His hand was still stretched across the table, and his gaze was fixed on her face. She didn’t move as he slowly raised his fingers to trace down the side of her cheek and along her jaw line before he brushed them over her lips. “Hannah,” he murmured.
“Yes,” she said, his voice and touch sending ropes of heat spiraling down between her legs.
He shoved out of his chair and strode around the table to come up behind her. She started to rise but he put his hands on her shoulders to hold her in place. “Wait,” he said, sliding his hands under the collar of her blazer and pushing it down her arms, his thumbs caressing the silk of her blouse as the jacket slipped downward. His mouth was on the side of her neck, just below her earlobe, his lips slightly chilled from the cold water he’d drunk. They warmed quickly as she tilted her head to let him move more freely over her skin. Waves of sensation radiated downward, making her nipples harden.
He must have seen her reaction through the thin fabric because he brought his hands down from her shoulders to cup her breasts. “Oh, yes,” she said as the pressure of his palms sent arousal streaking through her. She grabbed the arms of her chair and pushed into his touch.
Then it wasn’t enough to have him touch her through her blouse and she let go of the chair to rip the buttons out.
His mouth opened against her neck and she felt the flick of his tongue. Then he pushed his fingers underneath the lace of her bra to roll her nipples, and she arched up out of the chair on a gasp of mindless pleasure. He pulled one hand loose from her bra to move it down between her legs, rubbing against the denim of her jeans.
“Adam,” she said, the three points of his touch spreading pleasure and yearning through her body like a wildfire.
He opened the front catch of her bra and bent over her shoulder to bring his lips to her bared nipple. His mouth was hot and wet, and the swirl of his tongue against her skin brought her up from the chair again as he sent need coiling tighter and tighter inside her.
She reveled in his stroking until she felt an orgasm rising. “Not without you,” she said, releasing the chair and nudging his head away from her breast. As he straightened, she turned and knelt in the chair, seizing the buckle of his belt and unfastening it. As she unzipped his trousers to free his erection, he unbuttoned and shrugged out of his shirt. His bare chest caught her attention and she ran her hands up his flat abdomen, feeling the dusting of dark hair under her palms. She surged up to lick one of his nipples. He wrapped his fingers around her shoulders to hold her there, his head falling back as he breathed out her name.
She slid one hand downward to encircle his cock while she lapped at his other nipple. He jerked in her hand. She cupped his balls and moved her mouth to the triangle at the base of his throat, exploring the hollow with her tongue. A tang of salt and a hint of lemon lingered on her taste buds. A vibration almost like a growl came from within him.
His grip on her shoulders tightened and he set her on her feet before he hooked his ankle around the chair leg and kicked it away. Crushing her against him, he locked his mouth against hers and drew her into an exploration that almost distracted her from the pressure of her breasts against his skin and his erection against her stomach. She felt him kneading her bottom through her jeans and she wanted to feel his fingers on her skin. Working her hands between them, she pushed away from him.
He eased his grip and lifted his head. “Too much?”
“Not enough,” she said, working the button of her waistband loose.
His smile was sinful as he watched her unzip her jeans and shimmy out of them. She deliberately left her heels and lacy panties on. She grabbed the waistband of his underwear, shoving both them and his trousers downward. “Can’t you take a hint?”
“I was mesmerized,” he said, slipping off his loafers and stepping out of his clothes to stand spectacularly naked.
“Now I’m mesmerized,” she said, watching the shadows play over the curves of muscle as the candles and fire flickered.
He reached out to hook his fingers into each side of her panties. “These are blocking my view,” he said, slowly dragging them downward over her hips before letting them drop to the floor.
She fought the urge to cover herself as his gaze focused between her legs. He sank to his knees, curling his fingers into her buttocks to pull her toward him before he nudged her thighs apart and worked his tongue against her.
She grabbed his shoulders to balance herself on her high heels as a maelstrom of sensation spun through her. Before he could drive her to climax, she dug her nails into his shoulders and shook him. “I want you with me,” she said when he dragged his mouth away from her.
He threw a glance around the room. “There’s a couch in my office.”
“There’s a nice thick rug here,” Hannah said, leaning on his shoulders as she lowered herself onto her knees in front of him.
“I wasn’t expecting this,” he said. “Not this fast.” He wrapped his arms around her and drew her in for a kiss. She could taste herself on his lips.
“Please tell me you have a condom,” she said.
His smile flashed in the candlelight as he snagged his trousers and rummaged in the pockets before holding up two foil packets.
“Thank goodness,” she said, taking one envelope and ripping it open. She took her time rolling the condom onto him, enjoying the hoarseness of his breath as she stroked his erection.
“Let me be your bed,” he said, tumbling them sideways before he rolled onto his back with her draped on top of him.
He flexed his fingers into her hips, urging her up and back. She put her forearms on his chest and pushed herself upward, feeling a strange sense of shyness about straddling him. Then he lifted her hips up to position her above his cock, its head just touching her.
“Are you ready?” he asked, his gaze burning into hers.
“Yes,” she whispered.
