The Billionaire's Borrowed Baby

by Janice Maynard

  At Luc’s murmured request, she passed the water container and a clean towel out to him. While he was presumably taking care of his ablutions, she found a tube of scented lotion and applied it to her elbows and legs and one or two other interesting spots.

  She pulled out the lilac gown and slipped it over her head, relishing the feel of the silk against her bare skin. When she was done, she tucked the flashlight under Luc’s pillow, leaving only the smallest beam of light to illuminate the tent.

  Taking a deep breath and smoothing her hair, she called out. “I’m ready.”

  The tent flap peeled back instantly, and she saw him place his shoes and the water canister inside at the foot of the tent before he crawled in, immediately dwarfing the tiny space. He had already undressed.

  Hattie’s heart stopped for a split second, and then lurched back into service with an unsteady beat. Even her ploy with the flashlight didn’t disguise his impressive attributes. She put a hand against her breastbone, feeling a bit like a Regency virgin in need of smelling salts.

  Luc zipped the tent flap shut, tossed a few foil packets beside his pillow, and then stretched out with a sigh onto the comfortable bedding. He lay on his side facing her, leaning on his elbow with one leg propped up, looking like a centerfold.

  Only, he was real. Here. In the flesh.

  Hattie remained seated, her spine stiff as a poker, her legs paralyzed in a pretzel position. He patted the space beside him, and she saw him smile. “You’re too far away,” he complained.

  She uncurled her legs and scooted closer, still leaving a healthy distance between them.

  He reached out and smoothed a hand over her thigh covered in lilac silk. “I’m betting you didn’t order this little number from L.L. Bean,” he said, the words laced with amusement.

  Suddenly, he reached behind him and picked up the flashlight, momentarily blinding her when he pointed it in her direction. He focused the tiny beam of light on her left shoulder.

  His voice came out of the darkness. “Ditch the gown, Hattie, starting with that strap.”

  She couldn’t see his face, only the outline of his body. Her fingers went to the slim strap he’d indicated, and she lowered it, slipping her arm free, but keeping her breast covered.

  The beam of light moved to her other shoulder. “Now that one.”

  The second strap fell. She put a hand against her chest to hold the gown in place.

  The light slipped down to her abdomen. He spoke again, his tone hoarse and rough. “Now all of it.”

  She rose to her knees, trembling, and let the fabric fall to her hips, and then, with a little shimmy, to the sleeping bag. Luc’s indrawn breath was audible. The beam of light rose slowly to circle one breast and then the other. Her nipples tightened painfully. The light slid over the taut plane of her stomach to rest in the shadowed valley between her thighs.

  His voice this time was barely a whisper. “Hand me the gown.”

  She lifted her knees, an awkward maneuver given the situation, and pulled the silk free, tossing it to him.

  He buried his face in the cloth momentarily. Then the light went out. He called her name. “Hattie…come here.”

  She tumbled forward, her eagerness assisted by his firm grasp on her forearm. She landed half-sprawled across his chest, and one of her hands lodged in an interesting position between his legs. She found the hot, smooth length of him and stroked gently.

  Luc groaned, covering her lips with his, the kiss ravenous and demanding. His tongue plundered the recesses of her mouth, exploring every crevice, nibbling and biting until she was breathless and whimpering with need.

  Seconds later she sensed him trying to slow things down, but it was too late. While he fumbled for a condom, she rubbed her breasts against his chest, savoring the delicious friction. She felt his hands settle on her bottom. He lifted her until she sat astride him, and she tensed.

  On and off during the last decade she had dreamed about being with him. But those fleeting fantasies didn’t come close to approximating the reality of Luc Cavallo, naked, nudging with barely concealed impatience at the heart of her feminine passage.

  She arched her back and felt him enter her, stretching her to an almost painful fullness. “Oh, Luc…” The sensation was incredible.

  He froze, not moving an inch, his body taut and trembling. “Am I hurting you?”

