Expecting His Love-Child

by Carol Marinelli

  ‘There can’t be another time…’ She almost wept with frustration at his tease, at the hand of fate that had granted her this unexpected encounter but with such a cruel timeline. ‘You know I go home tomorrow.’

  ‘Don’t you want to stay?’

  Oh, how she wanted to. So badly she wanted to say yes. The minutes they had were ticking away as loudly as a kitchen timer, and her heart was dreading the buzz that would signal the bitter end. But she had no choice.

  He gave her a tiny glimpse of what she would be missing—his hand leaving the safety of the table, his fingers toying with a loose strand of her hair. His flesh was not even touching hers, but she could feel the heat from his palm and she wanted to rest her face in it, wanted contact so much it actually hurt.

  ‘We all have commitments,’ Millie breathed, faint now with longing. ‘Even me.’

  ‘Pity.’

  He watched as she nervously licked her lips, his eyes squinting slightly just as they had when he’d looked at the paintings, and Millie wondered if she had what it took to hold his attention, or if afterwards he’d simply move on.

  ‘You know,’ he mused out loud, ‘for an industry that is supposed to promote beauty, the fashion industry can be very ugly. To them, you would not be considered beautiful…’ Only someone like him could make it a compliment—especially now that he was touching her, caressing her cheek with his finger, tracing it down her face and along her neck, almost as if he were drawing her, the pad of his fingers cool on her throat, resting a moment on her rapid, leaping pulse. ‘The face, yes. But the body…’ She gave a small nervous swallow as his fingers swept along her shoulder, dusting her bare arms; all the tiny hairs standing up to attention as their mistress shivered. ‘You are too much woman.’

  ‘Is that another word for fat?’ Millie gave a slightly shrill giggle. ‘I know I should go to the gym more—I mean, I pay my membership…’ She was blabbering now, seriously so. Oh, she wasn’t fat—not even particularly overweight—but maybe compared to the reed-thin beauties Levander was used to…

  Her thought process halted there. Transfixed, nervous, she watched as he leant over and undid the top button of her blouse. No one turned, not a single person in the café gave a damn. She could feel the top of her cleavage exposed, feel his eyes burning into her pale flesh. If it had been anyone or anywhere else she’d have slapped him—would have got up and walked out. Only it wasn’t anyone else…

  …it was Levander.

  Jerking her eyes to his, Millie couldn’t read them—was unsure of what to make of him. Unsure whether his words demoted or promoted her. Unsure of what Levander could possibly need from someone like her. She knew for sure now that she was wanted—knew for sure now where the night was leading…only an argument was brewing at the counter. Loud voices crudely interrupted this sensual moment as a young man, clearly the worse for wear, pulled out his pockets, trying to find money he’d never had to pay for a two a.m. breakfast that he’d already eaten. It was clearly the norm for this place—no one bar Millie and Levander was even looking up at the distraction.

  ‘I musssht have dropped it…’ the guy was slurring.

  ‘Hey,’ Levander called, standing up, and not for the first time during this crazy night Millie felt anxious—here she was in the seamiest of cafés, with a virtual stranger for company and a fight about to break out. She held her breath as Levander stood up and headed straight into the thick of things, blinking rapidly as he pulled out his wallet.

  ‘You did drop it…’

  He pulled out his wallet and handed the owner a note that would more than cover his breakfast. ‘I found this on the pavement outside—perhaps I should give it to Jack to look after.’

  ‘I want the change…’ the guy slurred, but Levander shook his head.

  ‘Tomorrow you will be hungry again. It is better Jack has it.’ And without another word he headed back to Millie—who didn’t know whether to be touched by his kindness or furious at his stupidity for getting involved.

  ‘Nice place,’ Millie said darkly, and almost instantly regretted it—especially when she saw Levander’s face.

  ‘You prefer five-star?’ Levander shrugged. ‘Prefer pompous men drunk on malt whisky who have lost their gold credit card, perhaps, than some poor kid who probably hasn’t eaten in two days?’

