Royal Seduction

by Donna Clayton

  She traced the soft pad of her finger along the lower edge of his jaw, her touch as hot as a match flame.

  Her head tilted, and her mouth was on him once again. Vaguely, he was aware of her hair brushing against his neck. Instinct alone forced him to tilt his head a fraction, to let her have her way. Her breasts were so close, so lush and firm, and he knew that all he had to do was shift the position of his hands and those ripe mounds would fill his palms.

  “Catherine, Catherine.” Once again he attempted to wrestle his way out of the passionate mire threatening to drown him.

  She sat up, her fanny squirming dangerously against his steely length.

  The clouds in her eyes couldn’t have been described as anything other than pure, unadulterated lust. The magnitude of her passion seemed to deplete every single molecule of air from the room. He had difficulty breathing.

  “You want this just as much as I do.”

  The certainty in her voice rocked him to the core. She was absolutely right. He did.

  With no further thought, he released his hold on sanity.

  Catherine’s hands trembled as she gently cradled his face between her palms. Her blood raced through her body and her heart fluttered as swiftly as a hummingbird’s wings. Although many thoughts jumbled in her head, every single one of them focused on one thing.

  Riley.

  Desire deepened his eyes to the color of rich, black coffee. The intensity of his stare made her go weak all over. Her limbs suddenly felt heavy, and time itself seemed to grow sluggish.

  Ever so gently, she leaned forward and pressed her forehead to his. She closed her eyes and touched the tip of her nose to his cheek. He smelled good. Like warm cedar and some other woodsy scent.

  A tiny shift allowed her to rub her cheek against his, the slight roughness of his five-o’clock shadow titillating the ever-growing craving inside her.

  There was no doubt in her mind that he wanted her. She could sense his yearning throbbing on the thick air. She could see the hunger in his eyes. She could feel his rigid member pressing against her buttock. All that separated their naughty bits were mere swaths of thin fabric. His trousers. Her skirt.

  The idea so excited her that her chest rose and fell with the quickening of her breath.

  Unable to hold off any longer, Catherine kissed him. His lips were moist and fiery hot. When she parted her lips to deepen the kiss, her tongue was met with the faint sweet tang of wine.

  The kiss they shared was deliciously long and lingering. There was a playfulness to their nibbling and tasting that paralleled the teasing and flirting relationship that they’d shared from the first.

  His hands encircled her waist. With great purpose and forethought, she rotated her hips, grinding her rear against his lap. His groan delighted her.

  She combed her fingers through his hair, reveling in the cool silkiness of it and marveling at how at odds it felt compared to the scorch of his kiss and the heat of his hands through the fabric of her blouse.

  “Catherine.” His tone grated against her mouth, filled with profound and heart-wrenching emotion.

  Breathlessly, she went still. Her gaze locked with his, and the seconds that ticked by seemed to become protracted with a peculiar Alice-in-Wonderland distortion. Slowly she unfastened the buttons of her blouse, then, filled with a brash sauciness, she shrugged her shoulders and let the fabric fall from her body.

  She reached around behind her and curled her fingers around his wrists. Their gazes never wavered as she guided her hands between them and then upward until he cupped her breasts in his palms.

  Her exhalation was taut as a harp string, and she could almost hear the twang of desire resonating on it. Catherine arched her back, tipped up her chin and closed her eyes.

  Riley dragged the pads of his thumbs across her nipples, and even through the lace of her bra, the sensation was enough to tighten them into hard nubs. Her breasts seemed to become heavy and swollen with need.

  He rained kisses high on her chest, and then lower on the swell of each breast. He took one budded nipple into his mouth, wetting the lace of her bra with his tongue.

  Riley suckled, and Catherine felt herself grow moist between her thighs.

  She experienced a sudden and frantic urge to be free of her clothes, to feel his naked flesh against hers.

  “Riley.” Was that rusty voice coming from her throat? “Let’s go to the bedroom.”

