by Lyz Kelley
“Are you comfortable?” Anxiety made her voice shaky.
His stormy eyes tracked her every move. “I’m perfect.”
Yes, you are. More beautiful than the Greek sculptures at the Met.
He didn’t move, although every muscle was on alert. Not knowing what to do next, she straddled his waist, placing her hands on his chest.
“In the business world, I’m familiar with the rules. In the bedroom, it’s not simple.”
“It is simple. There are simply no rules.” His eyes searched hers. “Do you trust me?”
“I do.” She nodded, anticipation taking over.
“Then come here and kiss me. Let me make this easier.”
When her lips touched his, a sense of floating took over, and the healing began. The big man’s feather-light touch surprised and pleased her. He held her like a priceless doll, stroking and pampering, making little noises to tell her how much he enjoyed her body. He nuzzled her breasts. His hand slid between her legs, caressing until her muscles relaxed. She opened to him, allowing him to pleasure her, take her places she wanted to explore.
Trying to draw him closer, she gripped harder. When she’d gone as far as she could, he pushed her further.
Unable, or unwilling, to think, she allowed him to steer her on top of him. The relaxed gentleness in his face gave her a feeling of rightness. She lifted her knees to continue their connection.
The sunlight filtered through the bedroom sheers and danced across his skin. No other image she’d seen was more glorious than this man. He gave her a gift, and she wanted to give him one in return. She centered herself above him. When she mounted, he sucked in air, closing his eyes.
“You feel incredible.”
“So do you. This.”
As she moved above him, he fisted the sheets and gritted his teeth, panting. She rocked back and forth, saw and felt his urgency, the buildup to a peak of arousal. His hips undulated.
She changed the rhythm to match his, accepting his fullness. His big, warm hands encircled her waist, holding tight while he thrust deep, again and again.
“Mac,” he reaches for my hips and thrusts into my center.
“Holy mother,” she blurted when her body exploded into a flame of need. She used the bed to brace and open wider.
He thrust harder, sinking his massive bulge deeper. And then again. And again.
She bushed her lips against his, hoping to send the message she wanted him to release.
Her core tensed when he slid his tongue across her lips.
“Are you okay?”
She sucked in his lower lip. “Now, Branston. Now.”
His muscles shuddered underneath her thighs, as she ground against him again and again, more desperate to feel, experience everything a woman should when making love.
Yet, this was different. She’d never felt half of these sensations. She wanted to laugh, shout, cry out all at the same time.
“Come with me,” he whispered.
The words sent a rippling sensation through her, seconds before he growled with release. His thrusts slowed until he lay limp, eyes closed, a half- smile on his face.
“I’m going to have to go to confession after this,” he sighed.
“Why? We did nothing wrong.”
He opened one eye. “I want this, you, so much I didn’t think about taking the necessary precautions.”
She lowered her ear to his chest and relaxed against him to listen to his racing heartbeat. Their bodies softened and seemed to melt together.
His fingertips caressed her arm. She lifted her head, studying his face. When both eyes opened, she dropped her chin to his chest. “Since you’ve already sinned, can we do that again?”
His chuckle bounced her head on his chest. “Sure. But you must give me a minute. And we should use a condom. You are so distractingly beautiful my brain stops functioning when you’re around.”
“You don’t have STDs, right?”
“Correct. The employment hospital physical was thorough.”
“Me neither. Plus the gynecologist says my system is broken, so no worries there.” Her whole body relaxed into a happy, satiated state. “Maybe I can be on the bottom next time.”
IVF and pregnancy. She swore it crossed his mind, but he didn’t say a word. He tightened his arm around her waist and rolled to his side. “Mac, you’re the bravest woman. You always surprise me.”
She threw her leg over his. His fingers drew small circles on her arm. Her breath eased.
She reveled in the power she’d wielded, remembering how he responded to each stroke or tiny puff of air. Sighing, she elongated into a long, satisfying stretch. If she could be sure he wouldn’t laugh, she might have purred like George when he lingered on the window ledge in the afternoon sun.
Until now, she hadn’t fully understood. Her past lovers hadn’t measured up to this afternoon’s sensual feast. He created an insatiable craving. Her stomach growled.
She giggled and poked his chest. “I forgot to ask. Did you get your tux for the ball?”
His eyes sought hers, face creased. “Dry cleaned and ready to go.”
“Good. Dad and Dr. Cowell want to ensure the anonymous charges get cleared. I forgot to tell you about my Dad’s text saying the review committee has already looked at the surgical tapes and some cryptic message about a parallel investigation. I don’t think it’s anything to worry about. My parents will make sure to whisper in the right people’s ears.”
“Dressing me in fancy clothes won’t change anything.”
She studied his face. “I didn’t figure you for a quitter. But if you want to give up, fine.”
Dragging a hand over the top of his head and down his face, he squeezed his jaw. “I’ll be ready to tap dance if that’s what it takes to get my job back.”
A pom-pom victory made her blood pump faster. She rolled over and grabbed a pen and pad from her nightstand and plopped the items on his chest.