  Though she bristled at his implication, she refused to back down. ‘He could have had a knife—he could have…’ She shook her head in exasperation. ‘And what happens when the money you gave the owner runs out, Levander? What happens next week, when you’re not here to fix it for him?’

  ‘For the next few nights he eats.’ Levander shrugged.

  ‘But when the money runs out the same thing will happen, and you won’t be here…’ Millie insisted.

  But Levander neither needed nor wanted her take on things. In fact it would seem Levander no longer wanted her. Because suddenly, not for the first time that night, he stood up to go, taking her hand and without a word hailing a taxi from the rank outside, giving his direction in a low, deep drawl. Levander stared fixedly ahead as the taxi slid through the night. So distracted, so far away.

  Millie half expected him to drop her off where she lived and carry on, but as the taxi slid to a halt outside the fabulous five-star hotel that Levander called home Millie almost wept with relief. He offered her his hand to step out, and they stood outside the grand reception area. A doorman opened the door for them and they stood in the blazing lights, watching the busy theatre of the hotel even at this impossible hour—a gaggle of women spilling out of another taxi, clipping their way across the marble, an airline captain dressed smartly in his uniform on his way to the airport—the same airport Millie would be at in a few hours…

  ‘I’m sorry.’ This time his apology was as unexpected as it was unnecessary. ‘What happened back there…well, it is something I am used to. For you, though, I can see it would have been upsetting. Clearly it was a bad idea—’

  ‘It was a lovely idea,’ Millie broke in. ‘And I actually had a lovely time—in fact, I think it’s me that owes you an apology. I completely overreacted.’

  ‘No,’ Levander disputed, ‘you did not. Sometimes I forget that not everyone has…’ He hesitated for just a fraction too long, those beautiful eyes clouding over, and Millie frowned in concern.

  ‘Not everyone has what?’ she pushed, but he shook his head and forced a smile.

  ‘It does not matter.’

  Millie was sure that it did matter, but clearly he didn’t want to talk about it. To help, she changed the subject. ‘I still can’t believe you actually live in a hotel.’

  ‘Why not?’ Levander asked. ‘A few of their suites are for permanent residents.’

  ‘But surely if your family are nearby…?’ She gave a slightly helpless shrug. She didn’t really know what she was asking—he was thirty, hardly likely to be living at home with his father, but it just seemed so temporary, so impersonal, so soulless. ‘Does it really feel like home?’

  ‘Sorry?’ He stared back at her, a slight frown forming between his eyes as if he completely and utterly didn’t understand her question, and Millie wondered if she’d spoken too fast—if perhaps he’d misunderstood something she’d said.

  She rephrased her question, and spoke just a touch more slowly this time. ‘Can a hotel really feel like a home?’

  ‘Of course it feels like home.’ He was still frowning down at her, as if surprised she’d asked such a strange thing. ‘It is, after all, where I live.’

  ‘I meant…’ She gave in then—gave in not only because he didn’t seem to grasp what she was saying, because whatever magic they had captured between them seemed to have evaporated. At least for Levander. The silence in the taxi, the terse responses to her questions, his apparent distraction, all pointed to one reluctant conclusion.

  He’d had enough of her.

  ‘I should go.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I really do have things I should do�
�’ She was gabbling now, the words that had come so easily before now strained and forced as this most wonderful night came to a bitter conclusion. Levander, clearly bored with her company, was staring somewhere over her shoulder as she attempted to say goodbye.

  Dared he?

  It was a strange question for him to consider—for a man so used to women. It wasn’t his seduction technique that was instilling such doubt—Levander knew she was ready. Despite the scene at the club, he’d felt her unfurl as he’d walked alongside her on the beach. What had happened between them in the café was what unsettled him. Hell, for a second there he’d lost all discretion—not just when he’d reached over and touched her, not just when he’d exposed her fragrant cleavage…She’d clouded his mind like a drug. He’d told her about the business, told her his thoughts. And for Levander that was unprecedented—so far removed from his usual reserve, at least where the family business was concerned, that it unsettled him. Disquiet seeped through his marrow at how this woman moved him so—how hard it was to field her questions. Because he actually wanted to tell her things, wanted to answer those perceptive questions…wanted her dizzy, happy perspective, wanted to lower his guard and laugh with her over and over again.