  She choked out a laugh, wriggling, forcing him centimeters deeper. “No.” It was all she could manage. She raked his nipples with her fingernails. He heaved beneath her, burying himself to the hilt. The connection was stunning—her, adjusting to the sensation of his possession, him, clearly struggling for control.

  He lifted his hands to cup her sensitive breasts. She cried out, nearing a peak so intense, she could feel it hovering just out of reach. He withdrew almost completely, but before she could voice a protest, he thrust even deeper, initiating a rhythm that sent them both tumbling into a fiery release. Somewhere in the fringes of her consciousness, she heard him shout as he emptied himself into her body, but her orgasm washed over her with such power, she was unable to focus on anything but her own pleasure.

  Luc lay perfectly still, trying to recover from the effects of Hurricane Hattie. Her slender body lay draped over his in sensual abandon that filled him with a fierce masculine satisfaction overlaid by the terrifying realization that he had fallen in love with her…again. Far away from the familiar trappings of his daily life, it was all so clear. He didn’t need things to be happy…not money or electronic toys or even the adrenaline-producing challenge of his job.

  His arms tightened around her. A time machine couldn’t have taken him back any more successfully than this sham marriage and this ill-conceived honeymoon. Hattie filled his life with an exhilaration he had experienced only once before. She brought fun into his days, joy into his home, passion into his bed.

  But nothing had changed. He was still rich, and she was still wary about ceding power and control to a man like him.

  The baby was the fragile glue holding this house of cards together. Unless he could convince Hattie that great sex covered a multitude of sins, it was only a matter of time until she left him.

  He sighed as he felt her tongue trace his collarbone. The slightly rough caress sent trickles of heat down his torso straight to his groin. He smoothed his fingers over her bottom, guiltily aware that he might have bruised her pale skin.

  She leaned on her elbow and kissed him briefly. “I think I’ve developed a whole new appreciation for roughing it…if I can say that with a straight face while lying on 800 thread count sheets.”

  He chuckled. “I never knew you liked it rough.”

  She punched his arm. “You’re so bad. But I like that about you…” Her head found its way to his shoulder.

  As her voice trailed off, he shifted her to one side. Not that he didn’t enjoy having her body glued to his like wallpaper, but her proximity made it difficult to form a coherent thought. He hoped that if he handled this interlude correctly, he might be able to bind Hattie to him in such a way that she couldn’t escape.

  Women, unlike most men, had a hard time separating sex from emotional ties. All he had to do was convince Hattie that the compatibility they experienced in bed could carry over to life in general. That the incredible sex was only a sign of their overall rightness for each other…that they had more in common than she realized.

  When Hattie slipped a hand across his thigh, he lost all interest in thinking. Her curious fingers found his partially erect shaft and began exploring. He shuddered, giving himself up to the heady pleasure of having Hattie map his body with an eagerness that was as flattering as it was arousing.

  Her questing hands feathered over him like butterfly wings, brushing, touching. He clenched his teeth against a surge of lust as she found a particularly sensitive spot. “Hattie…”

  She nipped his hipbone with her teeth. “Hmmm?”

  His hands tangled in her hair, and he pulled her up for a hard k
iss. This time, it was her tongue that demanded entrance, taunting his mouth with sweet little licks and strokes that made him groan with hunger.

  Almost…almost he lifted her astride him as he had earlier, craving the sensation of filling her with one swift thrust. But at the last second, he broke the kiss and pushed her to her back, determined this time to give her the tenderness and attention she deserved.

  She reached for him, but he eluded her, sliding down the length of her body to concentrate on the source of her pleasure. His hands glided over her skin, skin softer than any silk nightgown. He traced her navel and abdomen with his tongue. She twisted restlessly.

  Gripping her hips and holding her down, he bent his head lower, ignoring her incoherent protests. She stiffened at the first touch of his lips, her back arching off the sleeping bag. A panting cry escaped her. He licked gently, and seconds later she shattered in a moaning climax.

