Demanding His Hidden Heir (Mills & Boon Modern) (Secret Heirs of Billionaires, Book 26)

by Jackie Ashenden

  She wanted him. She wanted him so badly.

  So why fight him?

  But she wasn’t fighting him. She was letting him have what they both desperately wanted. She only wanted to show him that he wouldn’t get to have things all his own way.

  He didn’t speak; instead his hands settled on her hips and he lifted her onto his desk as if she weighed nothing at all.

  Matilda bit down on her instinctive gasp as the heat of his palms burned through the thin cotton of her dress, in stark contrast to the cool wood of the desktop. She couldn’t stop looking at him, even though his gaze was scorching her. He was magnetic north and she was a compass needle, relentlessly pulled towards him and held there, powerless.

  But no, she wasn’t powerless, was she? Because she could see her own power in his eyes, in the hunger, and beneath that something else, something she remembered back from those long, heated days on the island. When he’d taken her again and again, demanding and ferocious, as if he’d been starving for something that only she’d been able to feed.

  She’d never understood what it was that he was starving for, but she could see that same need burning in his expression right now. A kind of desperation.

  It made her heart go tight for some reason and before she could think better of it she reached out to cup his hard jaw with her palm, his skin hot against hers. ‘It’s all right, Enzo,’ she said. ‘You can have me. Right now, if you want it.’

  Shock flared in his eyes, his head jerking back from her touch almost instantly, as if she was the one who’d burned him and not the other way around.

  Then, as if he’d realised what he’d done, his mouth pulled back in a snarl, anger blazing. ‘You think I would wait?’ His hands slid from her hips down her thighs to her knees, his thumbs sliding between them as he gripped them. ‘After four years?’ Despite the savagery in his eyes, his hands were gentle as he pulled her thighs wide. ‘You’ve been flaunting yourself at me, teasing me for the past two weeks. And now I’m hungry, cara. I’m not going to wait.’

  The intimate stretch of her inner thigh muscles made her shiver, the throb in her sex more intense. And maybe his obvious anger should have made her afraid, especially considering what they were about to do.

  But for some reason it didn’t; she knew he wouldn’t hurt her. No, it wasn’t fear that she felt. Beneath the pull of her own desire was curiosity. A burning need to know why he’d pulled away so sharply from her touch.

  She stared up into his beautiful face, trying to ignore the heat of his hands on her. ‘Why are you so angry, Enzo?’

  He blinked, the question obviously taking him by surprise, but then the shock in his eyes was quickly masked. ‘Why do you think?’ He gave her a savage kind of smile as his hands curved to grip her just above each knee, his thumbs stroking back and forth along the sensitive skin on the inside of them. ‘Because you’ve been flitting about the villa in see-through dresses, and don’t tell me it’s just because it’s hot outside.’

  But Matilda slowly shook her head. ‘That’s not why you’re angry.’

  His jaw hardened. ‘Oh, no, cara. We’re not doing this now.’ He stroked her inner thighs with his thumbs, sliding higher and higher, and she could feel her curiosity begin to dissolve like fog on a hot day, burned away by the heat of his touch.

  Thinking was difficult. Breathing almost impossible. All there was in the entire world was the intense, blazing gold of his eyes and the demand in them. The heat of his body inches from hers and the hot spice of his scent that wrapped itself around her.

  ‘Tell me, Matilda,’ Enzo ordered, the timbre of his voice even rougher, even darker, his accent more pronounced. ‘Tell me you want this.’

  Again, the hint of that desperation in his voice, the hot glitter of it in his gaze. Almost as if he was...afraid that she might not give it to him.

  It was a glimpse of vulnerability, a chink in his icy armour, and it hooked into something deep inside her.

  She could use that vulnerability against him, the way he used her vulnerabilities against her. Or...she could do something else. Show him something better.

