Been Loving You Too Long (DuChamps Dynasty)

by Donavan, Seraphina

  His hands moved over her back, down to her hips, pressing against her.

  She could feel the hard length of him against her belly. Need simply took her. It pulsed and grew inside her, consuming her. She craved the feeling of his skin against hers.

  It’d been so long that she’d wanted him, and for so long she’d thought it was impossible. She’d dreamed about having him touch her. The reality of it was so much more than she could ever have imagined. It was more primal, more intense. Unable to resist, she arched her hips against him as his lips left hers, coasting along her jaw line, over her collar bone. Anticipation built inside her as his hands moved back up her rib cage until his blunt finger tips brushed against the undersides of her breasts.

  ~~****~~

  Vincent knew that it was madness, that he was violating every rule he’d set for himself. He thought about Thomas’ question. There was one woman who’d crept inside him, tormented his every waking thought and even claimed his dreams. It was the one right in front of him. How many nights had he dreamt of her? How many times did thoughts of her intrude during the day?

  She was dangerous to him, but in that moment, he felt like taking a risk. He’d decided long ago that marriage, or any kind of commitment, and all it entailed was off limits for him. His whole life, he’d listened to the words. One person after another telling him how much like his father he was. It was the last thing he wanted to be. Dark, obsessive, selfish, and often cruel, it wasn’t a flattering picture painted of him.

  He wasn’t a good choice for any woman, at least not for anything more than a night. As mixed up and intense as his feelings for Ophelia were and how complicated her multilayered relationship to his family was, he’d tried to steer clear of her. Not to mention that with everything he knew about Ophelia, he knew that commitment was a requirement.

  He was almost ashamed of how easy it had been for him to just give in. She was like a fire in his blood. With the taste of her on his tongue and the weight of her breasts in his hands, he knew that regret would come, but he also knew that some pleasures were worth it.

  He was already imagining sinking into the slick heat of her body, of feeling her shudder and clench around him. With that desire spurring him on, he tugged the straps of her dress down, and then the bodice.

  The pale lace of her bra did little to conceal the dark circles of her areolas and the hardened buds of her nipples.

  Dipping his head, he captured one taut peak between his lips, even as he reached for the hem of her dress.

  The slamming of the front door brought reality crashing in on them.

  He stepped back quickly as Ophelia righted her clothing. Ophelia moved back to the sink and he remained standing behind the counter, concealing a rampant erection as his sister stormed in.

  “What are you still doing here?” Kaitlyn demanded when she walked in. Her dislike for Ophelia was intense, unreasonable, and as far Vincent knew, founded on some imagined transgression. The venom in her voice was lethal.

  “The night nurse couldn’t come in, so I was going to stay with him,” Ophelia explained. Her voice was cordial, but there was a slight tremor to it.

  “Well you don’t need to,” Kaitlyn replied hotly. “You’re an employee, not a member of the family!”

  The anger that hit him then helped to cool his libido, “That’s enough, Kaitlyn. Ophelia has been with this family since she was a child...she grew up in this house as much as we did. If that doesn’t make her family, I don’t know what the hell would. Even if she were just an employee, you don’t speak to people to that way.”

  Kaitlyn rolled her heavily lined eyes. She was thirty two years old, but she was still struggling for an identity, playing the bad girl socialite.

  Perhaps that was the source of animosity between them, he thought. Even though Ophelia was the younger of the two, there was a confidence in her that Kaitlyn never had. Ophelia never tried to hide or change who she was. She was far more grounded than Kaitlyn and had always been so.

  “Are you seriously going to lay down the law to me over a glorified maid?” Kaitlyn demanded.

  “If one of you is staying the night, I’ll go,” Ophelia offered, attempting to ease the tension in the room.

  “Since Kaitlyn is the one who objected so strongly to your doing so, she can stay,” Vincent said. “If you’ll get your things, I’ll drive you home. It’s too late for you to take the bus. Kaitlyn, I need to speak with you privately.” He didn’t wait to see if she followed, simply walked into the living room and listened to her footsteps as she stomped down the hall toward him.

