She followed him inside, then went to change out of her work clothes. She didn’t have anything extraordinary to wear—not that she needed to be thinking along those lines—but clean jeans, a baby-blue blouse, and the pair of barely used heels she kept at the bottom of her duffle bag would suffice for dinner. Wouldn’t they? What was a gal supposed to wear on her first real one-on-one date with her fake fiancé?
After a moment scrutinizing her reflection in the bathroom mirror, Sarah let her hair down. She teased it to give it some volume and immediately regretted the results. Oh God. Oh God. She wrenched the tap on and tried to flatten out her lion’s mane, but there was no taming it completely now that she had let it out of its cage. Gavin might have a sixth sense when it came to storms, but Sarah’s hair instantly became a conduit for any moisture and electricity in the air.
Oh well. Sarah wilted, once again wondering what the point was in trying to impress anyone. They had a contract in place between them, and Gavin Burrows was the last man on earth to ignore a contract he himself had overwhelmingly written.
She strolled back into the kitchen, absently sniffing the promising smells in the air, and let her duffle bag drop by the counter. Gavin turned from the stove, and she saw him fumble, almost drop, the potato masher he was holding. Sarah blushed and let her eyes fall. She wondered if it was only wishful imagining, but when the silence dragged on between them, she began to wonder less.
“You look lovely,” he said at last, so soft-spoken, she was almost compelled to believe him.
“I feel totally grimy,” she admitted. “Like the hired help that the billionaire has invited to dinner.”
“Sounds like the plot of a movie,” Gavin agreed.
“Pretty Woman?” Though she was keeping her eyes resolutely fixed on the floor, she could hear the smile in his voice.
“The title certainly isn’t misleading.”
She had to get them off this track. She had to think of a distraction—or at least, one that didn’t involve them both continually becoming distracted by each other. Forcing herself to look up, she asked in her best television announcer voice, “What are you making us for dinner, Chef Ramsey?”
Gavin grinned. “Bangers and mash.”
Sarah couldn’t help the bright laugh that escaped her at this. “Bangers and mash?”
“Certainly. Ever had it?”
“Of course I’ve had it! I visited my aunt and uncle over the years for all my life before moving here, you know.” She parked herself at the kitchen table before realizing that wasn’t necessarily the intended place to sit. She revolved slowly to look through the arched doorway behind her… and nearly fell out of her stool at what she saw.
She hadn’t spent that long freshening up, but Gavin had somehow managed to transform the castle’s ancient oak dining table into a winking garden of twinkling candles and glimmering antique plates and silverware that looked as if they had never supported a single messy morsel. “Gavin!” She didn’t know what else to say besides his name. She was speechless.
“Good, huh?” She was surprised to find him suddenly at her side, having moved away from the stove.
“Good,” she agreed. She couldn’t seem to stop blushing, and she hadn’t even had a single sip of the wine he now moved to pour for her. “Gavin, are you sure this is a good idea?”
He turned back to her, eyebrow arched. “You distrust my cooking that much?”
Sarah shook her head. He was a smart man—a literal genius—and she had to believe he knew what she really meant.
He sidestepped their conversation as smoothly as he poured the wine. When he presented her glass, and she accepted, their fingers met at the stem. A jolt of delicious electricity shivered through her.
Gavin hung onto her glass a little longer than necessary. “What do we toast to?” His dark eyes caught the candlelight, and their depths haunted her now as much as they had these past three years without him.
“To pulling this thing off?” she suggested.
“To us,” he amended.
“Gavin…” She trailed off uncertainly, but there was no jumping in with something else now to rescue them from the current that sang between them at his words. The bowl of his wineglass chimed against her own, and the toast was struck.
Dinner was ready within minutes, and they spooned it up together in the cozy, stove-warmed kitchen as the storm raged above and all around them. Sarah had wondered previously what living life in a castle must be like, surrounded on all sides by stone walls with only the drafts for company; now, she had a clearer picture of just how vastly safe it could feel.
