A Nine-Month Temptation

by Joanne Rock

  “Just because we hold off on sex doesn’t mean I need to leave you unfulfilled.” He allowed his fingers to unfurl again, tracing a circle just inside her knee.

  Her breath caught. He was close enough to hear that tiny, staggered inhalation, and he liked what it told him.

  “W-what do you mean?” She tipped her head back a fraction, her dark hair sliding sideways with the movement. The soft swish of silky locks against the leather made him want to wrap the dark length of hair around his hand. To tug her head back for another kiss.

  “I think you know.” He glided his fingers higher, beneath the dress’s hem. “But I’m glad to be more explicit. Especially if hearing the things I want to do to you will add to your pleasure.”

  Her pulse throbbed harder, a reaction he could feel against his thumb on the inside of her thigh.

  “Touching each other is an intimacy all its own,” she said carefully, even while her pupils dilated.

  “It’s a middle ground,” he countered, stilling his hand until he was certain of what she wanted to happen next. “I can take the edge off for you, and we keep our clothes on.”

  He could tell she liked the idea by the way her gaze fell to his mouth, her breath coming faster.

  “What about you?” Her fingers grazed the buttons on his shirt, and his brain promptly supplied other uses for her touch.

  “This isn’t about me.” He was resolute on that point, more than happy to delay his gratification in favor of hers. “I’m not the one going through pregnancy. It’s only fair I do something for you while you carry the greater physical burden.”

  The corners of her full lips kicked up. “You make a compelling case.”

  He allowed his fingers to press lightly into her skin where he still touched her. The room was utterly still except for the dull ticking of a clock on the fireplace mantel. “And I didn’t even use my most persuasive arguments.”

  She pressed her legs together, squeezing his hand lightly between her thighs. Her white dress took on a blue cast from the city lights filtering through the window behind her.

  “Then by all means.” She breathed the words over his mouth, arching her back to get closer. “Keep convincing me.”

  Hell. Yes.

  Hunger for her surged through him when she gave him the green light. He needed to see her eyes blaze with passion, to hear her lips chant his name. She might prevent him from providing for her in other ways, but in this, he would never fail.

  * * *

  Sable shivered at the look in Roman’s dark eyes.

  It was knowing and primally male. A seasoned warrior sizing up the castle he was about to lay siege to. Was it wrong that she wanted to revel in being the object of that lust, just for a few stolen moments? All while keeping her clothes on?

  She was maintaining some boundaries, after all. There would be no deeper intimacy tonight. Just Roman taking her body to levels of pleasure she’d only ever experienced with him.

  And, oh God, it already felt so good to have his palm splayed over her thigh, his fingers drifting closer to where she desperately needed him. His wide shoulders loomed over hers as he leaned closer to kiss her.

  “I hardly know where to taste you first,” he said against her lips, the words vibrating up her spine since they sat so close. “Here.” He sucked her lower lip into his mouth before letting it slide free again. “Or here.” He licked his way down her throat, the warm suction of his mouth pulling a moan from her. “I just know you taste so good everywhere.”

  His fingers grazed the edge of her panties beneath her dress, one knuckle stroking up her center over the silk barrier as he spoke.

  “Roman.” She shuddered at the feel of him there, desire turning into a sharp, empty ache. “Please.”

  “I need you closer to me first.” He scooped her up and moved her to his lap, spreading his legs wide to cradle her while her head rested against his shoulder. “I want to feel you against me when you find your pleasure.”

  She wasn’t about to argue since it felt amazing to be surrounded by so much male heat and strength. But the need to wriggle out of her clothes so he could touch more of her was growing fiercer by the second. And if she felt restrained, she could only imagine what a torment this must be for him. The proof of his need was a hot brand against her hip. It would be so easy to turn in his arms and straddle his hips to give them both what they craved.

  “Is this better?” She arched up to kiss along his jaw. Lick the skin beneath his ear.

  “Much. Now I have a front seat to see you come apart for me.” He cupped her sex, stroking her with the heel of his hand and propelling her higher. “It’s been too long since the last time. I’ve had months to think about all the ways I wanted to touch you if I ever got the chance again.”

  She wanted to focus on his words, but it was impossible with his fingers working her into a frenzy of sensation, gently pinching and kneading, stroking, and plucking. Her breath came too fast to catch and she tightened her grip on his shoulders.

  “I missed you, too,” she admitted, her defenses low while her need for him built. Besides, they were talking about sex. Right? “I missed this.”

  “I’m going to prove how well I can take care of you, Sable,” he whispered against her ear before nipping the flesh there. “You never need to go unsatisfied.”

  He slowed his touches beneath her dress and edged aside her underwear to plunge two fingers inside her. Her body stilled for an extended, breathless moment, her spine going taut. Then sensation rocked her, ripples of pleasure pulsing one after the other. Her feminine muscles shook and trembled with the force of her orgasm.

  She might have screamed. She definitely called his name. More than once. The waves of release just kept coming, until she was wrung out and tucking her face into his shoulder to try to collect herself.

  Slowly she became aware of Roman kissing the top of her head. Easing her underwear back into place.