  “I guess I’m going to get a nice stern talking to now, aren’t I?” Kaitlyn’s voice all but dripped sarcasm.

  Vincent didn’t immediately respond. It wasn’t Ophelia that he wished to discuss with her, or even her behavior. It was something else, and it took him a moment to gather the courage to say it.

  “What?” she demanded. “Look, I know I was rude, but she’s just so damned goody two shoes it gets on my last nerve! I’m sick of being compared to her and coming out on the shitty end!”

  “This isn’t about Ophelia, Kaitie, or your atrocious behavior. It’s about Thomas. You haven’t been here in a while,” he snapped tersely.

  “I was busy,” she defended. “I don’t need a guilt trip from you!”

  “I’m not trying to guilt you. He doesn’t have much time left. Things are progressing more quickly now. If you wait another month to come by, it will be too late. If you wait another week, it might be too late.”

  Kaitlyn’s face paled and her lower lip quivered as she fought back tears. In that moment, even under the heavy makeup and designer clothes, she looked like the same little girl he’d comforted on the night their parents died.

  More gently, he added, “I’m sorry, Kaitlyn, but we’re just going to have to put other things on hold for a little while. Family needs to come first, right now.”

  “I was supposed to be going to Milan for fashion week, but I’ll cancel. You’re right. I need to be here now.”

  “Do me a favor, will you? Lay off that bullshit you pulled in the kitchen. That isn’t who you really are.”

  “What about you?” she asked. “Are you really the high society lothario who puts the moves on the maid?”

  Vincent prayed for patience. Kaitlyn was always one to lash out. He knew precisely where she’d learned to fight so dirty. “You should mind your own business.”

  “Whether I like her or not, she’s not in your league. Ophelia might be a pain in the ass to me, but she’s not one of your disposable bimbos. You always play the game with women who know the score and we both know that she doesn’t,” Kaitlyn chastised mildly.

  “I’ll say it again, Kaitlyn. Mind your own damned business.”

  He didn’t wait for a response, but headed for the kitchen and the woman who had left him shell-shocked. Stepping once again into the bright, white room, he saw that Ophelia had gathered her purse and had a sweater draped over her shoulders.

  She looked prim and ladylike, a far cry from the passionate creature he’d nearly taken against the kitchen counter only moments earlier.

  Were it not for the telltale flush that still stained her lovely cheeks and her kiss swollen lips, he might have believed it had been nothing more than a fantasy. “We’ll take Thomas’ car. I feel like driving the Morgan tonight...a little speed and some cool night air would probably do us both a world of good.”

  ~~****~~

  Ophelia just nodded in response, though her blush deepened. She was utterly humiliated. It was bad enough to have shown absolutely no restraint, but to be caught almost in flagrante delicto by Kaitlyn of all people was kind of mortifying.

  Guarding her feelings for Vincent had become second nature, as had the daily reminders of why nothing could ever come of them.

  He was a sought after, eligible bachelor with every high society debutante in New Orleans angling for him. While his playboy reputation had become less over the years, it wa
s glaringly apparent that he enjoyed the company of women, but never for very long.

  She was the housekeeper’s granddaughter and employed by his great uncle. To say that their worlds were different would have been to say that night and day were slightly dissimilar.

  Allowing him to see her home would illustrate that like nothing else. Even though Thomas paid her generously, with the financial help she’d been providing to her grandmother, there was little left, meaning that her apartment was a dump, and that was being kind.

  Walking out the back door and into the detached garage that had once been a carriage house, she eyed the low slung sports car that looked both elegant and mean. Vincent held the door for her and she climbed inside.