“The candles were a good idea,” she remarked as they sat down together. The great oak dinner table was so regal, and so vast, that she found some humor in the fact they were congregated together at one corner of the massive thing. “In case the power goes out.”
“I installed a very powerful generator,” Gavin replied. “And I made a few improvements on it.”
She grinned. “Of course you did.”
“If the power goes out, it will register as barely a flicker,” he said with a prideful, self-satisfied smile that she found exceedingly adorable.
“Too bad.” Sarah speared a sizzling banger with her fork. “Blackouts can be fun, you know? They make everything much more mysterious. I’d kind of like to experience one in a castle.”
“Your host isn’t mysterious enough?” Gavin asked her, his voice taking on a low warble. The candles seemed to shiver as much as she did.
“You definitely are. You know you are.”
He sat up taller in a show of overacted dignity. “I feel that I’m pretty straightforward.”
Yeah, right. “I think it’s correct to say we’ve known each other for a while,” Sarah responded diplomatically. She held her glass up to the candlelight and admired the dark silk texture of the contents—better still to admire it on the tip of her tongue. She sipped and soldiered on, trying not to notice the way Gavin’s gaze lingered on her wetted lips. “But there’s so much I still don’t know about you. I know that family plays a big role in your life—“
“Not when I can help it,” Gavin cut in quickly. Sarah blinked, and her startlement seemed to make him regret his words… only now that the floodgates had opened, she had the feeling that he couldn’t seem to stop himself. “I spent almost all of my childhood trying to escape my family, Sarah. I’m determined that my adult life won’t unfold the same way.”
“Why do you hate the idea of family so much?” she whispered. Gavin ran a frustrated hand through his hair, then took a clumsy sip of wine that looked to her like an attempt to avoid saying anything. She pressed, “I’ve met members of your family, Gavin. They have their quirks, same as anyone’s, and so far they all seem loveable enough.”
“That’s because you’re you,” Gavin said, and Sarah flushed at the perceived compliment. “The problem is, you’ve only met a few of them. I have four siblings, Sarah, as well as a mother who has always gone out of her way to double as both parents. Imagine all that. Imagine a young person trying to think straight amidst all that fighting and squalling and noise.”
“Gavin…”
“So you see why I’ve chosen the life I have.”
But Sarah didn’t see at all. And she didn’t know how to make him see her perspective, but it suddenly felt more imperative than ever to try. She tried not to think about her potential motives as she hastened on. “I’m sorry, but I don’t get it, Gavin. Maybe it’s impossible for me. I grew up alone, as an only child, and all I ever wanted was a big family. Hell, even one other sibling would have helped! A brother… or a sister…”
“Try twins.” Gavin smiled, but he was studying her intently. He was listening, she realized; really listening. And suddenly, she didn’t feel so misunderstood, occupying the other end of this argument.
“I would have loved that,” she murmured. “I would have loved to have had someone beside me when I dealt with the deaths of my parents.” Their deaths had com
e years apart, but she still felt as if she had barely recovered from losing her mother before her father had passed this year. “But I’m an only child. And now…” Her throat started to close, and she fought to get the words out. “I’m an orphan, too. So that’s why having a family means so much to me.”
“You have your aunt and uncle.”
“And I have you again.”
Silence fell, and Sarah immediately regretted her words, regretted telling him the truth. Spending all this time with him, working tirelessly on a project that she could pour all her imagination and soul into—even if it was unappreciated by the recipient—had saved her from falling into complete despair. It was true, her aunt and uncle couldn’t be discounted in the equation, but she had wondered for a while if Gavin fully grasped all that he had done for her simply by being himself. Even their fake engagement, while emotionally charged, was kind of… fun.
But this new silence between them wasn’t what she’d categorize as fun. Neither was his look: a startled, piercing gaze that seemed to have only now recognized her after all this time.