  And if he kissed her he’d be lost.

  ‘I have to go to the airport in…’ She didn’t have a watch, and as she looked at his and tried to read it upside down Levander relaxed.

  She’d be gone soon.

  Strange that it comforted him.

  For a few hours he could hold her—concentrate solely on the one thing he did better than business, spend tonight with her, hush her questions with his mouth.

  Indulge without consequence—safe in the knowledge that tomorrow she would be gone.

  ‘…six hours.’

  He was so tall she had to lift her head to look up at him, but it was worth the effort, because finally he was looking at her—finally the Levander who had disappeared for a while had returned. And he was so exquisitely beautiful it was surprisingly easy to be bold, to lift her hand and touch his cheek rather than keep it by her side. She knew he was going to kiss her goodbye—could almost taste the lips that were moving in on hers—and she wanted it over and done with almost. Wanted to move away from this breathtaking man so she could remember how to breathe again, could get on with her life after this strange but dizzying pause.

  Only she’d never been kissed like this before.

  His mouth was incredibly soft on hers; for someone so masculine, he was surprisingly tender. His lips brushed hers, faint-makingly erotic, and her hands that had been on his cheek moved around to the back of his head. If a minute ago she had been conscious of the bellboy, the cars, the lights, now it all faded into insignificance. It was like being kissed for the first time—actually, way better than being kissed for the first time. His tongue stroking hers, his chin scratching her smooth skin, the intoxicating scent of him as he pulled her in closer, the feel of his hard taut body against hers. Nothing—not a case to be packed, nor a plane to be caught—got a look-in. Her whole being honed in on this delicious moment, and there was no question of wanting it to be over—just the knowledge that tonight it couldn’t be.

  ‘Six hours leaves no time for sleeping…’ He pulled back just a fraction, his husky words not asking, but telling…Telling Millie what she already knew.

  That the precious few hours she had left were for them.

  It was as if all her rules had turned around—the inner compass that guided her running amok—north suddenly south—everything shifted.

  This hadn’t been a working holiday—it had been work, work, work. No sightseeing, no exploring this amazing country, and no romance.

  Why, Millie begged of herself, why shouldn’t she allow this one indulgence—this one crazy, impulsive moment with a man she’d remember for ever?

  Remember for ever because, gazing into his eyes, Millie knew she could never forget—when everything else had crumbled, when all she had left were her memories, this would surely be one. The most beautiful, sensual of men holding her in his arms and wanting her.

  He kissed her all the way up in the lift—and all the way back down to the foyer when they missed their stop. Urgent, hot kisses that were as fabulous as they were indecent. His impatient hand barely missed a beat as he hit the twentieth floor again, then returned to her bottom, cupping it, pressing it against him as his tongue worked its magic. He was kissing her mouth, her eyes, her ears, making her shiver. His body was pressing hers against the cold mirror, and his want for her was not remotely overwhelming—because it exactly matched hers. Desire was lacing its way through her body, the pressure against the dam that had been building for hours unleashing inside her the second he touched her.

  Nerves only caught up as she entered his vast suite—her glittering eyes widening as she took in the opulent surroundings. She’d known he was wealthy, but it hadn’t really equated till now. She felt her heels sink into the carpet and suddenly it unnerved her—standing in her cheap waitress uniform, every scrap of make-up thoroughly kissed away. She knew she didn’t belong in his world. She was frozen with the awareness that she should be bathed and scented and gorgeous, and she was feeling anything but.

  Levander didn’t seem to notice at first, taking her in his arms and proceeding from where they’d left off. But then he sensed her unease.

  ‘I’m sorry…’ She felt like a tease, seeing utterly and completely the error of her ways, but she just couldn’t not tell him. ‘I don’t belong here—this just isn’t me…’

  ‘What isn’t you?’

