One Secret Night

by Yvonne Lindsay

  He gave a small groan. “Guilty as charged.”

  “I love a view,” she replied as they entered the building and took the elevator to the top floor. They entered a private foyer and Ethan watched as Isobel walked across the hardwood floors through a double-story-height room. She came to a halt in front of the wall of glass that looked out through the darkness, over Kurrangga Park and beyond.

  “This is definitely a view,” she said softly before turning around to face him. “But I think I like this view better.”

  She crossed the floor toward him as he placed her pack on the floor behind one of the oversize cream leather couches. As he straightened, her small hands slid around his waist beneath his jacket.

  “Yeah, I definitely like this view better.”

  Isobel lifted herself on tiptoe and her lips caressed his ever so gently, like a butterfly kiss. As soft and near ephemeral as her touch was, the impact on his senses was so strong that it was as if someone had ignited every nerve in his body. He could feel her warmth even though she barely touched him. His nostrils flared as he breathed in the light essence of her scent. It wasn’t enough. His hands reached for her, pulling her hard against him, absorbing her as her curves settled against the hard planes of his body. He lowered his head, watching as she lifted her face to him, her eyelids fluttering closed, her lips parting ever so slightly.

  And then he kissed her as he’d been unconsciously dreaming of doing from the moment he’d first seen her. She was the perfect balance to him, light to his darkness, pliant to his inflexibility, warmth to the coldness that had settled deep inside him today. Resolutely he pushed all remembrance of what had led him to cross the same path as Isobel from his mind. She was here. He was here. That was the only thing that mattered in this moment.

  Her lips were smooth and soft, her tongue a tiny dart that met his and tangled in a hot mess of need and desire. Her hands ripped at the buttons of his shirt, sending them bouncing onto the floor. She pushed the fabric open, baring his chest and belly to her touch. Her fingers spread across his skin, leaving a searing trail wherever she touched.

  Ethan lifted his hands to her hair, letting the shoulder-length, silky strands run through his fingers as he reached to cup the back of her head and draw her even closer. He pressed his hips against her lower belly, instinctively seeking some relief for the increasing pressure that built in his groin. She pressed back and he groaned. He felt her hands skim across his belly to the belt of his trousers, where nimble fingers slid the leather free from its buckle, and began to unfasten his waistband. And then, mercifully, her hand was gripping him through his briefs, her fingers firm yet gentle at the same time. But he didn’t want gentle. Not yet.

  He ground against her hand and felt her answering response as she gripped him tighter. At the same time his fingers worked against the knot that bound the halter of her dress at the nape of her neck. The fabric finally gave way. Ethan pulled back from her slightly, allowing the top of her gown to slide down over her breasts, exposing them to his hungry gaze. Her nipples were a delectable, soft, peachy-pink, drawn into taut buds that begged for his mouth. He cupped one breast in his hand, rubbing the hard nub of her nipple with his thumb as he bent his head to its partner, drawing the tender flesh into his mouth and rasping its tip with his tongue.

  A shudder passed through Isobel’s body, a soft mew of pleasure emitting from between her lips. Ethan transferred his attention to her other breast, laving it with the same attention before he pulled back and bent slightly to slide one arm behind her knees and sweep her up into his arms. Her hands linked behind his neck and she pressed her lips against his chest as he strode to the master bedroom. Her teeth scraped across one nipple, making him almost stop in his tracks as a jolt of sheer lightning passed through his body. But he regained his focus, eventually shoving open the door that led into the bedroom where he slowly lowered Isobel to her feet.

  She shimmied her dress over her hips, stepping out of the pool of fabric at her feet, even as she reached for him again. Dressed only in heels and the barest scrap of silk panties, she shoved his jacket off his shoulders and then dispensed with his shirt the same way. Ethan tugged down his pants and kicked off his shoes. He skimmed his socks off as he pushed his trousers away and reached for Isobel.

