Sweet Life

by Lane, Nina

  And he hated even more that she felt like she’d failed, that she’d missed out on something… because even though she’d lived and worked in London, travelled extensively, built a successful company, had prestige and wealth, if Julia had missed anything in her life, it was all Warren’s damned fault.

  “So?” Julia shot him a sideways glance. “That was my foray into cougardom. What about you?”

  “I’ve never forayed into cougardom.”

  She chuckled. “Please. Young Warren never got it on with an older woman?”

  He didn’t think it necessary to tell her about the VP’s wife who’d seduced him at seventeen. “Not recently.”

  She turned her head to eye him suspiciously. “And you’ve never been tempted by those twenty-year-olds in their mini-skirts and moto jackets?”

  Ah, hell. She’d told him the truth.

  “A few times,” he admitted. “But they had to be at least twenty-five.”

  “And how was it?”

  “The sex was great. The rest… not so much. They went on about music and movies I didn’t care about, and I kept wanting to advise them on their financial portfolios. Not a dynamic that worked.” He refilled the wineglass from the bottle of Syrah. “Not to mention the whole thing had a sleazy vibe I didn’t like. Not for me.”

  “What… or rather, who is for you then?” Julia asked. “I mean, besides Rebecca.”

  Rebecca had been “for him.” The perfect complement to his imperfection. She’d been his pillar, the reason he’d become a responsible, hard-working adult at such a young age. His father had insisted that he work outside of Sugar Rush to learn about the “real world” for several years, and after stints at gas stations and restaurants, Warren had started on the production line of Sugar Rush’s factory floor. He’d worked his way up in the company, Rebecca steadfastly at his side, her focus on raising the children. He’d never deviated from the path of work and family. Never wanted a woman who could offer him anything different.

  Except…

  He blocked that thought before it could go any further.

  He didn’t know what he’d have been if it hadn’t been for Rebecca. She’d been a rock. Julia had been like the sea—constantly changing, shifting, moving. Until somewhere along the way, she’d stopped.

  Because of him.

  Shit. He frowned down at the glass. Who was for him? Not the divorcees or sugar babies. Not any of the professional women he’d encountered in his career. Not the Sugar Rush VPs or employees. Not his fellow climbers.

  But Julia… he’d wondered often about the possibility over the years. The thought of Rebecca hadn’t been the thing stopping him—it had been more Julia herself. The invisible wall she’d put up between them.

  He set the glass down and picked up her Before Fifty list from the coffee table. A few more blue check marks indicated the items she’d already completed. Sleep under the stars. Skinny-dip. Go zip-lining. Be there for my next niece or nephew’s birth.

  She’d been there when Evan was born. Next to Rebecca on the other side of the bed, holding her left hand while he held his wife’s right hand.

  “She missed you,” he finally said.

  Julia didn’t respond for a moment before she admitted, “I missed her. Biggest regret of my life, causing a rift between me and my sister. Well, second biggest.”

  “Sam was the first, huh?”

  “No.” She ducked her head, the curtain of her smooth blonde hair falling forward to conceal her profile. “You were.”

  Guilt seized his chest. “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry?” She flipped her hair back to look at him. Despite the amount of wine they’d both consumed, her gaze was clear and sharp. “I’m the one who’s sorry, Warren. I’ve been sorry for almost thirty years. What kind of woman hits on her sister’s husband?”

  The question flared and exploded between them like a long-dormant firework whose fuse had just been lit. Not until this second had either of them ever acknowledged that Christmas Eve night when she’d pressed her hot open mouth against his. His head flooded with memories of her cherry breath, the crush of her sweet, soft body, the tangle of her long hair.

  His dick stiffened. He tilted his head back and swallowed the wine. Those memories had taken root deep inside him the instant they happened. Fuck if he hadn’t tried his damnedest to smother all of them, to eradicate them from his blood, his consciousness. He’d failed miserably.

