Captive Hearts (Hearts on Fire Book 2)

by L. M. Connolly

  If only it had hung on a little longer! But the fire had exposed the shortcomings of the kitchen to someone she couldn’t swear to secrecy. His care for her touched her, but it had come at a cost. If she didn’t get the wiring fixed, she had no doubt he’d make it his job to report it. Or the place would burn down, and because the wiring was faulty, she wouldn’t get any insurance money.

  The insurance company might get pissy anyway, and there was no way she couldn’t get the job done. That meant they’d chop into the walls, lift the floorboards. She’d have to get the whole place redecorated.

  The bills just kept piling up.

  Propping her elbows on the table, she supported her chin in her cupped hands, and watched him chopping and slicing. “Are you a chef in your spare time?”

  Glancing up, he caught her gaze and smiled. “No.” He’d lit more candles and set them around the prep area. The flickering, golden light made his tanned skin glow with health and strength. “It’s a hobby, something I do to keep myself sane.”

  “That sounds interesting. Why do you need to keep sane?”

  “Busy job. Persistent relatives.” He paused, and plucked a rinsed lettuce from the basket he’d used to collect what he wanted from the fridge. “They’re never-ending in their demands, and I have a lot of them. My father has four siblings and each of them married, three of them more than once, and they had children.”

  “Four?” Scarlett squeaked. “I only have my father. I always wanted a big family.”

  “Count your blessings,” he told her grimly, selecting a few plump tomatoes for the slaughter. “They all have a say and they all make their needs clear. Loudly.”

  “Why should you be the one to give it to them?” How much did he earn, anyway, to keep all those people? A salesman’s salary couldn’t cope with those kinds of demands.

  “Precisely.” He started on a hapless cucumber, chopping into it ruthlessly and precisely.

  She eyed the vegetable cautiously. “Do you pulverize them into submission?”

  Startled, he gave her the full impact of those blue eyes, and laughed. He put down the knife. “No. Some I treat very carefully.” His gaze lingered.

  She looked away. “But you probably pulverize them anyway.”

  He returned to his chopping. “What makes you say that?”

  “You’re confident, and you know exactly what to do.”

  He grinned wryly at the red pepper he was deseeding. “Not always. But if you’re not sure of yourself you’ll never get anything done.”

  Decisive. But she still wouldn’t like to be on the other end of his anger. He didn’t seem to be the kind of man anyone wronged twice. That kind of person gave her the shivers, but Evan gave her different kinds of shivers. The kind she didn’t know how to handle.

  Watching Evan work was soothing, the repetitive actions giving her an inner count, checking her incipient panic.

  He startled her by saying, “Go sit in the dining room. There’s no sense both of us putting up with this atmosphere.”

  At first, her fuddled mind considered he meant the tension between them, which gathered in strength every time she looked at him. But of course he didn’t mean that. The smell of smoke and burning rubber still permeated the air. She’d almost forgotten it. Like the damp smell that infested parts of the building, she’d blocked it out.

  Scraping back her chair, she got up and left the room, shooting him a quick smile as she went.

  Ten minutes later, he came through. She was sitting at the table he’d chosen, moving the meals they’d abandoned to another, less favored spot. He’d chosen well, a place in the middle of the room, where the occupants could look out of the windows, but not be seen. She’d always liked this table.

  He brought a tray laden with goodies; a big glass bowl of salad, some little pots of dressing, a tray of cooked meats and crusty sliced bread, together with all the condiments anyone could wish for. At the smell of the bread, faint because it hadn’t been warmed, and the sharp scent of the dressing, Scarlett’s appetite perked right up. In fact, it sat up and begged.

  “Hungry?”

  She breathed in, savoring the display. “Oh, yes, especially now. It looks fantastic.”

  He sat next to her at the round table. She caught her breath, because she’d expected him to take a seat opposite. He shook out the damask napkin, and tucked it tenderly across her lap, before seeing to his own. Just like a lover.