  The minute she sat down, she couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped her. God, but it had been a long day. She wanted to take her shoes off and rub her aching feet, but she’d only have to put the offending shoes on again, to climb the stairs to her small apartment, as broken glass seemed to appear on those steps routinely. So, she left them on and tried vainly to wiggle her toes inside the torture devices.

  “Why the hell you women wear shoes like that is something I’ll never understand,” he commented, as he turned the key and the engine roared to life.

  “Because they look good,” she responded simply.

  His only response was a Gallic shrug.

  Ophelia leaned back in the seat.

  He didn’t put the top down, but he did lower the windows.

  The cool, night air blew in, fanning the loose tendrils of hair at her neck. They tickled and she swiped at them. She was acutely aware of him sitting next to her.

  In the small car, his powerful thighs were barely more than a breath from touching hers. His massive shoulders filled the space and she could still smell his cologne. It was too arousing, too dangerous.

  Her emotions, all of them, were still too raw and too close to the surface. Opening her eyes, she forced herself to stare out at the passing houses and at least pretend to ignore the presence of the powerful and impossibly virile man beside her.

  When they reached her apartment, there were three men congregating on the small stoop next to her apartment building.

  “I’ll walk you up,” he offered.

  She wanted to protest that it wasn’t necessary, but she wasn’t a fool. It probably was. “Thank you.” She wished fervently in that moment that Brenna was home. A little support and a chaperone would have made life much easier.

  ~~****~~

  Vincent parked the car on the street and walked around to open the door for her. He held it open and offered her the other hand to help her step up and out of the low slung vehicle.

  Given that she was practically on stilts, she managed it very gracefully, but then he’d never known Ophelia to be anything less.

  Closing the door, he locked the vehicle and activated the alarm. When they passed the group of men, he placed his hand at the small of her back and ushered her up the stairs ahead of him.

  He could hear her rummaging in her small bag for her keys. The raucous laughter behind him heightened his awareness of their surroundings. He loved New Orleans, it was his home. But he wasn’t blind to the dangers of the city. It worried him that Ophelia lived in a neighborhood that was so unsafe. “Why do you take the bus when you have a car?”

  “It’s in the shop—again.”

  He listened to her struggling with the lock, then heard a muffled curse. “Let me do that,” he said, and took the keys from her. When the door swung open, she stepped inside and he followed, ignoring her raised eyebrows. “Where’s your roommate?”

  “She’s working tonight. The burlesque troupe she’s in has managed to book a gig at a club on Bourbon Street,” Ophelia answered.

  “We need to talk about what happened in the kitchen, Ophelia.”

  “No, we don’t. It was a mistake and it won’t—it can’t—happen again.”

  “Do you really think that’s possible?”

  “Vincent, I can’t do this with you. We’ve known each other for so long, and everything is bound to get tangled up and complicated. I don’t want that.”

  He couldn’t argue with her logic. Those were the very reasons he’d avoided her for so long. But having tasted her lips, having felt the heat of her pressed against him, he couldn’t go back. “Things can’t always be easy. Sometimes, they get complicated and even a little messy, but you tell me right now that I didn’t make you burn, and I’ll walk away.”

  “I won’t lie to you—I couldn’t even if I wanted to. I’m horrible at it,” she admitted. “But it isn’t about the physical feelings. Yes, I wanted you. More than I care to admit, but that doesn’t mean we should give in to it.

  He walked towards her, stalked more accurately, she thought. He didn’t stop advancing until they were nose to nose. He was close enough that she could see his eyes weren’t black at all but different shades of brown and gold, and she could feel the heat of his skin.

  “Kiss me again and if you still want me to go, I will.”

  “I’m too weak for that. If I kiss you again I won’t be able to ask you—to leave,” she confessed, her breath shuddering out of her. Having him so near, knowing that she could reach out and touch him that if she allowed it, he would take her right there was too tempting.

