Parker’s Price

by Ann Bruce

  “I can’t wait,” he said, withdrawing his fingers and sliding both hands up to cup her hips. He lifted them, angling her pelvis, and positioned himself until the broad, heated tip of his sex parted her moist folds. “I’ll make it up to you,” he promised, then surged inside her with a powerful thrust of his hips.

  Parker cried out. There was a moment of intense physical discomfort as she stretched and tightened around the width and length of him.

  He muttered a curse and, through gritted teeth, asked, “Am I hurting you?”

  Shaking her head, she wrapped her legs around his hips, her ankles crossing at the small of his back. Her teeth sank into her lower lip as her hips undulated, trying to find some ease. Another curse, then Dean’s hands clamped down on her hips hard enough to bruise. He forced her to be still, holding her in place as he slowly withdrew—and the discomfort was forgotten as a tingle of sensation went through her. Eyes closed, Parker sucked in a breath, the sound harsh to her own ears. When only the tip of him remained inside her, he thrust forward again, and he repeated the motion over and over.

  In her self-imposed darkness, Parker’s other senses seemed heightened. There was the tactile pleasure from the friction of him moving inside of her, going hard and deep with each thrust, making the tension coiled in her middle build unbearably. She heard the catch of his breath, his ragged voice as he uttered words without meaning, the wet sound of their bodies coming together. The carnality of it was all so erotic, making her hotter and hotter.

  He quickened his pace, becoming rough, jerky. She absorbed the feel of him as he hammered away between her legs. Oh, God. She was so close. If only she could touch him. If only she could—

  Then every muscle in his body went rigid and he stopped breathing altogether. He shouted her name, and his muscles spasmed as he bucked and shuddered above her in the throes of his climax.

  He collapsed on top of her, his considerable weight pinning her to the mat, his face buried in the side of her neck, his body still shaking. He managed to form two coherent words—an apology—in between his harsh breaths.

  Unfulfilled desire lashed through her like a whip, but the only sign of it was the hands clenching and unclenching on his shoulders.

  After a long moment, Dean started to ease his lax body off of her. Her arms tightened about him in protest. He responded by sinking his teeth in the curve of her shoulder. Her eyelids fluttered. His mouth moved to her ear. “Let me take care of you.”

  He broke free of her hold, peeled off and discarded the condom, and returned to her, making her moan when he trailed his open mouth over her chest, laving her swollen breasts with his tongue. Her fingers sank into his hair. He sucked on the budded tips, teasing them against his teeth, making her gasp his name before moving on. Her abdomen quivered under his mouth. He dipped his tongue in the hollow of her belly button, then dragged his teeth down her navel. She felt the heat of his breath on the apex of her thighs, which he spread wide with his hands to make room for his shoulders. Her hands fisted, probably hurting him, but he put his mouth on her and she no longer cared.

  “Oh God.” The words were the merest breath of sound. Her thighs went limp as he tongued her, exploring every slick, soft fold. Her heart beat faster and faster. He draped her thighs over his shoulders, and his hands wedged in between the mat and her buttocks. He lifted her like an offering for his mouth and deepened his intimate exploration. His wicked tongue slid to the entrance of her body and she writhed in his hold, sobbing his name.

  Her climax was tantalizingly, painfully close, a hair’s breadth from her aching fingertips, and she strained for it, her body no longer pliant but taut as a tightly drawn bow. He drew her clitoris between his teeth and bit down with exquisite care. Her body exploded, brilliant lights bursting behind her closed eyelids. Wave after wave of ecstasy broke over her until she was weak and trembling. Dean, however, didn’t stop his ministrations, his mouth still voracious between her legs, and she was hurtled into another blinding orgasm, every muscle spasming uncontrollably in bliss.

  When consciousness returned, Parker thought she was floating. Oddly, she felt like smiling. She had felt like she’d broken the binds of gravity at the end. She turned her head and her cheek, her lips touched warm skin. Her tongue flicked out and she tasted salt and nearly hummed with remembered pleasure.