  “I’m sorry,” Julia repeated, her forehead furrowing. “I never stopped thinking that if I hadn’t done that, Rebecca and I could have had a much closer relationship. And you never wanted to talk to me after that, did you?”

  Shame and guilt knotted in his throat, blocking a response. He stared at her mouth, her lips stained with red wine, the tempting indentation in her upper lip that looked as if it would feel as soft as a flower petal against his finger. Then he made the mistake of moving his gaze lower, over the curves of her breasts.

  Christ. Her nipples were hard, poking against the front of her designer T-shirt. She was as affected by memories of their kiss as he was. What was she wearing under her shirt? His mind flashed with an image of her in a transparent black bra that showed off her dark areolae and tight nipples…

  He pulled in a breath and tried to rein in his wayward thoughts. “I wanted to forget it ever happened.”

  Though her expression didn’t change, unmistakable hurt flashed in her eyes. She tore her gaze from his and looked down at the floor. A thick, portentous silence filled the air. His heartbeat kicked into gear, heat flooding his veins.

  “But I couldn’t,” he continued. “I couldn’t forget anything about you.”

  “Same here.” Her voice was low, contrite. A pulse throbbed at the side of her slender neck. Warren couldn’t take his eyes off it, imagining pressing his mouth to the hot vibration, tasting her fine-grained skin. The scent of her wafted to him—no cheap perfume on her, only Chanel No. 5 underscored by the heady smells of red wine and cloves.

  “God.” Julia pressed her hands to her flushed cheeks and closed her eyes. “You’d think I’d be over it after all these years, but I feel like it happened yesterday. I’m still so ashamed.”

  He swallowed hard. “Don’t be. If there’s anything that’s changed over the last thirty years, it’s that you never need to be ashamed. Not with me. Not about anything.”

  If his words were any comfort, she gave no indication.

  She rose and crossed the room. He locked his gaze to the sway of her hips as she walked to the mantel and removed several family photos. She set them on the coffee table and returned to an opened cardboard box to take out a large snow globe.

  “Stop,” Warren said.

  Julia paused. He pushed to his feet and approached her slowly. She didn’t move, but a visible tremble rippled through her when he stopped in front of her.

  He tilted his chin up, drawing her eyes to the top of the doorframe and the mistletoe dangling over her head. Her gaze darted back to his, colliding into him like a thunderbolt.

  Her slender throat worked with a swallow. Her eyes were dark sapphires, the Caribbean sea, the sky before a storm. She drew back, her breasts rising and falling with the force of her breath. A crease formed between her eyebrows. Her lips parted.

  The heat in his veins flared into a firestorm. Before he could think, he moved closer, sliding one hand to the back of her neck. The air thickened with tension.

  “Warren?” Her voice shook.

  He pulled her toward him and brought his mouth down on hers.

  Chapter

  FOUR

  The snow globe fell from Julia’s hands and bounced once, unbroken, on the thick carpet.

  This.

  This right here was what she wanted. What she’d been wanting for a very long time. For him to take control, to take her, to surrender to the desires she’d kept concealed for too long. The stifled longings broke free… either a flock of butterflies rising into the sky or the opening of Pandora’s box,
she didn’t know which.

  All she knew right now was that his lips were on hers, and his hands were holding her in place. Disbelief and outright pleasure washed through her. She wanted to fall into him like she was diving through a cloud of everything warm and good. Because… oh my God.

  Though their unusually intimate talk and his closeness had warmed and softened her, the touch of his lips fired her with heat, melting away the brittle emotions hardening her insides. She curled her fingers into his arms, stunned by the realization of a moment she had imagined more often than she ever wanted to admit.

  Warren Stone was kissing her under the mistletoe. And she was letting him. More, she was kissing him back, surrendering to the spicy taste of him, her head spinning with the intoxicating combination of wine and the man she had secretly craved for so long.

  He glided his mouth easily over hers, urging her lips apart, sliding his tongue against hers with an expertise that jolted her with desire. Lord in heaven, the man knew how to kiss, the pressure of his mouth firm yet gentle, his possessive grip on her neck keeping her in place.