  He was a man who loved a fight; she knew that by now. And he was used to it. He fought his battles in the boardroom every day. But what if he didn’t have to fight to have her? What if she simply...gave herself to him? Surrendered completely, the way she had on the island?

  Matilda didn’t think too hard about it, she simply went with her instinct, putting her hands on the desk behind her and leaning back on them, conscious of how the posture arched her spine and lifted her breasts. ‘I want this,’ she said huskily, letting her own desire show in her gaze. ‘I want you.’

  The bright gold in his eyes flared, then slowly he leaned forward, placing his hands near hers so his body was looming over her, his gaze mere inches away. ‘You know I’ll make you beg, don’t you? I promised you I would.’

  A shiver coursed down her spine. Even fully dressed the heat he put out astonished her, making everything inside her want to burn along with him. The need to touch him, put her hands to his chest and test all the hard muscle beneath his shirt, was almost overwhelming.

  But she held back, teasing them both a little. ‘I did tell you there would be no begging involved.’

  The intensity in his face became as sharp as a sword blade. He leaned in a fraction more until his mouth was almost brushing hers. ‘And I told you what would happen if I got down on my knees for you.’ His breath was warm and smelled of peppermints and she wanted to kiss him so badly she couldn’t think. ‘Are you sure you’re ready for that?’

  She swallowed, the wild thrill of him, of the surrender she was going to give him, making her brave in a way she’d never imagined. ‘Of course. Perhaps you should stop talking and start doing.’

  For a second he said nothing, merely stared intently at her.

  Then he reached down, gripped her thighs and pulled her to the edge of the desk.

  Matilda’s heartbeat was drumming in her head and she couldn’t control her breathing. He was looking at her as if he wanted to eat her alive.

  You know that’s probably what he’s going to do.

  Oh, yes, she did. And she couldn’t wait.

  She trembled as he dropped to his knees in front of the desk and reached to push the fabric of her skirt up and around her waist, baring her but for the small scrap of white lace between her legs.

  The aristocratic lines of his face tightened, naked hunger glittering in his eyes as he stared at her for one long second. Then he hooked a finger in the lace of her knickers and pulled them to the side, exposing her completely.

  She couldn’t stop shaking, little shivers chasing over her skin. She loved the way he looked at her; it made her want to spread her legs wider for him.

  ‘Beautiful,’ he murmured, his gaze directly on the small cluster of damp curls. ‘Exactly like I remembered. Red as fire and just as hot.’ His hands slid up the outside of her thighs then slipped beneath them, drawing her even closer to the edge of the desk, right to where his mouth was.

  Her own breathing was becoming frantic. She put her hands out to grip the edge of the desk, holding on tight, because the second he put his mouth to her she was going to go up in flames.

  Then Enzo’s fingers were tightening on her thighs, his thumbs moving over her slick flesh, spreading her open, his hot breath feathering over her sensitive sex and making her shudder.

  Then his mouth covered her, his tongue pushing inside her, and she was lost.

  The pleasure was sharp, agonising, and she groaned with sheer relief because at last—at last—he was touching her and it had been so long since she’d been touched, so long since she’d felt any kind of physical pleasure that the intensity of the sensation was almost a shock.

  She wanted to look down, to see what he was doing, but that would probably push her over the edge and she didn’t
want this to end, not so soon.

  So she closed her eyes and reached for him, threaded her fingers through the black silk of his hair, shifting her hips against his mouth, wanting even more intensity, even more sensation.

  But his hands closed hard on her hips, holding her in place so she couldn’t move. ‘Keep still,’ he said roughly. ‘Or you won’t get what you want.’

  She shuddered. ‘Enzo, please...’

  ‘Yes, that’s a good start.’ He leaned in again, breathing over her, making her tremble. ‘Beg me in Italian and I’ll give you more.’

  Her brain wouldn’t work. What was ‘please’ in Italian? She couldn’t remember. ‘I don’t...kn-know.’