  They tumbled to the bed together in a tangle of arms and legs, each trying desperately to get closer to the other, all the while touching and exploring the skin now exposed to them. He wasn’t sure later how she engineered it, but she ended up straddling him, her legs trapping his thighs as she leaned down to trace his collarbone with the tip of her tongue before moving lower until she licked and nipped again at his nipples. His skin had never felt this sensitive, his responses this intense. He’d never felt so powerless, nor so empowered at the same time.

  Even so, it wasn’t in him to simply lie there, supine. Ethan stroked his fingertips over the tops of her thighs, then followed the line of her hip as it curved down along the edge of her panties and into the shadowed hollow of her core. He slid one finger under the flimsy covering, tugging the material aside and exposing her as a true blonde in the dimly lit room. She was wet and hot as he traced his finger around her moist flesh, dipping into her center. She ground against his hand, moaning her pleasure. He pressed his palm against her, even as he slid a second finger inside the scalding grip of her body. Again she pushed against him, her hips moving in a tight circle.

  She ceased her exploration of his torso, sitting more upright, allowing him deeper access to her. He looked up at the vision of sheer femininity that hovered above him. Her eyes were open, staring straight into his, as if she could see into his very soul. Her breasts were small, perfect globes that shimmered in the half-light, her nipples drawn into concentrated buds. He stroked his fingers along her inner passage, pressed more firmly with his palm. Her body began to tremble, her stomach muscles—already flat and toned—tightening visibly as her whole body grew taut. And then he felt her crest the pinnacle of pleasure. Her inner muscles squeezing in paroxysms of satisfaction, her thighs shaking, a keening sound of fulfillment escaping from her, even though she had caught her lower lip between her teeth.

  Ethan rose up and deftly moved her so she was beneath him, his hands now drawing her panties off her body, his fingers tracing the long, lean muscles of her legs. Once the lacy scrap was discarded, he slid her high-heeled sandals off her feet, massaging the instep of each foot before running his hands back up her legs again. The well-trimmed thatch of hair at the apex of her thighs glistened with the evidence of her gratification, and he nuzzled at the blond hair, inhaling the musky scent of her before exposing the swollen nub of flesh hidden inside. He traced a circle around the shining pink pearl with the tip of his tongue.

  “Too soon,” she protested weakly, her body still quivering with the aftereffects of her orgasm.

  “Trust me, it’s not soon enough,” he argued, closing his mouth over the tumescent bead and gently scraping his teeth over its surface.

  Isobel all but leaped off the bed, her hips surging upward in response to his action. Ethan swirled his tongue around her again, soothing her, before repeating the action with his teeth. She may have been in control of her last peak, but he most definitely would be driving her to her next. He increased the pressure of his tongue and began to suckle firmly. The next time he softly closed his teeth on her he felt her break, her body at first stretched as tight as a bow before the arrow of physical delight flew free, turning her muscles slack and supple beneath him.

  He brushed his tongue over her again, then again more soothingly, until he finally withdrew from her and dragged himself up and over her.

  “You okay?” he murmured, his hands now stroking her belly, tracing her rib cage and moving slowly to rest against one breast. Beneath his hand he could feel her heart hammering in her chest.

  “Okay? Yeah, I think I’m just a bit more than okay,” she sai
d, smiling as she caught his face between her hands and kissed him. “But what about you?”

  She flexed her pelvis against him.

  “We’re going to take care of that right now,” he said. Supporting his weight on one arm, he reached with the other into the drawer of the nightstand.

  He shook out the box of condoms he withdrew and grabbed one packet.

  “Here, let me,” Isobel insisted, taking the condom from his hand and tearing the foil open.

  She slid the sheath from its confines and positioned it over the aching head of his erection before deftly sliding it over his length. It took almost every ounce of his control not to lose it as, once he was protected, she slipped her hand between them and positioned him at her entrance. She gasped as he probed her swollen, slick flesh, the sound vibrating through him as he fought to prolong this moment for as long as humanly possible.