  He scooped her into his arms, holding her tightly as the last tremors racked her body. She was his. He was familiar with sexual satisfaction, but this need to claim, to possess, was something he had experienced only one other time in his life.

  When she stirred in his embrace, he stroked the hair from her face with an unsteady hand. He kissed her softly, tenderly, trying to tell her with his touch what he knew she wasn’t ready to hear in words.

  The kiss lengthened. Deepened. His own unappeased arousal clawed to the surface, reminding him that making Hattie fly moments ago was only a prelude. He rose over her, trapping both her hands in one of his and raising them above her head. His maneuver lifted her breasts in silent invitation. With his free hand, he caressed them, stroking the petal-soft curves, avoiding her nipples, deliberately building her need once again.

  When her pleading whispers and writhing hips told him she was ready for his possession, he abandoned her breasts and slid his hand between her legs, testing her heat and dampness with one finger.

  She turned her head and bit the tender flesh of his inner arm, silently demanding. He released her hands, scarcely noticing when they grasped his shoulders. His need had become a roaring torrent, a driving urgency toward completion. Damning the necessity, he sheathed his rock-hard erection in a condom.

  With one knee, he spread her legs and settled between her thighs, positioning himself. He looked down at her, inwardly cursing the darkness, needing desperately to see her face. “Tell me you want me, Hattie,” he said huskily. “Beg me.”

  She spread her legs even wider, seeking to join their bodies, but he held back, driven by some Neanderthal impulse. “Say it, Hattie.”

  Her voice, a rasping, air-starved whisper reached his ear. “Please Luc. Take me…please.”

  He surged forward, shuddering as her body gripped him. She was tight and hot, and her long, slender legs wrapped around his waist. He knew in an instant that once more there would be no slow, sweet loving. He drove into her again and again until the tide swept over him, pulled him under, erasing every thought but one. Hattie was his.

  He tried to hold back, to prolong the exquisite sensations for a few moments more, but it was hopeless. With a hoarse shout, he came inside her for long, agonizing seconds, conscious of nothing but searing pleasure and blinding release.

  In the aftermath, they clung together, breathing fractured, skin damp, hearts pounding in unison. With his last ounce of energy, he reached for the top sheet, pulled it over them. Hattie’s limp body curled spoon fashion against his, her bare bottom pressed to the cradle of his thighs.

  Luc surrendered to the oblivion of sleep.

  Sixteen

  Hattie slipped from Luc’s arms and donned a long T-shirt and panties before quietly exiting the tent. Her body was stiff and sore in some interesting places, and she felt at once exhausted and exhilarated.

  After a necessary trip to the bathroom, she stood in the eerie gray light of predawn, her arms clasped around her middle. Just a few hundred feet offshore, a tiny strip of land, hardly big enough to merit the designation island, was covered with a teeming mass of flapping, squawking birds.

  Their raucous calls and noisy confusion mirrored the turmoil in her heart. What in the heck was she going to do? There was no longer any doubt about her feelings for Luc. Having sex with him last night in such an erotic and abandoned way had been at once the most perfect and the most stupid thing she had ever done in her life.

  She might one day find another man as intelligent as Luc. As kind, as handsome, as funny…perhaps. But there was no doubt in her mind that the lovemaking they had shared was unique. He’d been a good lover in college, no question. But this time around, the sex was even better. She hadn’t expected the intensity, the shattering intimacy, the feeling that she had bound herself to him body and soul.

  He was also better at reading her. Some internal radar seemed to pick up her moods, to see inside her head and know what she was thinking. Which made him very dangerous to her peace of mind.

  And his empathy was a huge problem given that this relationship was temporary and supposedly pragmatic. She didn’t want to feel so connected to him. What a mess. As much as she longed to enjoy this surprising honeymoon all the way to its conclusion, another smarter Hattie said, Go home.