“I should get going.” Sarah forced a chuckle, laid her cloth napkin down, and rose quickly from the table. Gavin rose as well, and when a sudden, prolonged boom of thunder shook the castle, his hand found her hip when she jumped. It was his instinct to comfort her, and it was hers to move toward him… but instinct was in complete violation of the contract. “Thank you for dinner.”
“You should stay here tonight,” he argued. “Any of my guest bedrooms is at your disposal.”
Sarah laughed again and shook her head. His hand hovered, and her heart hammered, and the thunder clapped and the lightning flashed. She had barely drunk any wine, but no wonder the world was spinning. “Are you trying to tell me you actually have beds prepared for potential guests?”
“Well, no.” He didn’t appear to have thought about it, from the chagrin she heard in his voice. The fingers on her hip constricted a little, and Sarah’s hand alighted on his. She didn’t know whether she meant to stave him off or keep him there.
He pulled her in.
A crack of thunder heralded the sky opening above, rattling the leaded windows as their lips collided. Sarah threw her arms around Gavin’s neck to steady herself; Gavin’s own arms roamed up her back to fasten her tight to him. The expensive wine she had almost been too nervous to taste was between them now; she sampled its bouquet as Gavin’s tongue slid its way into her mouth and took hold of her. She groaned against that taste, the smothering sensation, and he pulled her in hard. She could feel the rigid outline of him growing between her legs, and the disclosure of his arousal made her desperate. He had been holding back, the same as she had—she had been so caught up in suppressing her own nervousness and restraint that she hadn’t even noticed he might be feeling the same way.
Sarah sank against the circle of his arms. Her back arched as she tried to bring herself as close as possible to the man who had driven her wild for years; when Gavin’s hands cupped her buttocks and squeezed, she heeded the signal without thinking. She leapt up, wrapped her legs around his waist, and found him ready to receive her. She clung to him as he carried her from the dining room; the storm raged, the wind roared, and the candlelight flickered to mark their passage.
She wasn’t drunk. Not by any means. At least, she definitely wasn’t drunk on wine—but what about being intoxicated by Gavin? That was another story. Everything about him was intoxicating, even from a distance; what hope did she have against him now that he had her in his arms? Now that he moved between her legs, the rigid outline of his cock butting against her too-sensitive center as he carried her?
They must be going to the bedroom. They had to be going to the bedroom. Hadn’t she made sure that space was marked as off-limits in the contract? Hadn’t he agreed to it? Then why, oh why, did she yearn to be taken there with such single-minded desperation now? Was she really that easy?
Yes. With Gavin, she was. All along, they had dismissed the contract when it suited them; all along, they had taken advantage of any opening that presented itself to give in to the passion between them.
The bedroom lights flickered as they fell across his expansive mattress. Sarah spared a thought to whether or not the power had gone out, but her wonderment was quickly overwhelmed by Gavin’s body moving atop her own. She couldn’t concentrate on her surroundings, let alone breathe, with so much of the past now pouring into her present.
His hands. His body. His scent, rich and sharp like spearmint. His heat. She feared she would go up in ecstatic flames beneath him and burn the whole castle down right along with her if he didn’t stop soon… didn’t stop…
“Don’t stop,” Gavin gasped into her neck as her lips and teeth strained for that secret space behind his ear. Her fingers combed through his hair and tightened, pulling him to her. She could barely form words, much less process the directives he was trying to give her… but instinctively, at least, she was all too happy to listen and obey.
“Gavin,” she whispered into the shell of his ear. She heard the bedside table drawer pull open behind her and was momentarily confused as to what was happening, or how Gavin had managed to do it when it felt like his hands were roaming over every inch of her skin…
The crackle of a plastic wrapper alerted her to what was happening. We’re doing this. We’re really doing this. Had they discussed birth control in the contract? No, of course they hadn’t—because sex had never been a part of the plan to begin with.
“I need you.” His mouth, hot, wet, and wanton, roved along her straining neck.
“Then have me,” she breathed. “I’m yours.”