  All while his body remained rock-hard and in need of release.

  “It seems unfair—” she began, but he bent to kiss her before she could complete the thought.

  “Just...let me hold you a little longer.” His tone sounded off, somehow, but she guessed that it was because he was still battling his own desire.

  He didn’t meet her gaze, though, so she found it difficult to gauge his mood, let alone pull herself back together.

  Being together this way would only lead her to more feelings for the father of her child, and she wasn’t ready for that.

  And no matter what Roman said about wanting to provide for her throughout her pregnancy, she suspected that the events of the evening—the whole day, for that matter—rocked him, too.

  “I should go.” She shifted again, and this time he didn’t stop her when she slid off his lap.

  When she met his dark gaze, his expression was shuttered. So even looking right into his eyes, she couldn’t get any read on him or what he might be thinking.

  He had secrets, she realized. Or, at the very least, something he wasn’t telling her. The idea pricked at her sharply, but she trusted the instinct.

  “When will I see you again?” he asked, coming to his feet.

  He didn’t touch her this time, which had her emotional radar pinging all over the place.

  She focused on his question, knowing she’d have to find a way to balance her feelings for Roman with practical concerns. The sooner she figured out how to do that, the better.

  “Normally there are only two ultrasound appointments per pregnancy, but the obstetrician agreed to another one in two weeks.” She retrieved her purse and slung the bag over one shoulder.

  “I can’t go another two weeks without seeing you.” His brows drew together in concern. Or maybe confusion. “And I’ll drive you home, Sable.”

  “That’s not necessary.” The sooner she resurrected boundaries,
the better.

  “I insist.” He found his phone and keyed something in before pocketing it again. “A driver will meet us downstairs.”

  “Fine. I just need my coat.” She moved toward the door, feeling suddenly adrift and out of place in his wealthy world.

  Not just because she was an intern in his company who was now expecting his child. But also because she might need to leave New York in a few months’ time, while he was contemplating a second home here even as he enjoyed a space like this one with the kind of view that cost millions. How was she going to share a child with someone like Roman, who could afford to order his world however he chose?

  “Sable.” He wrapped an arm around her waist and hauled her backward against him. “Don’t shut me out. We’ll come up with a good plan for the future, but we have to do it together. Right?”

  He spoke the words against the top of her head, and some of the tension drained from her shoulders at the feel of his chest pressed to her. Which made no sense since being physical with him also accounted for the awkward turn things had taken between them. Hadn’t it?

  “Once I pass the twelve-week mark, I’ll be better able to focus on the future.” She was already attached to this baby. Making premature plans with Roman could only hurt more later if anything happened to endanger the pregnancy now. Her heart had only just begun to heal. She needed more time to shore up her boundaries.

  “I understand.” He turned her in his arms, his strong hands gripping her shoulders for a moment before falling away. “So let’s use the next two weeks to get to know each other better. Feel more comfortable with one another to pave the way for a good parenting relationship down the road.”

  She wanted to ask him why he’d checked out on her tonight after he touched her. Where had his thoughts flown in those moments when he wouldn’t meet her gaze? But she wasn’t ready to make herself vulnerable that way yet, to reveal the insecurity his inattention had stirred.

  Besides, he’d been thoughtful and generous to her in many ways this evening. She wouldn’t discount those efforts. She just needed to keep a careful rein on her feelings so she didn’t end up reading more into the situation than what was really there.

  “Okay. Two weeks to find our way,” she agreed. She folded her arms across the front of body, suddenly feeling a need for more distance to regain her objectivity. “How do you suggest we implement this plan of yours?”

  He stepped away to retrieve her lightweight trench coat, then settled it on her shoulders, all with minimal contact. Was he reading her signals? Or was he throwing off his own now that they’d reached the negotiation phase of the evening?

  Exhaustion from the long, demanding day hit her all at once, bound up with the mental weariness from trying to decipher Roman.

  “How much of New York have you seen since you’ve been here? We could play tourist for a day. Take in some sights.” He grabbed a set of keys before escorting her to the door, then doubled back to the kitchen. “I almost forgot about the cake,” he explained as he took out a small paper bag from one of the catering sacks that remained on the counter. “Never let it be said I sent you home without dessert.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.” Her cheeks warmed at the memory of how they’d spent the time after dinner instead. When he returned to her, paper bag in hand, she shoved aside the thought to focus on his earlier question. “And I’d love to play tourist for a day. I’ve been too busy working to see the sights.”

  Plus, if they were out sightseeing, they couldn’t get sidetracked by the chemistry that was always simmering in the background, ready to boil over at the least provocation.

  “In that case, can you keep your Saturday open?” he asked as he opened and held the door for her, readying himself to accompany her home.

  “I can.” That would leave her with three days to shore up her defenses before she saw him again. Three days of mental pep talks to ensure she kept their relationship more on a friendly level. Less passion-fueled.

  “Perfect. I’ll pick you up at noon and we’ll make a day of it.” His hand grazed her back as they stepped into the elevator cabin together, and just that small touch sent new shivers along her skin.

  Who did she think she was kidding?