  Not that she wanted to move. The familiar scent of his shaving cream—orange and spice—filled her nose. He trailed his lips from her mouth to her cheek, his whiskers abrading her skin deliciously. Julia shivered. Long-dormant hunger flooded her veins. He brought his mouth back to hers, his big hands sliding up her midriff to her breasts. Her nipples stiffened against his palms, and a moan escaped her throat.

  “Christ, you feel good.” His voice was rough, his body lined with tension.

  Dizziness swept through her. She couldn’t think. All she could do was feel—his hands on her breasts, his lips against hers, his body… oh, his body.

  How many times had she imagined what his broad shoulders and chest would feel like under her fingers? How many times had she admired how beautifully his tailored suits fit his muscular physique, and then pictured herself unknotting his tie and stripping off his jacket? How many times had she secretly fantasized…

  She placed a trembling hand on his chest. Good lord. He worked out regularly and had been increasing his climbing and bouldering efforts, but she hadn’t expected him to be so… powerful, a wall of hard, sculpted muscle coiled with leashed strength. His heart hammered against her palm, a fast-paced rhythm matching hers.

  What would it feel like to ease her hand under his shirt, touch his taut skin and explore his astonishingly solid body? She pulled in a ragged breath, her senses swimming. He lifted his mouth from hers, his breath puffing hot against her lips, his brown eyes darkened with urgency.

  “You’re beautiful.”

  Pleasure soared through her. He frequently told her she looked great, he liked her outfit, whatever, but never before had he told her she was beautiful while gazing at her as if he wanted to consume her. And she wanted him to. Wanted him to swallow her up, rid her of all thought, electrify every part of her being.

  He lowered her to the floor, his mouth locked back to hers. She went willingly, heedless of any resistance, a dandelion puff surrendering to the force of the wind.

  His kiss was everything she’d imagined it to be and more—a caress, a claiming, a question. Soft nibbles at her lips alternating with the slow, probing quest of his tongue. His hands tightening in her hair, his scruff grazing her chin. Pulling back and advancing. Feather-light touches of his mouth on her cheeks, her forehead, then back to take her lips.

  Thirteen—no, thirty—years folded and collapsed in time, distilling to this moment alone. She slid her hands to his back, gripped his shirt, arched up against him. Her breasts brushed the hard wall of his chest, stimulating her tight nipples. She squeezed her thighs together. God, already she was wet and starting to ache.

  He broke the kiss and levered himself over her, one hand on the floor beside her head. His gaze probed hers as if he were already stripping her naked. She parted her legs, letting him fit his body against hers.

  Oh. He was hard, an impressive bulge pressing against the front of his trousers. Emboldened, she ran her hand over his chest, rubbing her fingers across his hard abs, then down to his erection. A groan rumbled through him, but the instant she closed her hand around him, he grabbed her wrist.

  Julia froze. “What’s wrong?”

  He cursed under his breath, his mouth tightening with self-restraint. “If you want me to stop, I—”

  She almost laughed, caught in a wave of dizzy excitement. She couldn’t believe how light she suddenly felt, as if all the frustrations of the past week had lifted from her heart and flown away like birds.

  “Warren,” she breathed. “What I want is for you to finish what you started.”

  His mouth curved with a smile, his brown gaze softening.

  “What I want…” he pressed his hand to the side of her neck, lowering his mouth to hers again, “…is you.”

  He slid his hands over her breasts, his breath increasing. He stroked lower, across her midriff and between her legs. He cupped his hand over her, easing one long finger right into her cleft. Julia gasped. Lust exploded through her. She’d almost forgotten what a man’s touch felt like on the most intimate parts of her body—and he was only touching her on the outside of her clothes.

  She ran her trembling fingers over the length of his erection where it rested against his thigh. A shiver of trepidation rattled through her because… heavens, the man was big. The thick ridge of his cock pulsed heat clear through his trousers, sending a responding throb right to her core. His breath skimmed over her like a hot breeze. But instead of hauling her close again, he put his hand under her chin and lifted her face to look at him.