He pulled her down and thrust upward at the same time, seating himself deeply inside her. The sense of being filled brought a momentary satisfaction before she tightened her inner muscles around him, giving herself a burst of pleasure and making Adam moan.
He allowed her a few seconds to adjust before he began to move, tilting his hips as he guided her up and down in a rhythm that wound the ball of sensation in her belly into a knot of pure want. She leaned forward to rest her hands on his shoulders, changing the angle of their joining so the friction grew stronger. The feel of his skin stretched over muscle under her palms, the huff of his warm breath against her neck, and the driving of his cock sent pleasure spinning through her. She came down hard and arched backward as an orgasm blossomed in the depths of her body and exploded outward like a supernova. She choked out his name as her muscles clenched and clenched again around him.
She felt him shift and thrust hard into her before he arched up under her, his shout of completion echoing off the glass and stone walls. She held herself still so she could feel him pumping inside her.
When they were spent, he cradled her on his chest, stroking one palm down her back. She lay sprawled on him, her legs splayed over his hips, all shyness burned away. What was left was a profound sense of satiation and bone-deep contentment.
“Is caviar an aphrodisiac?” she murmured against his throat.
“For you it is,” he said, his voice laced with amusement. “I’ll have to stock up.”
“That could get expensive,” she said, remembering the price on Ward’s menu.
“Worth every penny.” He gave her butt an affectionate caress. “Besides, it only required one bite to take effect, so my supply will last a long time.”
She twined the fingers of one hand into the hair at the nape of his neck, exploring the thick, waving texture. His chest rose and fell underneath her, so the still-tight tips of her nipples tingled at the slight changes in pressure. It was a languid, undemanding pleasure, and she sighed at the de
liciousness of it.
Then the doubts skittered in. She was playing Cinderella at the ball again, believing this brilliant, successful, gorgeous man wanted her above all other women. He was just grateful to her for helping him with his son. She must have shifted as she wrestled with her nasty little demons.
“What is it?” Adam asked.
“I’ve cooled off now that we’ve stopped exercising,” she lied.
He eased her over onto the rug and surged to his feet in an eye-catching display of flexing muscles under bare skin. With a few quick motions, he shifted the food first to one side of the tablecloth, folded it, and shifted the food back to the bare table. Whipping the cream-colored brocade off the table, he spread it over her where she lay curled on the floor. He lay down beside her and slid under the tablecloth, pulling her back up against his front.
He wrapped his right arm around her waist, tucking his hand under her hip. The front of his thighs fit against the back of hers like a warm, living puzzle. His breathing feathered through her hair, and his left arm pillowed her neck.
As she drifted down into slumber, the images of the last few days floated randomly through her mind.
All desire to sleep fled as one scene rose with shocking vividness. Matt stood in Satchmo’s stall, his hands thrust in his jeans pockets, his voice raw with pain, as he said, “He’s trying to find someone from my mother’s family to adopt me.”
She couldn’t put it off any longer. She needed to know the truth.
Chapter 17
HANNAH WAS WIDE awake now, and she tried to keep her voice casual. “Matt said the strangest thing to me last night.”
“Strange how?” Adam’s voice held the rumble of drowsiness.
“He told me you were looking for a family member to adopt him.”
He didn’t tighten his grip on her or flinch. He went completely still. Even his breath no longer ruffled her hair. “Where did he get that idea?” he asked after what seemed like a long silence.
“From you, he said.” She waited for the categorical denial.
“I never told him that.”
Not as categorical as she had hoped. “I was surprised because you were so upset about being refused a part in his life.”
“I’m upset, but I have no right to feel that way.” The arm he had flung around her waist tensed.
“Emotions have nothing to do with rights. But why would Matt think that?”
There was a moment’s hesitation. “Matt’s mother Maggie was repudiated by her parents when they found out she was pregnant and had no intention of marrying the father. So Matt never met any of the McNallys. I’ve located some of his relatives in Boston, a cousin and her husband. I’m going to fly up to meet them next week, as long as Satchmo remains stable.”
“You told him that?”
“He must have overheard something.”
Ward had used that same careful tone when he suspected a conversation wasn’t going his way. Trying to pin him down had always resulted in a fight. She didn’t know Adam well enough to push him. “If the McNallys shunned Matt’s mother back then, why are they interested in him now?”
“They didn’t know he existed until I contacted them.” His voice was surer now. “They didn’t even know Maggie had died.”
A horrifying thought struck her. “What happened to Matt when his mother died? Was he all alone?”
“Fortunately, no. Maggie’s neighbor babysat Matt when he was younger, so she took him in. Maggie understood how precarious it was being a single parent, so she made sure the neighbor knew to contact me if something happened to her.” He had to stop to clear the gruffness from his voice. Clearly, he didn’t like to think about what might have happened to Matt either. “They reached me within twenty-four hours.”
“That’s a relief. I’d hate to think of him…” She couldn’t finish the sentence as the image of a grief-stricken Matt left without someone to comfort him clogged her throat with tears.
He pulled her closer to him. “I know. I went to pick him up that day.” Huffing out a laugh without any humor, he said, “Although I think he would have preferred to stay with the neighbor.”