She had longed to admit the truth of those words to him for years, and this last month, it had only gotten worse. Now her need was voiced full-throated… and everywhere his hands grazed and gripped her was providing physical evidence beyond how badly she quaked with desire for him. He tucked the condom into the palm of his hand and pinched the zipper on her jeans, guiding it down… down… his thumb pressed against her core and found the growing damp spot there. When he stroked her clit, a hard, experimental touch, Sarah gasped and shuddered. She was soaking through her panties with no sign of stopping.
Gavin, too, showed no signs of stopping. “You’re so wet,” he teased her. But there was a shadowy undercurrent to his teasing tone, something dark and male and ravening, that made her sigh and throw her head back in acquiescence. What could she do but surrender to him utterly? There was no fighting the wave that was overwhelming her. There was no use in resisting Gavin Burrows, the man she had long ago given her heart and soul to.
But what he demanded now was her body. His fingers delved between her folds to thrust their way in, and she was all too eager to receive them. “You’re so tight,” he hissed as he probed and scissored. Sarah would have bucked off the bed completely if his other hand hadn’t been pressed against her hip, forcing her to remain in place. Gavin was demanding that she endure, and she would… for him, she wouldn’t let herself come undone—not just yet.
But his so-intimate touch made it difficult. Damn difficult. Heat and sensation ballooned in her abdomen, kept expanding until it filled every part of her—and all the while, Gavin’s fingers were filling her. The condom wrapper crinkled again, and she reached between them to help with it. Her fingers fumbled along with his; they were in too much of a hurry to stop and tear it open properly along the printed line.
“How long have you had this on you?” she gasped, attempting to tease him, to seize back some modicum of control, though it was difficult.
Gavin paused and looked into her eyes. “Since after that first day I saw you. And it isn’t on me yet.”
Maybe he was trying to soften the truth with a joke, but Sarah trembled. He had been thinking about her all this time… maybe he had been hoping as much as she had that what she’d felt sparking between them would catch the contract on fire and burn it to illegible ash.
The next few moments were a confusion
of limbs and flung clothes. Sarah remembered the condom unrolling but couldn’t recall whose hands pushed the slick latex down Gavin’s hard length. All she knew was the feeling of her hands on him, stroking him, enjoying the lubrication and the way he gasped her name. He hadn’t said any meaningful vows to her, but the way he groaned at the mercy of her hand, as if she were the only woman in the world, was a hot consolation.
He surged forward to shove her back onto the bed. He pinned her wrists in his hands, depressing them into the pillow above her head, and she hiked her legs up without thinking. "Gavin!" She cried his name as he pushed into her. There was no easing into this; they had both waited so long and fought against it so diligently, their coming together with such equal ferocity seemed almost inevitable.
God, she was wetter than she could ever remember being; the insides of her quaking thighs were painted with the evidence of her need for him. Even so, his entry stung a little. It had been so long... so long... and she had never had a lover like Gavin, not before or since that earlier time. He filled her to the brim and pushed her to her limit, and through the brief pain, she found herself aching for more.
The ache only built as they rode the storm together—cancel that, they were the storm. Gavin’s hands had moved to palm her thighs, keeping her spread wide to receive him as he thrust into her. Seeing him there between her legs was better than any memory she had clung to on those desperate, lonely nights back in the States: it was better than any sex they had ever had before, if that was possible, because she’d had three years to build to this, and three years to know what she was missing.
“Oh, God, Gavin… wait. Please.” Her fingers curled in his hair. She wanted to pull that hot, ravenous mouth away and buy herself more time to enjoy this, but enjoyment was starting to roll through her in telltale pulses. She didn’t want to come for him… not now… not yet…
“I’ve waited long enough,” he whispered into her neck. His hips collided with hers and lifted them off the bed with his next upstroke; he did it again, and again, as relentless as the machines he worked on.
The Tycoon’s Fake Fiancée: European Tycoon Book Two Page 6