  Dean.

  A strangled groan came from above her head. “Almost there, baby.”

  Her lashes fluttered open. She saw the taut line of his jaw and brought a hand up to trace it. His five o’clock shadow abraded her skin like ultra-fine sandpaper, and a shiver ran through her. She brushed his cheek, his lips, and they parted to suck her index finger inside his warm, wet mouth. With a soft sound, she curled her arm around his neck and scooted up higher against his chest until she was close enough to nuzzle the warm skin of his neck, the underside of his jaw. She inhaled, loving the smell of him: male and sex.

  Parker made her way up to the corner of his lips, teasing with the tip of her tongue. She tugged on her captured finger and, with a reluctance that made heat stir in her middle, he freed her. Her mouth covered his in a leisurely, sensuous kiss.

  Distantly, she heard a door being kicked open, then she was lowered onto soft, cool sheets. A bed. Dean broke the kiss and she uttered a protest. There was the sound of a drawer opening and closing, then he was back, layering his body on top of hers. Her arms went around his shoulders, her palms caressing his back, exploring the flex and play of muscles under his skin. His hands got tangled in her hair and he deepened the kiss, making repeated forays into her mouth with his tongue. It was soft and slow and sensual, like he had all the time in the world to savor her, despite the erection branding a length of skin along her thigh.

  She lost track of time, drowning in the taste and feel of him. Her head tipped back and Dean broke the kiss. As she panted for oxygen, he trailed his mouth across her cheek to her ear.

  “Raise your knees.”

  She did, sliding the soles of her feet up the bed until they were on either side of his hips, and gasped when his sex found her slick folds. She arched her hips, wanting more, as fresh need slowly built.

  He braced his forearms on the bed, bracketing her head, lifted himself up and ordered, “Touch me.”

  Without thought, Parker reached down between their bodies and grasped the smooth, strong length of him. Even through the thin latex, he burned her hand. He sucked in a breath, every muscle rigid. She flexed her fingers and circled her thumb over the head. He groaned her name like he was in agony. Parker, however, didn’t stop to enjoy the power she had over him since her own body was clamoring for the emptiness inside her to be filled.

  She positioned him at her cleft. Dean shifted his head, licked the throbbing pulse in her throat before burying his lips in the hollow at the base, and drove into her.

  Their intermingled sounds of relief filled the room. As he withdrew, her inner muscles clung to him, not wanting him to leave. He returned, pushing in deep and she thought she could feel him at the entrance to her womb. He repeated the retreat and advance, setting up a rhythm much like their shared kiss: slow and sensual. She clutched at his back and arched her hips in time to meet each downward thrust.

  They came at the same moment, the pleasure so intense tears seeped from the corners of Parker’s eyes. Dean brushed her hair from her face, sipped the tears and, with his arms around her, rolled onto his back, taking her with him. With her draped languidly on top of him like a blanket, they slept.

  When Dean woke up, the bedroom was shrouded in shadows and moonlight and he knew Parker was not with him. Even as his hands swept the bed in search of her, he sat up. And his heart slowed when he saw her slim silhouette against the floor-to-ceiling windows. She had gathered back the gauzy drapes with one hand and was looking into the twilit beach and sea.

  Sheets rustled as he swung his feet over the side of the bed and went to her. He wrapped his arms around her, one underneath her small breasts and the other angl
ed across her abdomen, and drew her naked back against his equally naked front. She went willingly, layering her arms over his and turning her head to press a kiss on the swell of muscle in his left biceps. And something inside him eased.

  “Why?” he asked very softly.

  She was silent for so long that he started to think she wasn’t going to respond to his question, but she had only been sorting through possible answers.

  “It was foolish to keep denying what we both wanted.”

  Warning bells went off in his head.

  “We have four days left,” she began, “and I don’t want to spend them fighting you.”