  Three days wouldn’t be nearly enough.

  Seven

  Friday evening, before her date with Roman the next day, Sable was already dreaming up excuses for canceling. She peeled off her earbuds as she trekked out of the Fulton Street subway station and headed toward Fort Greene Park, anxiety dogging her. She tried to think of something that Roman wouldn’t see right through.

  The truth was she didn’t trust herself around all that potent sexuality, especially when it came wrapped up in so much concern for her. Well, for her baby. Maybe it was all the pregnancy hormones that made her swoon at the memory of Roman’s obvious care for her health and the well-being of their child. But the fact that he wanted to be at her doctor appointments, that it mattered to him if she was eating healthy and sleeping well, and that he’d felt compelled to celebrate the ultrasound had all slid right past her defenses.

  Add to that the way his touch could launch her body into the stratosphere? The man was her kryptonite. And she didn’t have any more idea how to set boundaries now than she had two days ago when she’d come apart in his arms.

  Her brownstone came into view as the lights of evening started to illuminate the darkening street. Sable’s nerves twisted at the thought of letting him get any closer. Physically, sure, but even more so emotionally. She couldn’t afford to lose her hard-won sense of self after the nightmare of her divorce following the miscarriage.

  She was almost at her stoop when the blare of rock music hit her ears. A guitar solo wailed through an open window on the garden floor. There was a bedroom down there, but it had been vacated three weeks ago by a dancer who’d nailed down a spot as a Rockette and was now sharing an apartment with a few other performers in the theater district.

  Had someone else moved in? Blair Wescott, the makeup artist and Mini-Me version of Cybil Deschamps, had already claimed the big bedroom on the third floor right below Sable.

  She hurried up the steps to the entrance and let herself inside, more than ready to throw herself into any new roommate intrigue to take her mind off Roman and her situation. Whenever she wasn’t thinking about how to build a secure future for her child, how to reconcile her professional dreams with her new reality, or when to tell Marcel she was expecting, she obsessed about Roman and what kind of relationship she should be building with him. She hadn’t realized until she heard the music that she craved girl talk. Stat.

  “Hello?” she called once she was inside the foyer. Her voice echoed hollowly in the entrance hallway as she peered into the great room. There wasn’t a lot of furniture in the space.

  Cybil had left them the basics—a couple of vintage couches and chairs to fill the huge great room with high ceilings—but there wasn’t much in the way of rugs, paintings or decor. The original parquet floors shone dully in the light coming in from the street since no one had switched on any lamps up here. Laughter floated up the staircase from the garden level, audible in the momentary reprieve between rock songs.

  “Hello?” she called again as she started downstairs, enticed by the scent of popcorn.

  “It’s my long-lost fourth floor roommate.” Tana Blackstone appeared at the base of the staircase.

  Petite and delicate, Tana had a fairy-like beauty with her glossy brown hair and heart-shaped face. But unless she was auditioning for a part, she took tough-girl fashion seriously. When she wasn’t in leather and spikes, she draped herself in oversize flannel shirts, army-navy store finds, and combat boots. Her nods to femininity were dyed hair tips in an ever-changing rainbow of colors and glittery eye makeup.

  Sable had to admire her commitment to an aesthetic. Today, Tana wore a T-shirt with a cartoon superhero, spiked leath
er bracelets, and jeans with more holes than fabric, which showed off spiderweb-patterned tights beneath. Her hair had green tips to match her eyeshadow and a tiny stud in her nose.

  From behind Tana, their new roommate peeked her head around a wainscoted column that separated the kitchen from the hallway at the base of the stairs.

  “We needed a Friday happy hour,” Blair explained as she raised a martini glass containing a frosty-looking yellow drink layered on top of a red base. “Ready for a raspberry lemon drop?”

  Tana waved Sable toward the all-white kitchen. “You have to try one. Blair is a grand wizard mixologist. These things look like works of art and they taste even better.”

  “Oh. Um.” Sable would have given her right arm for one of those gorgeous drinks two months ago. She hesitated as she searched for a believable excuse. “I can’t. I’m on a mega-strict cleanse.”

  “On a Friday?” Blair used one hand to hoist herself onto the marble counter next to the blender where she’d obviously been working. There were a few liquor bottles, and lemons and raspberries spilled over the edge of a cutting board.

  Blair Westcott looked far more at ease today in a pair of purple leggings and a slouchy pink yoga top, her platinum blond hair in one long braid that swung over her shoulder. With her high-top sneakers and her face scrubbed clean, she looked more like a college co-ed than the sought-after makeup artist that Cybil Deschamps had personally chosen to work for her cosmetics company.

  Spotting the bowl of popcorn on the counter near Blair, Sable scooped up a handful to nosh on.

  Tana tapped the screen of her phone, lowering the volume on the head-banging music coming from the Bluetooth speaker balanced on the coffee maker. “We’re drinking to my second callback for a soap opera role, which could be the difference between me getting to afford one more month in New York or—not.”

  Sable empathized more than Tana could know, considering how her own days in this expensive city were numbered now that she was expecting a baby. Unless she accepted Roman’s offer.