  Her heart hammered at the gleam in his brown eyes—dark, lustful, possessive. Electric currents, burning stars, the center of a candle flame. She’d known him longer than she’d known anyone, harbored everything from a secret crush to outright desire for him. There was no one she trusted more.

  She tugged his shoulders and pressed her lips to his again. He pushed his hands under the hem of her shirt, his fingers gliding over her bare skin. Shivers rained down her spine. Up, up… his hands closed over her breasts, plucking at her taut nipples.

  Julia shifted, her breath coming faster, all rational thought spilling away. Warren lowered her back onto the floor, his weight pressing her into the carpet, his cock throbbing against her thigh. She wound her arms around his shoulders as he lowered his head to kiss her neck, her throat, trailing his lips back to her mouth.

  “Wait.” Julia eased away from him slightly to shed her T-shirt. A rush of purely female satisfaction filled her when he groaned at the sight of her lingerie-clad breasts.

  “If you only knew how often I’ve imagined you naked,” he muttered, undoing the bra clasp with an expert flick of his fingers. Her breasts popped out, nipples sticking straight up.

  “Ah fuck…” He bent to capture one of her nipples in his mouth.

  Sparks flamed in her blood. Julia gasped, arching upward and tightening her fingers into his shirt. A hint of disbelief rose in her at the realization that Warren was flicking his tongue over her nipple and sucking the tight little bud, but everything else about him—his presence, his scent, his body—was achingly, unbearably familiar.

  He pulled away from her only long enough to grip her yoga pants and strip them off her legs, revealing the black lace panties hugging her hips. His breath hitched.

  “La Perla, huh?” He ran his gaze across her body, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I knew you could cross that one off your list several times over. But you could make cheap lingerie look incredible. You make everything incredible.”

  Stunned, Julia watched as he lowered his head to press kisses over her midriff, her belly button, down to her mons covered in sheer lace. Heat sizzled through her every time his lips made contact with her skin. He stroked his hands up and down her thighs in a mesmerizing rhythm, lulling her into a haze of sensual need.

  She twisted her hand into his thick hair, brushing it back from his forehead. Her breath
caught when he hooked his fingers into her panties and tugged them off. Then she was naked, and he was still fully clothed in his tailored suit and tie, and God in heaven, had any man ever looked at her with such smoldering lust, such hot possession, as if he’d unlocked and freed a thousand desires?

  He stroked her bare legs, dipping his fingers toward her pussy. An intense feeling of vulnerability washed over her. She tensed, bringing her legs together. He stopped her, gently pressing his hands against her inner thighs.

  “Don’t hide, Jules.” His voice husky, he traced little circles on her skin. “Not from me.”

  Her heart fluttered like the beat of a hummingbird’s wings. And then he lowered his head to kiss her again, and all doubt slipped away like water over smooth, polished rocks. She moaned into his mouth. Their tongues met, tangled, danced. She lifted her knees to hug his hips, bringing his erection right up against her pussy.

  “Oh, God, Warren.” Julia gasped, squeezing her eyes shut as that hot ridge of flesh pressed against her pulsing clit. She writhed against him, already feeling her arousal mounting. “I could come just from… oh…”

  “Do it,” he ordered, bringing one hand up to twist her nipples. “Work yourself on me. Show me how much you want it.”

  Sweat broke out on her skin. She gripped the front of his shirt and rubbed her spread pussy against his cock. He was so fucking hard, his erection throbbing heat straight into her blood. The material of his trousers abraded her sensitive folds, simulating her arousal higher and higher.

  “Warren…” She squirmed harder in an increasingly desperate drive for that final explosive release.

  He shifted, changing their positions enough that her clit rubbed against just the right spot. She fisted her hands in his shirt and wrapped her legs around him, squirming frantically on his cock until pleasure burst through her like a thousand shooting stars. She shrieked, her body trembling and arching as Warren’s deep voice rained into her ear and the sensations slowly ebbed.