  Her attempt to scramble from his lap was clumsy at best, but the emotion zipping through her was frenetic and nearly more than she could bear.

  He didn’t immediately move. “Are you sure?”

  Words wouldn’t come, so she simply pleaded, “Riley!”

  He shoved his way off the couch and took her in his arms. His kiss was rougher now and just what Catherine needed to satisfy the yearning that was quickly driving her to the very brink.

  Without breaking their flurry of impassioned kisses, they made their way around the obstacle course of sofa, tables and chairs. She loosened his tie and tugged it over his head, then tossed it aside. He pulled her to him tightly, long enough to reach around and unzip her skirt. She gave her hips a little shimmy and the skirt fell to the floor.

  She kicked off her shoes, and he slid out of his loafers. The buttons of his shirt gave her a bit of trouble, and after communicating her frustration in the form of a small groan, he unfastened them for her. Then she tugged the shirt off his wide shoulders and flung it carelessly.

  In the hallway, Catherine reached for his belt buckle. The metal felt warm against her skin as she loosened it. A single button and a quick zip relieved him of his dress pants. The trousers pooled at his feet and he stepped out of them just as they reached the doorway of her bedroom. He bent and flicked off one sock, then the other.

  He was bare except for his burgundy boxers.

  “Oooo, sexy.” She grinned. “And you have sexy legs, too. And sexy feet.”

  His voice was gravelly as he commented, “No one’s ever told me that my feet are sexy.”

  He darted at her, swooping her into his arms, and she squealed with both surprise and glee.

  A few short steps brought them to the bed, where he unceremoniously dumped her. She bounced on the mattress, laughing. He sank onto the bed beside her.

  It seemed his hands were everywhere at once, sliding down the length of her neck, over her arms and breasts, stilling for a scant second on her hips. His palm came to rest on her flat tummy, and when he looked into her eyes, all humor was gone. The need expressed in his dark gaze seemed illimitable, and in an instant the bouncy, lively air that had flashed between them dissolved so suddenly it was as if it had never existed.

  His mouth crushed against hers at the same time that his fingers inched farther down her body. The elastic of her silk lace bikini panties presented no hindrance to his erotic exploration, and she quivered when he maneuvered his way beneath them.

  She gasped when he combed through her sensitive curls.

  He kissed her cheek and her jaw, and when he reached that most mysterious part of her, he lifted his head to look at her.

  “You’re wet,” he groaned softly.

  Slipping his fingers a fraction lower, he entered her, and it was Catherine’s turn to moan.

  Riley ravished her breasts with his lips and his tongue, and all the while the expert ministrations of his fingers down below carried her closer and closer to some unfamiliar place. Gladly—no, eagerly—she rode the incredible, wonderful and most foreign wave of ecstasy.

  The surge of emotions he created inside her swelled higher, and Catherine whimpered. She nipped at the corded curve of his neck, slid her hands over his muscular back, kissed the hardness of his smooth shoulder.

  Suddenly, sensation rushed at her with the power of a tsunami, lifting, spinning, tossing her as it curled in on itself and crashed at what felt like the very core of her being.

  She cried his name, panting as if she’d run a great distance. Her eyes wide open now, she s
aw that he was looking down into her face as she gasped and smiled in pure ecstasy.

  Catherine realized that she’d become so focused on her own pleasure that she’d completely forgotten about his.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

  “Don’t you dare apologize.”

  His expression articulated such unspoken tenderness that her heart ached from the sight of it.

  Riley unfastened her bra, and then curling his fingers beneath the lace of her panties, he tugged them down her legs and over her feet. He pulled off his boxers and then slid on top of her.

  The weight of him felt good, felt right, and Catherine sighed contentedly. His chest was hard beneath her palms, the springy hairs tickling her skin.

  He nuzzled her neck, and hunger sparked to life inside her all over again. But this need felt different. Condensed and intense. Oddly deeper. Harder to reach.

  She didn’t quite understand what was happening to her body, the feelings tormenting her. All she knew was that she needed more. Much more.