  ‘Here…’ Millie wailed, her arms flailing, her breath coming out fast as she rued the ridiculous situation she’d found herself in. ‘This isn’t me…’ And it wasn’t just the luxurious surrounds that were panicking her, but Levander. Even after she’d seen the tears from Carla she had kissed him so fully, pressed her groin against his in the lift—she had taken, utterly and completely, leave of her senses.

  ‘Levander, I’m not like this…like that.’ She gestured to the closed door and the lift behind it, her cheeks scorching at the inappropriateness of it all. Shame was sweeping through her at the thought that in a few seconds she would have to clip her miserable way through the hotel foyer. She knew he couldn’t possibly understand, and at first tensed, flinching, when he came over and held her. But her panic subsided a touch when she found that, actually, he did…

  ‘That was not you…’ His voice was low and soft in her ear as he held her trembling body. Her face was burning as she leant it against his chest. ‘And that was not me,’ Levander said, lifting her chin with his hands and forcing her to look at him. Her eyes stared in wonder and recognition as he continued. ‘That, Millie, was us.’

  It made sense—for the first time in this mad night something actually made sense. It wasn’t just about her or about him. It wasn’t just Millie acting wildly out of character. It was about them—about the instant chemistry that had ignited, the longing, the want that had flared.

  Such longing.

  She was shaking with arousal, literally trembling with want, and now that she understood it she could let it happen—could watch as his fingers opened the remaining buttons of her blouse, staring down at herself as if seeing her body for the first time, as if seeing it through his eyes, and actually feeling beautiful. He slid off her blouse, unhooked her bra, and all she felt was want—such want—as his tongue flicked her swollen nipple.

  Such want as he slid the zipper down on her skirt till all she wore were her shoes and panties. His tongue traced a line down her stomach as he knelt ever lower, her thighs twitching with anticipation as he slid his way down…

  ‘I should…’ She hadn’t washed, had been working all night, then walking the streets with him. But she didn’t have to say it. Those dark eyes were looking up, meeting hers.

  ‘It is you I want to taste—not soap, not perfume—it is your scent that has driven me crazy all night—don’t take it from me now.’

&nbs
p; He made it sound like a gift, like a treasure, his fingers parting the flimsy fabric of her knickers, then growing impatient, sliding them down over her bottom, her thighs. He buried his face in her damp bush, and Millie’s last stabs of embarrassment were quashed by moans of pleasure. His tongue was like a cool, insistent pulse, and her fingers laced through his hair as her body both willed him to go on but begged him to stop. She was sure her knees would buckle as he worked on. Her pleasure was his, and she knew it—knew from his moans, from his hot breath and the tense fingers digging into her buttocks that Levander was as lost in the moment as she.

  At that second it was imperative he was as naked as her, and he sensed it, pulling at his shirt. As he stood her impatient fingers wrestled with the belt on his trousers, and even though his lavish attention might have abated for a few seconds just the sight of him naked had Millie gasping—that gorgeous body, toned and delicious, merely a breath away.

  He asked her.

  As she stood there, eyes wide with lust, staring at him, he actually asked her what she was thinking.

  She toyed with the idea of telling him the truth, tried to work out how to say what was truly was on her mind: that she’d never been with anyone before, that even though it must surely seem otherwise this was actually her first time—the first time she’d ever been this intimate with anyone. But she knew, just knew, she couldn’t—knew from the little that she did know that the night would cease if she told him that truth. So instead she told him another—her answer raw and honest…

  ‘It’s beautiful…’

  ‘Then hold it.’

  So she did, tentative at first, and horribly, horribly gauche. But, feeling him so silken yet so strong beneath her fingers, something trilled inside her. Feeling him grow in her hand, feeling him harden beneath her fingers, wanton, reckless, yet terribly shy, she sank to her knees as she held him, her hungry eyes begging to please be allowed just a taste.

  ‘Careful…’ His throaty word was more a threat than a warning—his explosive device was so charged to the hilt that Millie knew that with one false move, with one hasty, gratuitous shift, it would all be over.