“Maybe at that moment, but not in the long run.” She ran her hand along his arm where it encircled her waist. “You feel it’s important he know these cousins, so think how much more important it is to know his father.”
That made him shift. “With some fathers, it’s better not to know them.”
“Why do you think you’re not capable of being Matt’s father? All I’ve seen from you is concern and caring and commitment.”
His sigh blew strands of her hair across her face. “None of that changes what I am.” He sat up, pulling her with him. Smoothing her hair back to expose her neck, he laid a trail of kisses down to her shoulder. “Let’s finish the caviar.”
The brush of his warm lips sent pure delight tingling through her. It was easier to let him change the subject than to keep beating against the implacably dark image he had of himself. Where she saw a man of profound kindness and extraordinary awareness, he saw an alcoholic who was unworthy of love. An ugly little gremlin of doubt crept into her mind. Could Adam’s grim vision of himself lead him to give up his son in a misguided burst of altruism? His cautiously phrased answers to her question pointed in that direction.
Shoving the uncomfortable thoughts out of her mind, she tried to wrap herself in the circular tablecloth only to find it wouldn’t stay tucked in. “May I borrow your shirt?” she asked.
His smile went sinful as he scooped the shirt off the chair. “If that’s all you wear.”
“Deal.”
He held up the dark garment for her to slide her arms into while the tablecloth crumpled down around her ankles. The shirt’s fine fabric whispered over her skin and she caught the scent of spice that she associated with him. The sleeves fell down to her fingertips, so she rolled them back.
Adam pulled on his trousers, leaving the belt unbuckled so they rode low on his hips. He seized the tablecloth and snapped it wide open, letting it drift to the carpet right by the hearth. “We’ll picnic in front of the fire to keep you warm,” he said, moving plates, glasses, and the champagne bottle to the cloth.
“I’ll handle caviar transport,” Hannah said, carefully balancing the dish on its tray as she walked to the fireplace.
Once the food had been shifted to the warmer location, Adam sat cross-legged and covered each diamond of toast with perfectly piled mounds of caviar and laid them on the serving tray. With his back to the fire, the tips of his hair and the arcs of his shoulders were outlined in gold, but his face was in shadow. Only his eyes caught a glint of the candle flames still burning around the table.
He looked like the kind of seducer the devil sent to persuade you to sell your soul. Hannah shook her head to rid herself of that unfair idea. Ward was the one who had sold his soul. Adam still battled to reclaim his.
She raised her champagne glass in a toast. “Here’s to second chances.”
“Amen,” he said, touching her glass with his. Was she thinking about her problems in Chicago or his problems in Sanctuary? He needed third, fourth, and fifth chances.
Hannah stared into the fire, twisting the stem of her champagne glass between her fingers. The light shimmered along the flyaway strands of her flaxen hair and gilded her creamy skin. Giving her the black shirt had been a mistake. It covered too much of her beautiful body and looked like a dark shadow casting a pall over her glow. Or maybe that was cast by his half-truths.
He slid down onto his side and picked up a toast point, shoving it in his mouth and chewing without really tasting the precious caviar.
How had Matt found out about his quest for an adoptive family? Shame had driven Adam to keep it a secret from everyone except the private investigator. Matt must have discovered something about the Boston cousin and drawn his ow
n conclusions. A razor blade of guilt sliced through him as he thought of how his son must feel.
Adam had called Ellen O’Brien from the restaurant that afternoon. The image of Matt with his fingers buried in Trace’s fur had forced his hand. Despite his resistance, Matt was growing attached to his new life. The pony. The dog. Hannah. Maybe even his father.
The razor blade expanded to a machete hacking at Adam’s chest as he imagined sending his son away. It would be kinder to both of them to make the break quickly.
He must have uttered some sound because Hannah’s gaze swung around to him. Her soft, warm eyes scanned his face, searching for whatever needed healing. “Are you all right?” she asked.
He could spill his guts about yearning to be Matt’s father but knowing he was the worst possible candidate for the job. She might understand the terrible choice he was forced to make. Or she might gather up her clothes and stalk out of his life in disgust. “I was just thinking I don’t like black on you.”
She glanced down at his shirt. “But it’s a classic.”
“All right. I don’t like clothes on you.”
“Ditto on you.” She smiled and picked up the last caviar-loaded toast point, holding it out to him. “Someone should eat this before we get distracted again.”
As he reached out for it, she pulled her hand back. “Open your mouth,” she said, using her other hand to flick the top button of her shirt out of its hole. She leaned toward him so the fabric gapped open to display the curves and shadows of her breasts.
He took the bite of toast and nearly swallowed it whole in his haste to yank the shirt up over her head.
“Hey, you’re supposed to savor expensive food,” she said, as he pushed her backwards to sprawl onto the carpet. “You told me that.”
He knelt above her and skimmed his hands down over her breasts, along the indent of her waist, and around the out-swell of her hips before he buried his fingers in the liquid heat between her thighs, making her eyelids close and her pelvis arch up against his palm on a gasp.
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