  Riley kissed her face and shoulders, the swell of her breasts, shifting his hips just enough to get her to part her legs for him. For a moment, his steely rod pressed against her stomach and she trembled deliciously.

  Then he nestled himself into the most natural and most wonderful position that Mother Nature had invented. His elbows supported most of his weight, but his hips pressed against her hips, and Catherine felt overwhelmed with that luscious breathlessness again.

  Longing wholly consumed him, too, and she couldn’t believe the joy that brought her.

  Instinctively, she tilted her hips up a fraction, and he slid into her with one powerful stroke. Pain shot through her body and she grimaced.

  “Catherine?”

  Doubt edged his tone, and before the pain could fully subside, she felt a fluttering panic threaten the wondrous moment.

  “I want this, Riley,” she whispered. She reached up and skimmed his jaw with her fingers. “I want you.”

  Her touch had him closing his eyes. His second thrust was gentle, and it only brought a twinge of discomfort. Pleasure relaxed Riley’s features, and Catherine got caught up in just watching him. She realized why he’d refused her apology before, because he, too, had become enthralled by the show.

  Soon, though, passion sprouted and expanded like a swiftly growing vine, spiraling, twisting, curling in every nook and cranny until she was once again filled to the brim with lush, heart-pounding passion.

  Feeling feverish and elated beyond her wildest imaginings, Catherine let Riley sweep her away.

  Nine

  Carrie Martin fought back her bitter disappointment. She’d scoured every pool hall in Portland, showing Richard’s picture to anyone who would listen to her. And her inquiries seemed to grow more frantic after each failure.

  She’d been ready to give up when it hit her: If he didn’t want to be found, he would very likely steer clear of Portland. The thought had excited her and fired up her determination to find him. So she’d called the restaurant and asked her boss to find a replacement for her. When he’d assumed she’d caught the bug that was going around and told her he hoped she felt better soon, Carrie didn’t set him straight, realizing she wouldn’t be able to rest until she found her ex-husband.

  Country Cove Pool Hall was located in a strip mall. The parking lot was small, and only a few of the spaces were occupied. She’d probably strike out here, as well, but she needed to check, just for her own peace of mind.

  During her hunt, she’d been in many different establishments. All of them, it seemed, had their own unique ambiance. Just as her son had feared, she’d been in bars, both cruddy and classy, that had pool rooms. She’d also been to numerous billiard halls, businesses that catered to the serious pool player. Then there were the so-called family gaming centers, catering to G-rated entertainment and offering electronic arcade games as well as a variety of other amusements. Country Cove was such a family place.

  Clean and smoke-free, the room was large and well-lit. Upbeat pop music filtered through the sound system. A bored-looking teen sat behind the counter near the door. Carrie saw a father and son engaged in some sort of fantasy battle game, both wearing large black goggles and swinging futuristic sabers in the air as they fought off some unseen enemy.

  “Pool tables?” Carrie asked the young man near the cash register.

  He gave a vague point and went back to reading his comic book.

  Carrie trudged toward the back and saw the neon sign flashing Billiards.

  Richard was the only person in the pool room. The sight of him filled Carrie with a huge sense of relief, but following swiftly on its heels was an immense foreboding. What on earth would she say? How could she possibly explain?

  She’d gone over all that a hundred times, but now that Richard was right in front of her, her mind drew a blank.

  He concentrated on a shot. The stick hit the cue ball with a sharp crack and pool balls scattered across the green felt surface of the table. Stepping back to assess his next move, Richard studied the balls. Carrie shifted, and his gaze shot to the doorway.

  Overwhelming emotion filled his face. Clearly, he felt cornered. He gave the emergency exit a darting glance.

  “Richard,” Carrie said, “we need to talk.”

  His jaw tensed and something simmered in his dark eyes. Resentment? Ire?

  “You have every right to be angry with me. Please, let’s sit down and talk. Let me explain. This has been too long in coming.”