  Disappointment clawed at him. She still had so far to go to catch up with him.

  “And when we return to New York?” he asked neutrally, already knowing her answer.

  “You have what you wanted all along—a short-term fling.”

  His fingers flexed. “I never wanted a short-term fling.”

  She went still, then her hands pushed at his forearms, but he ignored her efforts to get free. When she realized escape was futile, her head bowed and her shoulders slumped with defeat. Despite the guilt nipping at him, he knew that if he let her go now, she’d never stop running from him.

  “This can’t continue after we leave the island,” she whispered, the words so low he almost didn’t hear them. “I can’t do it.”

  Not won’t, but can’t.

  “Tell me.”

  She remained stubbornly silent.

  He gave her a warning squeeze. “We’re not moving from this spot until you do.”

  “You’re such a bully,” she said finally, but there was no heat in her words. And he knew he’d won. She took a deep breath and slowly released it. “You might want to sit down for this.”

  “We’re not moving from this spot.”

  She sighed, but he could feel her heart racing against his arm. “The…the little girl in the picture.”

  “Your niece.”

  Parker nodded. “Savannah. My niece.” Her fingernails, short as they were, bit into his forearm and wrist. Another deep breath. “And your daughter.”

  Chapter Six

  Parker could feel the male body behind her tense. She waited for the explosion; it wasn’t a long wait. He grabbed her shoulders and spun her around to face him. The lines of his face stood out sharply, his eyes had darkened, and his mouth was compressed. She could feel the suppressed emotion radiating off him in waves.

  “What?”

  Confusion and anger were both laced in that one very quiet word, and Parker suddenly felt very naked. She didn’t try to twist away or cover herself with her hands. Somehow, that would only make her feel more exposed.

  “Your daughter,” she repeated carefully. “My niece, Savannah, is your daughter.”

  His eyes glittered dangerously and the hands clamped on her shoulders were beginning to hurt.

  “I’ve never met your sister,” he said, voice still very low, very lethal. There was nothing of the man who’d made love to her so passionately, so tenderly earlier.

  Parker shivered as if an arctic breeze whipped over her skin. Her eyes dropped to the hollow of his throat. She inhaled shakily.

  “Brenda worked as an administrative assistant for your firm about four years ago. You two became—” lovers, she thought, and something sharp and red-hot pierced her chest, “—romantically involved. She got pregnant, but you…didn’t want the baby. End of story.”

  “She told you all this?”

  Parker nodded, still avoiding his gaze.

  “And you believed her?”

  Another nod. “I had no reason to doubt her.”

  “And now?”

  She closed her eyes.

  “Parker, do you still believe her?”

  “I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice going hoarse at the end. A pang of guilt made her want to wrap her arms about her middle. The lines on her forehead deepened. “She’s my sister. And you could’ve changed. You might’ve been a different person back then.”

  She could feel his eyes staring down at the top of her head. For a long while, they were like statues, unmoving. Slowly, his fingers relaxed, no longer hurting.

  “And you’ve known me for less than a week.”

  “Yes.”

  With hands that weren’t perfectly steady, he cupped her face, tilted her head back and waited until her eyes opened and met his. “Parker, first of all, I would never get romantically involved with an employee. In this day and age, that’s just begging for a sexual harassment lawsuit. Secondly, and more importantly, I would never knowingly turn my back on a child of mine.” His thumbs skimmed the curves of her cheeks and his voice gentled. “I don’t know why your sister told you otherwise, but Savannah isn’t my daughter.”

  Guilt and hope warred within her as she searched the eyes boring into hers for sincerity.

  “A DNA test would confirm it.”

  She sucked in a breath.

  “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

  And she believed him, even if it meant accepting Brenda had lied to her. Some of the weight lifted.

  Parker’s eyes swept the bedroom and the world beyond the glass. Her lips twisted wryly, not quite a smile. “That’s how you got me here,” she reminded him, but there was no sting in the words. “Lies and manipulation.”