“Mac, I know I’m asking a lot of you and your family—more than I can ever repay.”
“Who asked for repayment? Did you forget? My assignment was to help, and I’m rather competitive. I don’t like to fail once I’ve been given a job to do. Wait a minute.” She popped up onto her elbows. “Did you have sex with me because you got some weird idea in your head that you owe me?”
His eyes darkened. “No. That’s not what this was all about.” He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “Mac, what we just did couldn’t have been easy after what you’ve gone through, and I…thank you for allowing me to prove how beautiful you are.”
A breath she didn’t know she’d been holding released.
She didn’t want to talk about obligations, the past, or think too much about the future. She wanted the moment—the now. She threw off the sheet, launched from the bed, and grabbed his shirt on the way out the door. “I’m hungry,” she called over her shoulder.
Once out of sight, she lifted his shirt collar to her nose and took a good sniff. Physical hunger made her stomach rumble, but food or water or tea weren’t what she wanted or needed. A bone dry awareness that her soul thirsted for touch created an awakening. A ravenous need.
Before she could think about what she was doing, she ran back to the bed, gathering herself to take a leap. A leap of faith, or a death-defying leap, she didn’t care.
She wanted him, and wouldn’t let fear stop her.
Not this time.
Chapter 15
When Garrett first walked into the scarlet, black, and white ballroom, he hadn’t wanted to be impressed. But the three-foot-tall red rose and white lily centerpieces standing guard over each table, the fine china, and the black and white-covered chairs left him no choice.
Local celebrities and Wall Street financiers mingled among the tables. Champagne and money flowed. The band played. Couples danced. Caviar disappeared as soon as delivered. Later in the evening, auction paddles for sports tickets, trips, wine, and artwork flashed in the air like paparazzi camera fl
ashes at a red-carpet event, the bids going higher and higher and higher.
Late in the auction, a painting of a giggling baby caught his attention. He recognized Ellie and the partial image of his chest. Garrett wanted McKenzie’s art piece so much his teeth hurt, but the painting sold for thousands more than he could afford. He should be thrilled the money would be available for much-needed hospital equipment. He wasn’t.
Being outbid added to the feelings of failure, feelings of inadequacy. What had he expected? He’d never be able to keep up with the Carvers. His tax bracket didn’t reach that one-percent status.
The coat-check pickup line moved forward an inch. He hated himself for feeling inadequate. If he didn’t feel obligated to wait for his fake fiancée, he’d already be home and into the single malt, well on his way to self-defeating oblivion.
His gaze traveled up the elegant brass staircase. McKenzie stood by her mother’s side at the top. The flawless, regal matriarch stood on the landing, thanking each member of New York’s posh society for attending the hospital benefit. According to the nearby circle of gold and diamond-bejeweled women, tomorrow’s society page headlines would be splendid—a true who’s who of New York.
Numbness overwhelmed him. Compared to the circle McKenzie thrived in, he had nothing. He had little to offer McKenzie that she didn’t already have in triplicate. Now, with his suspension, he had less than nothing. He felt like a bird clinging to a tree branch in hurricane force wind. An emotion he’d not felt in a long time.
The coat-check line moved forward, sweeping him along with it. He looked around, unable to resist watching her in her milieu. When he found her, she was speaking to a new set of guests, and he studied the lines of her body, the fluid movements of her hands, the way her hair cascaded down her back.
A man twice her age placed his hand in the small of her back. Garrett recognized the billionaire. She laughed at the old eccentric’s joke, but her slight shift away, demonstrated that her fears and uneasiness around men weren’t conquered yet. Her gaze swept the room. He wondered what she was looking for until her eyes connected with his, and he saw the tension in her shoulders ease.
What courage she had. And he was privileged to witness her emergence from a cocoon of fear. Protectiveness and pride surged, filling him with renewed energy and purpose.
She considered every detail, down to coordinating his bowtie to match her gown. The design of her dress left little to the imagination, but he’d already seen what was inside. The way she looked at him made his chest swell and his heart thump harder.
A gentleman behind him tapped his sleeve and pointed to the coat-check attendant holding her hand out for his ticket stub. Garrett placed the stub in her hand, waited, and then gathered the designer silk-embroidered wool coat in his arms. He shoved a tip in the glass jar and then a warning tingle, the sensation he never ignored, crawled up his neck, making the hair on his arms rise.
Liam and Weston Carver headed his direction like a heart attack victim to the emergency department.
Garrett tugged at the starched collar for the hundredth time. Mac’s brothers might not take him out the back door, but he’d figured they’d come sniffing around eventually. He might be out of practice, definitely no longer in street condition, but he still had the instincts and could go a few rounds if need be. A tilt of Weston’s head gave Garrett a signal to move toward a more secluded spot, away from the prying eyes of benefit attendees. Garrett brought up the rear so he could keep both brothers in sight, already aware that she had overprotective siblings.
The men stopped and turned. Garrett took a deep breath.
Bring it on, guys. I’m ready. Give it your best shot.
“You shagging my sister?” Liam demanded, his eyes narrowing.