  This man devastated her senses. She’d have to work doubly hard not to show it. Her sensible underwear covered her hardened nipples and the wetness down below.

  The food was delicious. Scarlett put the first forkful into her mouth and tasted the crispness of the lettuce mixed with the sweet-bitter dressing. “Wow,” she said when she could. “This is really good. You should really think about becoming a chef.”

  He smiled, but said nothing, only lifting his glass of water and raising it to her. “I guess I got distracted into another career.”

  Sales? How engrossing was that? But it was his business, not hers, so she kept her reasoning to herself. After all, she’d backed herself into the profession of hotelier.

  “Do you like what you do?” There she went again. She didn’t seem to be able to help it, letting her mouth run off before her brain caught up with it.

  He answered readily enough. “Sure. It keeps me busy.”

  Of course, a nondescript answer would be the one she should go with. He was warning her off, kindly of course, but firmly. She should take the hint.

  “I’m better over here in England. Putting an ocean between me and my family.” He grimaced.

  “My family has always been in the hotel business, always here. My father and I are close.”

  He went on unprompted. “I never got on with mine. My mother left us early, so I only had him.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” she said softly.

  He shook his head. “No, she didn’t die, she left us. I was barely born before she found another man to look after her. She divorced my father and remarried.” He ate another mouthful of food before he spoke again. “I have a half brother barely two years younger than me. I had a half-sister, but she died as a baby.” With a clink, he put down his fork. “Now I have a stepmother barely five years older than I am, and a clutch of siblings under five years old.”

  “Wow.” Scarlett struggled for something to say.

  “Yeah, wow. My mother was born poor. White trash, some people would say. She married and had a kid young, then moved to New York and met my father. The marriage hit the heights and then plunged just as fast.”

  “So she left your father alone with you?”

  He shrugged. “It didn’t slow him down much. You can see why I don’t have any plans to settle down anytime soon.” He began to eat again.

  Her plate was empty and her appetite had fled. How could anyone bring a child up like that? His father should have dedicated his life to his son. If she had children, she’d—

  What?

  Scarlett had to admit she didn’t know, but the thought jolted her into reality. She didn’t have time for children, but what had happened to her childhood dreams? When she was little she’d always wanted to be a wife and mother. Lulled by the old romance novels she’d found, dating back to the fifties, when all a woman wanted was a husband and home, she’d dreamed of someone arriving at the hotel and sweeping her off her feet.

  These days she wanted more. She wanted it all, but she didn’t know if that was possible. So she’d settle for what she could get. Which did not include a husband and family right now. But a lover wasn’t out of consideration.

  Now she was really racing ahead. She had to stop this, now. Except his proximity invited daydreams, of the kind she usually shut down fast.

  Chapter Four

  Why had he shot his mouth off? If she decided to get busy on the internet, she could track him down from the information he’d given her.

  Ethan kept eating, because he was afraid if he didn’t,
he’d give out even more. Like his name, or the name of his brother, or that his mother had left his father to marry an Italian aristocrat, and the owner of a big car company. All the things that would lead anyone with half a brain to work out who he was. But it had felt so good to open up to somebody who wasn’t involved in his family’s complex problems. Maybe he should have kept it vaguer.

  Scarlett was dangerous, although he doubted she knew that. With her features softened by golden candlelight she was even more gorgeous than when he’d first seen her. Not rake-thin like many of the women he dated, not successful and racing to the top, none of that. All she wanted was her hotel and peace of mind.

  Both of which he was about to take away from her.

  It was for her own good. This building was falling apart around her ears. But his first thought when the lights went out was not how much he could take off the value, it was saving her hide. Nothing else had mattered but keeping her safe. He’d even offered to take her to the Noir, which would have effectively blown his cover and the reason he was here, to take a good look at the place incognito.

  His response shocked him.

  He was slipping. Either that or something else was obsessing him, her distress for instance. He couldn’t bear to see her distress, and the urge to comfort and reassure her was overwhelming. Right now all he wanted was to hold her and never let her go.