  ‘You do, cara. I taught you, remember? You used to say it so beautifully.’ His thumbs moved, stroking over her flesh, giving her pleasure in short, hard jolts. ‘Perhaps you need a reminder?’

  But no, she remembered now. She remembered completely. ‘Per favore, Enzo...’ she whispered, her fingers tightening further in his hair.

  ‘Good girl,’ he murmured. ‘Now scream for me.’

  And she felt his mouth on her again, his tongue exploring her wet flesh, his fingers stroking her, taking her apart with ecstasy, and then there was no thought at all.

  She surrendered completely.

  When he pushed his tongue inside her one final time, she did scream.

  Just as he wanted her to.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  HIS OFFICE ECHOED with the sound of his name as Matilda shuddered and came apart in his hands, the sweet taste of her climax against his tongue. And no doubt his secretary would have heard it too.

  Enzo didn’t care.

  The only thing that mattered was the woman shaking on the desk in front of him, her warm body in his arms, the flavour of her in his mouth.

  Dio, finally.

  After all the years when she’d haunted his dreams, here she was at last. On his desk, in his arms. His. As she was always meant to be.

  He stroked his hands down her bare thighs, caressing her as she trembled. Then he reached for the waistband of her knickers and began to draw them down and off her.

  His heart was beating fast and he was so hard he hurt. But he wasn’t going to rush this. He wasn’t going to let her dictate the way this would go.

  He wanted to punish her for what she’d done to him, for every second of the four years since she’d left him, for all the lies she’d told him and for what she continued to do to him with her very existence, driving him to madness.

  Yes, he would punish her.

  With pleasure.

  He got to his feet, tugging her underwear completely free then discarding it on the floor. She didn’t move, looking up at him from beneath her lashes, her skin flushed a deep pink, her eyes gone silver and glazed with heat. His very own, sexy, sultry siren.

  He slid one hand into her silky red hair and took it in his fist, then he gently eased her head back so those soft, full lips were near his. Then he covered them with his, pushing his tongue into her mouth, exploring the sweet heat of her and letting her taste herself on him.

  She shuddered, a soft moan escaping her throat. Her arms lifted and she wound them around his neck, beginning to kiss him back, hesitant at first and then hungrier, more demanding.

  Yes, this was the woman he remembered. The one who’d kept nothing back and met him passion for passion. Giving him everything without reservation. Making him want more, so much more...

  Careful.

  He caught his breath. Yes, he did have to be careful, not let himself get out of hand. He could not let her generous passion get to him the way it had all those years ago.

  This time he’d stay in control.

  He tightened his grip on her hair and kissed her harder as he reached into his back pocket for his wallet. Then he nipped at her lower lip, gentle bites that made her tremble, before he released her and stepped back.

  Her cheeks were even more flushed, her mouth full and red from his kiss. The air was heavy with the scent of jasmine and the sweet, musky smell of her arousal. It was incredibly erotic. It made him want to spread her out over his desk and taste her again, maybe this time spending a couple of hours making her gasp and cry and scream his name.

  But he was so hard and he ached, and his patience was at an end.

  He pulled out a condom, then casually discarded his wallet on the desk.

  She reached out for it, reminding him of how he’d once shown her how to roll the latex down onto him and how she’d much enjoyed doing it. Not to mention how much he’d enjoyed her cool fingers on him.

  But not now. He was in charge of this, not her.

  ‘You want to help, then get me out,’ he ordered, unable to keep the rough edge from his voice.

  Her gaze met his. ‘You don’t have to fight me, Enzo,’ she said, reaching to undo his belt then flick open the button on his trousers. ‘Not now. I’ll do whatever you want.’

  He stilled. There was a gentleness to her voice that hadn’t been there before, a warmth that flowed over him like honey. A gentleness he remembered from the island, that had reached inside his chest and wrapped itself around his heart. He’d never had gentleness. His mother had never been demonstrative even before they’d been exiled, and afterwards nothing he could do was right. He’d never had warmth from her, only rejection. And after she’d gone there had only been the ice of his father’s bitterness and indifference.