  A corner of his mouth quirked upward and he trailed a hand down the column of her neck, where his thumb caressed the quickened pulse. “I didn’t lie. I just withheld information until the last possible moment.”

  “You don’t deny the manipulation.”

  He lowered his head and replaced the pad of his thumb with his lips. “No.”

  Sighing, Parker grabbed onto his wrists even as she tipped her head back to allow him greater access. “And you’re doing it again.”

  “Do you want me to stop?” he asked, his lips moving against her skin and making her sigh again.

  No.

  Her hands went to his chest and she arched her upper body away from him, needing to think and unable to do so clearly with his mouth on her bare skin. He drew back and glanced at her face.

  “I have to go home,” she whispered.

  His face tightened briefly, then he nodded. “I know.” He inched nearer to her, letting her feel how ready he was to take her again. “But not now; tomorrow.”

  Her hands skated down to his waist, pulled him even closer. “Tomorrow.”

  Parker spent the flight back to Teterboro dreading the upcoming conversation with her sister and ended up sleeping fitfully until Dean stretched out on the sofa and settled her on top of him.

  It was nightfall by the time the wheels of the Learjet touched American asphalt. Parker turned down Dean’s offer to carry her off the aircraft and regretted it when she stepped through the doorway and felt a cold wind bite through her thin top. At the bottom of the steps, she stopped and shivered, wishing for the sun-drenched beaches back on the island.

  Warmth buffeted her back and a heavy arm encircled her. Gordon, standing next to the waiting Maybach, waved at them. Parker gave him a weak smile in return. Wordlessly, Dean escorted her to the sedan. He settled her in the back of the vehicle before helping the pilot transfer the suitcases from the aircraft to the open trunk. While Gordon got behind the wheel and started the engine, the back door opened and Dean slid in next to her. The cold clung to his clothes and Parker shrank back from him, throwing him a frown, which lost some of its impact when a huge yawn took her by surprise.

  Dean chuckled and reached for her. “Come here. You can warm me up.”

  She put up a token resistance and, after another yawn and discovering the heat of the male body underneath the clothes, ended up cuddling even closer into his side, her head nestled in the hollow of his shoulder, a spot that seemed to be made just for it. Her hands slid under his knit shirt and, quite naturally, curled loosely into the waistband of his jeans. The sedan started moving, and she closed her eyes and drifted, letting the rocking motion of
the car lull her into slumber. She floated in that blissful realm between sleep and wakefulness for long, untold minutes.

  The fine hairs by her temple stirred. “Come home with me,” Dean suggested, his tone low and soft and very hypnotic in her current state of drowsiness.

  Eyes closed, Parker rubbed her cheek against his shirt and stretched a little, tensing then relaxing her muscles with a languorous sigh.

  “It’s not fair to ask me that while I’m half asleep,” she murmured.

  “If I played fair, you wouldn’t even give me the time of day.”

  Because Brenda lied to me.

  Parker could feel a weight settle over her like an invisible blanket. She pushed away from Dean, her movements, like the muscles in her face, stiff. Dean’s arm around her tightened, not allowing her to retreat from him, and he drew back to study her face.

  “Doubts?”

  “I have to ask my sister why she lied to me about the man who fathered my niece. I have to ask her why she felt she couldn’t tell me the truth.”

  “Why are you blaming yourself?”

  Twin lines formed between her brows. “I’m not…blaming…myself,” she said, her voice trailing off at the end. She sighed. “Maybe…I don’t know.”

  Her shoulders slumped and she lowered her head until her forehead met his shoulder.

  “Don’t do this to yourself,” said Dean, one hand gently tracing the curve of her spine. “How old was she when she became pregnant?”

  “Twenty-three.”

  “She was old enough to know better.”

  “My mother and I put a lot of pressure on her to do something with her life.”

  “Twenty-three is a little old to be acting out in teenage rebellion,” he remarked dryly.