  “That should tell you something, Ophelia. Some things are inevitable. I’ve wanted you for a long time. For longer than I ought to admit. I’ve avoided you, I’ve reminded myself of all the reasons why I shouldn’t, but all it took was standing this close to you and reason just went out the window. I won’t make you promises I have no intention of keeping. I’m not looking for love here. But for tonight, we could both forget everything else.”

  Tears welled in her eyes. Vincent wanted her, but what he was offering her was not the fairy tale. It wasn’t love or anything remotely close to it, and she knew him well enough and for long enough to know that love wasn’t something he’d ever made room for in his life.

  Other than his family, she could count on one hand the people he was close to, and that was including herself and her grandmother. There was a deep loneliness in Vincent, she’d known it for years, but in that moment, she realized that it was self imposed. She couldn’t be his anesthesia. “I’m not really a tonight kind of girl, Vincent. You have to know that about me.”

  “Rules are made to be broken.”

  “Rules are made for reasons,” she countered. “And I’m sticking to this one, because I can’t afford to let you break my heart.”

  That gave him pause. He was being a selfish ass, thinking only of what he wanted. He’d been so consumed with his need for her, that he hadn’t stopped to think about what she needed. It sure as hell wasn’t someone as broken as him, who, in the long run, could only give her misery. That was the last thing in the world he wanted. “I don’t ever want to do that.”

  “Then go home, and let’s pretend none of this happened.”

  Vincent leaned in, but didn’t kiss her lips. Instead, he pressed a soft and innocent kiss to her forehead. It was a tender gesture, and he didn’t even understand why he made it, only that he needed some sort of connection with her in that moment. “Good night, Ophelia.”

  She watched him go, watched him disappear through the doorway and then locked it behind him. Leaning back against the scarred wood for a moment, she tried to catch her breath. It felt as if the world had tilted on its axis that night, as if nothing would ever be the same again.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The following morning, Ophelia climbed from her bed with bleary eyes and the remnants of wonderful dreams floating in her consciousness. It wasn’t the first time she’d had erotic dreams about Vincent, but it was the first time she’d had them when she could still taste his kiss.

  Thinking about his hot, wicked mouth was not helping matters any. Shrugging into her robe, she opened her bedroom door and stepped out into the living room. Even though it was her day off, she still planned to go see Thomas lat
er, just to check in on him. First, she had a million things to do.

  Brenna McGhee, her roommate of more than three years, was asleep on the couch. An empty wine bottle sat on the coffee table with a pair of false eyelashes stuck to it.

  Smiling, Ophelia nudged the other woman’s ankle, still covered in black, sparkly fishnet.

  Brenna came awake with a start, blinking in confusion.

  “Rough night?” Ophelia asked.

  “You’re one to talk...You look like hell.”

  Ophelia couldn’t argue with that. Having gotten a glimpse of her reflection as she left her bedroom, she knew it was the truth. “I didn’t sleep very well. How was the show?”

  Brenna rolled her eyes and then winced with pain. “It was bad. The club wasn’t exactly what we were expecting. We’ve done shows in strip clubs before and that’s fine, but this club had some ‘special’ acts.”

  “Oh. One of those. Wow.”

  “Yeah. Needless to say, they don’t want to book us ever again, and we don’t want to be booked there ever again. Burlesque is not exactly family friendly, but damned if we didn’t look like a Disney attraction in comparison. So, why couldn’t you sleep? More lusty dreams about the hot but unattainable billionaire?” Brenna asked.

  Ophelia blushed from the tips of her toes to the roots of her hair. She could actually feel the heat of it. “I just didn’t sleep very well,” she lied.

  “Uh-huh. You tell me right now— Oh, I know! It was an even hotter dream about him and his sexy brother. I would totally be the lunchmeat in that sandwich.”

  “You’re disgusting,” Ophelia retorted. “What you just said is gross, and oh my God, Justin! Blech!”

  “Justin DuChamps is a hottie. Although, he seems too damned distracted to notice. Every time I’ve ever seen him, he looks like he’s a million miles away.”