  Then, so slowly that it made his body shudder with the effort, he sank within her inviting depths. Her body gloved him, fitting so perfectly that he knew he would not be able to maintain this level of control for more than mere seconds. Bliss flooded him in an instant—potent and undeniable.

  He moved within her, her hips rising to meet his every thrust, each one more powerful than the last, the rising pleasure becoming more exquisitely intense with each stroke. And then, he was there—sensation pulsating through his body and catapulting him into a place he’d never experienced so deeply before. He held her firmly to him, his forehead resting on hers, their rapid breaths mingling in the minute space between them. When he made to pull away, Isobel’s arms closed around him.

  “I’m too heavy for you,” he protested as she squeezed tight.

  “I like this,” she replied as if the simplicity of the words themselves were fully sufficient.

  He relaxed against her, and realized that maybe they were. He’d never felt the full acceptance of himself with another in the aftermath of lovemaking before. It had always been a release, often a deeply satisfying one, but never quite this sense of physical communion. He didn’t know what to think of it, so he took what was—for him—a very novel approach. He decided not to think at all. Not just yet. As his heart rate slowed, he rolled slightly to one side, pulling her along with him.

  Isobel reached up a finger to trace the line of his lips, her touch leaving a tingle of longing in its wake. He gave in and leaned into her to kiss her—not a kiss with the flaming sensuality they’d shared before, but one of quiet intimacy. Of thanks. He finally forced himself to break away and moved to rid himself of the condom, returning to the bed as quickly as he could and scooping her against him. Isobel tangled her legs in his and rested her head on his chest. For all that he barely knew her it felt almost frighteningly right.

  One night, he reminded himself. That was all this was. Just one night.

  Three

  Isobel traced a circular pattern with her index finger on Ethan’s chest. She’d been stunned by the force of their lovemaking, by their connection to one another. It almost seemed a shame that she’d be moving on to her next assignment tomorrow without ever seeing Ethan again, but she would live with that. She had to. It was the way she lived her life. Always fluid, always moving. Never staying still long enough to set down roots. It suited her.

  And to her surprise, so had he.

  She knew deep down that tonight had not been the type of thing a man like Ethan indulged in often, if at all. It piqued her curiosity. Why had he broken with what were probably very rigid personal boundaries to bring her home and share such profound intimacy? It was tempting to believe that it was just her influence that had him throwing caution to the wind, but she sensed that there was more to it than that. Her photographer’s instinct always knew when there was more at play than what could be immediately seen. Before she knew it, the question slid from her lips.

  “Why me, Ethan?”

  “Huh?”

  He sounded sleepy, as if she’d dragged him from that in-between place in the middle of consciousness and slumber.

  “What happened to you today?” she asked.

  He sucked in a deep breath and his arm tightened around her. “You don’t want to hear about that.”

  “Try me,” she coaxed. “You strike me as the kind of guy who doesn’t usually share what troubles you. Maybe you should try it sometime, like now, with me.”

  She kept drawing the circles on his chest and waited in silence for him to make up his mind. She could almost hear the cogs turning in his brain as he weighed up the pros and cons of sharing with her. It never failed to surprise Isobel that people could share the most personal experiences together physically, yet reveal so little on an emotional level. Somehow it mattered to her to know why Ethan had overstepped his boundaries with her.

  “I got some news today that I hadn’t anticipated,” he finally disclosed.

  “Bad news?”

  “Yes and no.”

  “It upset you,” she stated firmly.

  “Yeah, I don’t know how to deal with it.”

  “It must have been really bad, then.”

  She felt him nod. “You could say that. My dad died recently and I’ve been going over his records. I found some payments that didn’t marry up with the data I had before me, so I checked with the family accountant who referred me to our lawyer. That’s where I went today. Basically I discovered that my father hid the truth about our mother from my sister and me. We were told she died twenty-five years ago, but she didn’t. She left us and accepted his money to stay away.”