  Never let her go?

  Now he was running straight into the arms of crazy.

  So he finished his meal, and waited for her to finish. After they cleared up, they could go to bed. Separately, of course.

  But as he watched her toy with the last morsels on her plate, the last thing he wanted was a lonely bed in a strange room.

  Then he saw it. A lone tear trailed down her cheek, gleaming in the candlelight. At the sight, all his good intentions flew to the four winds.

  He touched the tear, stopped its progress before it reached her chin. She gasped, the sound loud in the silence, and turned to him, eyes wide. Gazing right into them, he took his finger to his mouth and licked.

  Her eyes dilated, grew dark. Her knife fell to her plate with a clatter, but neither of them looked away.

  “Tell me you don’t want this,” he rasped as he leaned in to kiss her.

  She didn’t. Instead, she tilted her chin back and met his lips with hers.

  So soft, so welcoming. He cupped her shoulders, slipped his hands down her arms and drew her closer, so she leaned forward in imminent danger of tumbling off her chair. He solved that problem by shoving his own chair back and lifting her to sit on his lap.

  Every second he expected her to protest. If she did, he’d release her, no matter what it cost him. But she didn’t. Sinking into him, she leaned on his chest, her thighs warming and teasing his erection. She tasted divine, of sharp vinaigrette dressing and a sweet, melting taste that was all her. She made him think of strawberries and chocolate, rich, indulgent coffee and cream.

  Satisfaction enveloped him, together with an aching need to see more, to take more. Scarlett drove every thought out of his mind, everything except her. He slipped his tongue into her mouth and was rewarded by a gentle suction, as she accepted and tasted him. A small groan—hers—reverberated down his throat. He swallowed it and went back for a second helping.

  Holding Scarlett close was no longer enough. He discovered the firm muscles of her back, and the ridge where her bra separated him from paradise. Her breasts, full and warm, pressed against his chest as she moved closer, stroking his cheek, the bristles catching on the soft skin. Sliding her other hand around his neck, she kissed him back, every bit as eager as he.

  He hungered for her. Now, and fast. No, not fast. This woman should be savored, made to last like the rarest black truffle in the forest.

  She moved in, her soft cheek sliding against his rougher one as she rested her forehead on his shoulder. He peppered kisses over her cheek and down her neck, hunting down the elusive scent of her, the heart of her sensuality. But her crisp blouse stopped him. He nudged the fabric aside with his nose and tasted what he found—the ridge of her collarbone, the delicate skin of her throat.

  Scarlett shivered, and made a wordless sound, her breath heating his skin.

  “I want you.” So much, as if she was the first woman to wake him in this way.

  “Yes,” she murmured. He heard that clearly enough. “Yes please.”

  Passion burned between them, destroying all other thoughts, only raw need left. Standing, he lifted her, but she gave a choked laugh and grabbed one of the dishes that contained a couple of candles. “I don’t want you falling down the stairs,” she murmured.

  “Neither do I.” He paused long enough to blow out the candles they were leaving behind, then went into the hall.

  Starlight glimmered through the window above the door, and the candles created an intimate pool of light around them, sending a gentle glow as they moved up the stairs and to his bedroom.

  He had a moment of panic when he couldn’t recall where he’d put his keycard, but there was no need. A gentle tap of his foot on the door showed he hadn’t locked it.

  After depositing her gently on the bed, he straightened and stared at her. The first two buttons on the front of her dress had come undone, revealing a sturdy bra of no particular color. He wanted it gone. He wanted it all gone.

  *

  Evan stood over Scarlett, dragging his T-shirt over his head. When he cast it aside, she feasted her gaze on his well-developed abs and tanned skin. His muscles obeyed him, echoing his movements, flexing and relaxing as his hands went to the button on his jeans. He paused, and met her avid gaze. “I want you, Scarlett.”

  Oh, God, he’d seen her bra! Scarlett sat up. “You might as well see the worst.”