  That was your fault and you know it. If you hadn’t been so demanding...

  The thought drifted through his head, but he shoved it away. Grabbed for the anger that always came so willingly, so easily.

  Except anger was hard to hold onto when her fingers were clutching the zip of his fly and slowly drawing it down, the slight brush of her knuckles against his hard-on nearly undoing him.

  You don’t want to fight her either.

  Another unwelcome thought, though this one he couldn’t seem to get rid of. It stayed there as she tried to slip her cool fingers into his boxers, and he found himself letting her, the touch of her hand around his swollen flesh making him groan.

  Dio, she was going to undo him completely if he let her keep touching him like this.

  He brushed her hands away, trying to regain some of his control, and she didn’t protest. She merely picked up the condom packet and opened it for him, getting out the condom and holding it ready in her hand, looking at him.

  Her misty grey gaze felt like cool rain on his overheated skin, and for some reason he suddenly felt outside himself with desperation.

  ‘Do you want me to—?’ she began.

  ‘No,’ he interrupted roughly, grabbing the condom from her and rolling it down in a fast, efficient movement to hide the slight shake of his hands. ‘This is part of your punishment, cara. You don’t get to touch me whenever you want.’

  Her head fell back slightly as he reached for her again, pulling her once more to the edge of the desk, and she looked up at him from beneath her lashes, her gaze silvery. There was that thing again, that gentleness, that warmth. The understanding that he hadn’t asked for and didn’t know what to do with.

  ‘But you can touch me,’ she said softly. ‘You can touch me whenever you want. I won’t ever stop you.’

  ‘Then you’re a fool,’ he said roughly, not sure why those words made him feel so angry or so desperate. ‘You give a man like me an inch and I’ll take a mile, don’t you know that?’ Because he would. His mother had hated that about him, how he’d kept pushing in a constant effort to make her feel better, to make everything okay, when all she’d wanted was to be left alone. Greedy, that was what he was, and selfish too.

  This he already knew and accepted about himself. And he owned it.

  ‘Yes.’ She lifted her hands to his chest, stroking him gently through the cotton of his shirt as if he was a wild beast tha
t she needed to soothe. ‘But perhaps a man like you needs to figure out why he wants to take that mile.’ Her gaze was full of something he couldn’t interpret. ‘Especially when I can just give it to you.’

  No, he didn’t want her surrender. He didn’t want her gentleness. He didn’t want that soft look or that warmth. No one had ever just given themselves to him like that, and why that felt wrong, he didn’t know. But he’d let it consume him four years ago and he wasn’t going to let it do the same thing again.

  So he didn’t say anything. Instead he put one hand on her thigh and gripped her tightly, then he took himself in the other and pushed inside her.

  Hard.

  She gave a soft gasp, her body jerking against his, the slick heat of her making it impossible to think. Impossible even to breathe. Her muscles had clamped tightly around him and there was a moment where all he could think about was the first time he’d had her, against the wall of the villa on that island, and he hadn’t been able to believe the intensity of the pleasure that had hit him.

  He still couldn’t believe it.

  Her fingers curled into his shirt, holding on tight, but beneath the glaze of heat in her eyes he could still see that strangely understanding look.

  As if she knew exactly what he was trying to do.

  ‘Summer,’ he said, the name she’d given him on the island slipping out before he could stop it.

  And her hands slid up his chest, her arms twining around his neck, a sigh escaping her at the sound of that name. Her eyes were full of heat and something else he couldn’t read.

  He couldn’t look away. Putting his hand at the small of her back, he held her tight against him as he drew himself out of her then pushed back in. Slower this time, drawing out the sensation.

  ‘Oh...’ Matilda arched her back, pressing her soft, full breasts against him, looking up at him with so much heat and wonder, he could hardly breathe.