his obligations to the Navy. The escrow on his apartment had already closed and once the painters were finished, he’d be moved in by the end of the week. The job with the S.E.C. required minimal travel, but never anything that forced him into absolute silence about his whereabouts. He had nothing but time, and he’d gladly put in as much as necessary to convince Natalie he wouldn’t be running out on her again.
He reached across the bed for his cell phone resting on the far nightstand, his intent to check with directory assistance to see if Natalie’s number was listed. His fingers brushed against the black plastic casing, spinning the phone so it slid off the polished wood to the floor with a clatter. With a muffled curse, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and walked around to the other side to retrieve the cell phone. A few more muttered curses followed as he had to stoop to look under the bed for the phone.
Along with his cell phone he found a tube of pink lipstick, her gold satin mask and a strip of intact condom packets. They must’ve fallen out of her purse when he’d pushed it off the bed. Either she hadn’t realized or she’d been in too much of a hurry to get away from him to care.
With a flick, he tossed the items onto the bed. He supposed her running out on him was no less than he deserved, but she hadn’t given him an opportunity to apologize or explain. He’d tried, and she’d very effectively distracted him. His plan had been to deal with it in the morning, but once more, she hadn’t even given him a chance. Instead, she’d served up a dose of his own behavior, and he didn’t like it much, either.
He glanced down at the condom packets and wondered if he’d been set up. If he had, he’d been a willing victim and had played right into her skillful hands.
No, he thought, despite feeling the hard nudge of irritation. His pride might have taken a hit that she hadn’t wanted to wake up beside him after the night they’d shared, but he didn’t believe for a second she’d known he’d be at the party. Her reaction when she’d first seen him had been too genuine. Although he didn’t doubt that somewhere along the
way, she’d hatched a scheme to give back as good as she got. Of that much he was dead certain. Why else would she have worked so hard to pretend they’d never met when they both knew otherwise?
“Mission accomplished, babe,” he muttered. He shoved his hand roughly through his hair. So now what was he supposed to do? Ignore the fact that she’d gotten under his skin? Now that he’d made love to her, forgetting her would be all but impossible.
He let out a sigh and strode into the bathroom for a hot shower. As far as options, he had one, move heaven and earth to find her and explain so they could hopefully move on and see if they had a chance at a relationship. For the first time in a very long time, doubt filled him. If he used her refusal to listen to him last night as a gauge, he honestly didn’t know if he’d be able to convince her he at least deserved a shot at making her happy. He might not like it much, but he couldn’t ignore the truth—that all he really knew about Natalie could be summed up in a single word—sex.
7
NATALIE OPENLY CRINGED as Isabel whacked the radiator for more heat. She didn’t know which hurt worse, her pounding head from the champagne she’d guzzled all night as if it were nothing more potent than fruit juice, or the ache deep in her chest where her heart had once been located.
Arianne pulled the chenille throw from the back of Isabel’s ratty sofa. “You’re not looking so good, Nat,” she said, wrapping the throw around her shoulders to ward off the chill in the spacious loft. “A little too much to drink last night?”
Natalie wasn’t fooled by Arianne’s gentle smile. The woman could sniff out a story better than half the fashion reporters Natalie worked with on a daily basis. “A little too much something-something,” she muttered, borrowing Isabel’s phrase. She took the blanket Arianne handed her.
Since Isabel shooed them out of her makeshift kitchen, Natalie and Arianne were currently alone, if anyone could really be alone in a wide-open loft like the one Isabel cherished. “You’ve been in love before,” Natalie said, keeping her voice low to avoid a well-meaning confrontation with Isabel. “How did you know it was real?”