  But when she unfastened the third button on her blouse, he leaned forward, planted his hands either side of her body and kissed her. As before, she succumbed, melting into him, eagerly nipping and sucking as he bore her back on to the bed. Lifting her seemingly without effort, he rearranged her until only her feet hung over the edge, and then leaned into her, blanketing her body with his own.

  Rolling to one side, he continued to kiss her as he finished the job she’d started. One by one the pearl buttons on her prim blouse gave way, until he parted the fabric, and pushed it off her shoulders. Sliding his hand up her bare back, sending shivers chasing up her spine, he slipped his fingers under the bra strap and unfastened the garment with one practiced twist.

  Her breasts swelled, the nipples rubbing against the too-soft, well-worn fabric of her bra. He didn’t look down as he pulled the blouse away and then tugged the bra straps down her arms, one by one. He maneuvered her gently, turning her so he could take the garments off her and toss them away, then turning her back to face him.

  “Better?” he murmured against her mouth.

  “So much,” she responded, pressing her sensitized breasts against his chest. He wasn’t completely bare, like a stripper or a male model, but the dusting of dark hair supplied a delicious friction. She purred as she rubbed against his hot, hard muscles.

  “I have a cat.” Smiling, he moved away a fraction, enough to strip her skirt and panties off in one swift tug. She hadn’t even noticed him working on the fastenings, but she was glad they were gone. Her shoes had fallen off somewhere along the way, so she was completely naked.

  And unashamed. Few men had seen her like this, but she’d kept herself in shape. Running up and down the stairs of a tall building did that to a person. Embarrassment swept over her, until she recalled she’d shaved that morning, and although she kept her pubic hair, she trimmed it into a short, neat triangle.

  “You’re probably used to bald women,” she mumbled, immediately wishing she hadn’t said anything.

  He frowned and leaned up, taking in her shoulder-length dark brown locks. “Bald?” He tugged a strand, but it stayed put. “Oh!” He looked down.

  Now she was really embarrassed. A flush spread, hot and pink, from her gr
oin to her scalp, the prickly heat making her squirm.

  He tangled his fingers in the hair she’d drawn his attention to. Gently he tugged at a tight curl. “You’re right, although ‘bald’ isn’t the word that springs to mind. I like this.” He pursued this with a low “mmm” of appreciation.

  When he slid his forefinger between her legs, she gasped.

  “Hot and wet, just how I like it.” Evan kissed her throat, and then lower, working down to her breasts. Although Scarlett had prepared herself for his onslaught the first touch of his mouth on her breast acted like a spark of electricity. With a shocked gasp, she arched up. His flattened hand on her stomach stopped her dislodging him. The licks and little sucks he bestowed on her nipple created sensations that radiated from that tiny tip right through the rest of her body, sensitizing and thrilling her.

  Why had she ever given up sex? What had she been thinking?

  Because it had never been this good, never this all-encompassing. Nothing compared to this. His broad shoulders provided convenient support. Scarlett held on, clutching his muscles as he moved lower, kissing a path down to her most intimate secrets.

  By the time he’d taken his personal inventory of her body Scarlett was whimpering with need. She no longer cared what he saw, because obviously he appreciated every part of her.

  Evan slid up the bed to join her, his erection brushing the intimate parts of her body, ending by sliding up her thighs and nestling at the heart of her. “You’re wet, ready and delicious. I could get drunk on you.”

  The sexy murmur fed the most important sexual organ she possessed—her brain. Now everything inside her was in sync, and she was unable to think of anything else but having him, and right now.

  Fortunately, he’d left part of his intellect to practicalities. He lifted off her, a gust of cooler air leaving her bereft, but after a moment he returned, a small packet in his hand. He made short work of using the contents. “We’re protected,” he said. “I need you now, Scarlett. Let me in.”

  Raising her knees, she hugged his hips with her thighs, aching for him. Truly aching, her body yearning toward him. “I’m here.”