  “Oh, that’s awful. You must have been devastated,” Isobel whispered in shock.

  She knew what it was like to find out a parent had been lying to you. It was the deepest kind of betrayal.

  “I don’t understand why he did it and now I can’t ask him, either.”

  Tension radiated from his body as the frustration he’d been feeling wound tight inside of him.

  “Maybe he just wanted to protect you and your sister. If it happened twenty-five years ago then you can’t have been all that old,” she said, trying to soothe him.

  “I was six, my sister only three. I would have had some understanding of his decision not to tell us then, if my father had bothered to tell me the truth later, when I was an adult. It’s not as if he didn’t have ample opportunity. Even after he died, there was no letter, nothing in his will to let me know the truth. If I hadn’t started asking questions about the payments, I never would have known.”

  The bitterness in his voice hung in the air.

  Isobel sighed. “It isn’t easy to understand the choices our parents make.” That much, she knew from personal experience. “Usually, I guess they think they’re protecting us.”

  “Why would I need to be protected from the truth? Don’t I deserve to know why he thought my sister and I would be better off without our mother in our lives?”

  “Maybe it wasn’t as clear-cut as that.”

  Ethan shook his head. “It must have been. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been able to get the rest of our family to support him in his lie. My aunt and my uncle and his wife, they all knew the truth. They’ve all kept the secret for all these years.”

  “Are they still alive?”

  “Yeah, we all live on the family property. We see each other pretty much every day.”

  “Then maybe you can find out from them,” she suggested. “Whatever the outcome, though, Ethan, there’s no point in holding a grudge against a dead man. Right or wrong, your father made his decisions. They can’t be undone or the past changed. The only thing you can do is move forward.”

  “Is that what you do?” he asked. “Move forward and not ask questions?”

  She smiled and lifted her head and met his serious dark brown gaze. “Except for right now, yeah, something like that. It saves on baggage.”

>   Ethan shook his head slightly. “I can’t imagine living like that.”

  Isobel shrugged. “It’s not for everyone. Certainly not for someone like your father, for example. For whatever reason, he kept those payments going for years, got your whole family involved, with the idea that he was protecting you and your sister. I imagine you’re probably very much like he was. Strong.” She coasted her fingertips over his shoulders and down his arm. “Intelligent.” She ran her fingers back up his arm and lightly touched his forehead. “And protective.” Her fingertips traveled back down to his chest and she rested her full palm against it. “Those are the qualities about your father you should remember him by. And how much he must have loved you.”

  Ethan remained silent for a while before speaking. “You have an interesting insight for someone who never met my father and who never met me before tonight.”

  “You think I’m being presumptuous, offering you my opinion?”

  “No, not that. If anything, you probably described my father to a tee. I suppose that coming to terms with everything, losing him as suddenly as we did, I had briefly lost sight of that. I still want to know why he never told me about our mother, though.”

  “Is tomorrow soon enough for that?” Isobel asked, raising onto her knees and straddling him as she’d done earlier. “Because I think, for now, it might be fun to distract you with other things.”

  Four

  Isobel woke as the sun was beginning to cast a corona around the edges of the heavy floor-length drapes at the window. For a moment she was disoriented, but soon remembrance flooded her mind. She lay motionless next to Ethan’s sleeping body, listening to his steady breathing, reveling in the warmth that radiated from him. Wow, she thought, that had been quite a night. Who would have thought that Mr. Buttoned-Up would be quite so skilled in the bedroom? She smiled to herself. It was true what they said. It was the quiet ones you had to watch.

  Her body still tingled and she felt wonderfully alive. Last night had been special. Very special. She turned her head on the pillow and looked at Ethan in the half light. His beard had grown, dusting his jaw with an even darker haze than had been apparent at dinner. That, and his mussed-up hair, made him look more untamed and approachable than he’d been before. It was as if he was two people. A public, reserved Ethan and a private one. She liked that she’d gotten a chance to spend time with both.