  She looked over her shoulder at the small blue tent, its outline shrouded in the misty morning fog. In a short while, the cozy housing would be dismantled, much like her short-lived marriage. The campsite would be cleared, leaving no trace of the spot where Hattie Parker had given her heart to Luc Cavallo.

  But hearts healed, didn’t they? And life went on. She would go back to her job perhaps, settle into a new place, learn to play the role of single mom. And perhaps this ending wouldn’t be as painful as the one ten years ago. Maybe Deedee’s chortling smiles would be a distraction.

  Hattie and Luc might remain friends…or, if not, she’d have memories…. And if she was lucky, someday a lover who didn’t know that he was second best.

  Luc knew the instant Hattie stirred from his embrace and left the tent. Even in his sleep he’d been aware of her warmth and softness twined in his arms, their legs tangled, her head tucked beneath his chin. Twice more during the night they had come together in exquisite lovemaking, the first a slow gentle mating, the second a hard, fast, almost desperate race to the finish.

  But Hattie’s recent stealthy departure said louder than words that she needed some time alone. That she hadn’t wanted to face him. He understood her motivation. He just didn’t like it.

  The warm pillows still retained a remnant of her fragrance. He climbed out and put on his shorts. As he ran a hand over the stubble on his chin, he grimaced. Perhaps spending the night on a deserted island wasn’t the greatest way to win over a woman. But Hattie had been a good sport about it all, and something about the isolation had deepened the intimacy of their lovemaking.

  He exited the tent and walked over to where she stood looking out to sea. Looping his arms around her waist from behind, he rested his chin on the top of her head. “Good morning.”

  She turned slightly, enough for him to see that she was smiling. “Good morning, Luc.”

  He squeezed her gently. “You ready for some breakfast?”

  She nodded. “At the risk of sounding unladylike, I could eat the proverbial horse.”

  They fixed the meal together, Hattie cutting up fresh fruit while he toasted bread on the grill. He had hoped to make love to her once more before they left, but it wasn’t going to happen. Hattie had retreated to some distant place, and the invisible line in the sand was one he couldn’t cross.

  By ten o’clock everything was packed up and loaded in the boat. He suggested climbing the lighthouse, but Hattie shook her head, saying she was tired and ready to go back. He wanted to tease her about her fatigue. Lord knew neither of them had gotten much sleep, but his courage failed him. He had just experienced one of the most incredible nights of his life, but the lady involved was treating him like a favorite brother.

  It was hell on a man’s self-esteem.

>   They made the return trip to Key West mostly in silence. Hattie sat in the back of the boat on a bench seat wearing her baseball cap pulled low over her eyes and with her arms curled around her knees. Clouds had rolled in during the morning, making the sky sullen and angry. He had to keep both hands on the wheel to handle the choppy waves.

  Docking, unloading and getting back to the hotel were interminable chores. He was determined to have his say, strangely afraid that if he didn’t mend some unknown rift, she would slip away from him altogether.

  Hattie unlocked the door to their room. He followed her in. She dumped her things on the sofa and turned to face him, a forced smile on her lips. “Thanks for taking me to the fort. It was wonderful.”

  His jaw clenched. “And what about us? Were we wonderful, too?”

  He watched as shock followed by what could only be described as a flash of pain crossed her face.

  As she took off her cap and ran her hands through her hair, she glanced at him. “What do you think?”

  He jammed his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching for her. “I think we were pretty damn fabulous…. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  A rosy flush climbed from her throat to her cheeks. She nodded slowly. “We never had trouble in that department.”

  He laughed softly. “Hell, no.” He sensed a softening in her, so he pressed his advantage. “Imagine what we could do in that big bed with wine and clean sheets and candles.”

  Her blush deepened. He stepped toward her, smiling inwardly as she backed up until her legs hit the sofa and she fell backward. He leaned over her, bracing his hands on the back of the couch, bracketing her with his arms. “Kiss me, Hattie.”

  Her dark eyes looking up at him were filled with secrets. “Do you really think we’ll stop with a kiss?”