  The pool stick slid from his hand, the butt coming to rest on the tile floor. Surprisingly, he relented with a nod. “Far too long,” he agreed.

  Just minutes later, they sat at one of the round plastic tables outside Country Cove, nursing sodas that they’d purchased from a nearby vending machine, not because either of them was thirsty, but because they both needed some semblance of normalcy in this most abnormal situation.

  The first thing Richard had done was to comment on how different she looked. He still had trouble believing he’d met and talked with her at the clinic without recognizing her. The awe and admiration in both his tone and his expression made Carrie beam with pride, but then awkwardness settled over them, unsettling them both.

  Carrie simply cut loose and allowed everything that was in her heart to spill out. She rolled her life into a nutshell for him because she wanted him to know everything. Everything, that was, except the information about their son. As Jason’s mother, she felt it was her job to protect him, at all costs. She wanted to feel Richard out first. She needed to be fairly certain that he’d be receptive to the idea that he was a father before she revealed that fact.

  “So,” she said, summing up her story, “I’ve been beside myself, teetering between feeling happy that I’d found you after so many years, and angry about feelings that can only be described as abandonment. And that’s why I exploded that day in the clinic. I should never have said those things in front of all those people. I should never have—”

  “Carrie.” Richard’s hand slid over hers, and she went silent. “Stop feeling bad about that. My life was out of control long before you showed up. Things were bound to catch up with me sooner or later.”

  He looked so wounded, and Carrie’s heart went out to him.

  “What things?” she asked. “What are you talking about?”

  His gaze slid away and he pulled his hand from hers. He was quiet for an uncomfortably long time. Sensing she shouldn’t push him, Carrie remained patient.

  Finally Richard shook his head, unable to look her in the eye. “That day at the clinic when you laid everything out on the line like you did—”

  He stopped at her bark of acidic laughter. “Is that what you’re choosing to call it? I refer to it as my ‘awful scene,’ my ‘temper tantrum’ and ‘the day I made a royal ass of myself.’”

  Richard ignored her. “You just shot from the hip.”

  “I shot from the hip, the shoulder, the foot, the head.” Her mout
h twisted in irritation at her own behavior. “I feel as if I thoroughly annihilated you.”

  He caught her eye then, his gaze softening. This was the old Richard she knew. The man she had married and then lost so many years ago.

  “That’s a little harsh,” he said. “I’m right here, alive and kicking. Quit being so hard on yourself.” He toyed with the soda can in front of him. “The truth is you did me a great favor, Carrie.”

  How that could be, she had no idea.

  “After I left Florida,” he told her, “something happened to me. I’d always been ambitious, you know that. And I allowed that ambition to ruin the best thing in my life.”

  An unexpected delight rolled through Carrie like an electric charge. Of all the things she’d expected to come out of this discussion, that had not been one of them.

  “I’m glad you remarried,” he continued. “I’m glad you found some happiness. You deserve it, Carrie.”

  The Healthy Living Clinic clients who were so down on Richard were wrong. She’d been wrong. He really could be kind and caring.

  “I, on the other hand,” he told her, “haven’t been so lucky.”

  She didn’t like the black cloud that suddenly engulfed him.

  “What are you talking about?” she teased, attempting to keep her voice light. “You’ve made a great success of yourself.” Although she cringed inside, she added, “Dr. Richie.”

  His jaw clenched. “Oh, how I hate that name.”

  His response shocked her. “But I thought— Isn’t what you wanted? What you’d worked for?”

  He sighed in disgust. “Only because of Browell.”

  “Dr. Terry?” This only confused her more.

  Richard’s voice turned both bitter and childish. “‘Live Airy with Dr. Terry.’ That man loves to tell people about their weight problems, yet he’s a redheaded cow. And he’s all high and mighty about domestic troubles, but I’ll bet if we did a little snooping we’d find out he’s had three wives.”

  Carrie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Richard, why would you be jealous of Terry Browell?”