Not pulling any punches, are we, boys? Garrett gestured in her direction. “Why don’t you ask Mac?”
Weston leaned in. “Because we’re asking you. Being her fake fiancé doesn’t give you permission to jump in her bed. And before you ask, Liam told me about your arrangement, not McKenzie.”
“Whether I have or haven’t slept with your sister is none of your business. There are certain things a gentleman keeps to himself.”
A smile stole across Weston’s face. “Is that so? Not when it comes to my little sister. I don’t know you. Why don’t you tell me about yourself? Start at the beginning.”
Garrett met Weston’s, and then Liam’s, direct gaze. “I was born at a young age.” He couldn’t resist smiling at the brothers’ polished but belligerent recklessness.
Weston hesitated, and then whacked Liam on his belly with the back of his hand. “You’ve got to admit that smart-ass remark was about as good as yours when Danielle’s parents cornered you. He’s too quick to give us anything we don’t already know. What do you think? Should we give him a pass?”
Garrett’s gaze reached toward the top of the stairs. Mac had disappeared. He scanned the room. When he found her, jealousy bludgeoned him with a sharp right hook. Another handsome man, about her age, had her wrapped in his arms. The man was holding her close, and she let him.
Without thinking, he took a step forward and felt a hand clamp around his upper arm.
Weston’s hand held him in place. “Easy there, Doctor. You took a vow to protect life, and from the look on your face, I doubt that’s your intention.”
What the hell was he doing? “Yeah, and what intention would that be?”
“Tony and my sister go back to kindergarten. And before you get the wrong impression, Tony isn’t McKenzie’s type, or should I say she isn’t Tony’s type?”
“And what type’s that?”
“The male type.”
Garrett shoved his hands in his pockets to hide fists.
Liam jerked his chin, pointing at the ladies who were heading their direction. “I meant to ask. What’s with calling my sister Mac? She hates it, you know.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Is that why you do it? Just to irritate her?”
“No. That’s not why.” Garrett glanced over his shoulder, calculating how much time he had before the women arrived. “I have three sisters. Every one of them will roll right over the top of you if you’re not careful. I learned early to get out of the way. I thought I had a pretty good handle on the female population until I met your sister. She’s strong, tenacious, and when she’s through fixing you, you feel like you’ve been run over by a Mack truck.”
A bark of laughter from the Carver men reverberated throughout the corridor.
Garrett caught the look of approval from her father, who had joined them moments earlier. “If you boys are finished beating your chests and dragging each other through the mud, I suggest you shake hands and be civil because the ladies are almost upon us. I don’t want an earful when I get home.”
Seconds later, Garrett stepped back to allow Mrs. Carver, McKenzie, and Weston’s wife Courtney to mingle with the group.
“Are you all right?” Mac pondered his face with concern.
“Your brothers and I were discussing the score. How ‘bout them Yankees?”
She laughed and leaned in. “You’re a terrible liar.”
“I’m wounded.” Garrett feigned a pain in his left side.
“McKenzie, straighten your posture. Photographers are still present,” the Carver matriarch warned. “Dr. Branston, you held up well tonight. You’ll do well for the hospital.”
“Mother,” McKenzie responded with a tinge of embarrassment. “We all know the drill. Smile. Be Polite. Pose for the cameras…”
“…and don’t embarrass the family,” the three Carver children finished in harmony.
“Okay. I’ll stop the fussing. I’m so proud of this family. We pulled off another great event. That reminds me. McKenzie, Thursday is the Carver Trust Annual Board meeting. We will need a full accounting of this event and to select next year’s date.” She gave her daughter a look and tone that assumed there would be no pushback. “And I would like to see you delegat
e more next year.”
“I can help,” Courtney offered.
McKenzie opened her mouth to say something, but her mother interrupted.
“I understand. I transferred the role of president to you, and you have your own stamp to put on it, but your painting earned the highest donation tonight. I think a larger painting, or two, is in order for next year.”
McKenzie’s jaw dropped open but no words emerged.
“Mother,” Weston said, drawing his mother’s attention as he placed an arm around his wife’s expanding pregnant waist. “Perhaps waiting a couple of weeks before scheduling a planning meeting would be more appropriate. You’ve barely had time to enjoy and reflect on this year’s success.”
Mrs. Carver’s pursed lips loosened, and Garrett saw a slight hint of respect in the mother’s eye. “Quite right. We are tired. I will arrange a family dinner to discuss what we could do better next year,” her perfectly arched brow raised. “Better control over the hospital committee is at the top on my list,” she turned slightly. “Dr. Branston, you’ll be expected, as well.”
A surge of surprise cascaded along his spine. And here I thought the men controlled the family. Guess I was wrong.
“I don’t know how you do it, Mother. You’ve been going since six this morning,” McKenzie slid a delicate foot from under the hem of her dress. “My feet are killing me, and I can’t breathe in this thing.” Her gaze traveled down the elegant sheath molded tight against her body.
Weston retrieved his cell phone from his pocket. “I’ll text my driver. He’ll take you home.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Mac frowned.
Weston slid a slim black phone into his inner jacket pocket. “Already done.”
