"What was wrong with him?" Genevieve countered. "Girl, face it, you held out forever, too busy for men and dating, and the first time you decide to indulge had to be crazy wild. But he knows better."
"I know better." Charlotte refused to shift the responsibility. "I wasn't thinking. And that bacon is going to make me throw up. I'm not kidding. Will you watch Lourdes just until I can pull myself together?"
"Of course. No problem. We'll eat breakfast and then go exploring."
"Keep her away from the lake."
"Will do. And Charlie, no one gets pregnant their first time."
Charlotte wished that were the truth. She pressed her hand to her heaving, protesting stomach again and began to back out of the room.
"Wait, hon, I made coffee and he has great coffee, a soft brew. The best. Let me get you a cup."
Charlotte shook her head and turned and fled before she vomited all over the floor. What was wrong with her that she hadn't shown one ounce of good sense or discipline? She'd practically thrown herself at the man from the first moment that he'd touched her. Granted, he knew what he was doing. No one got to that level of skill without a lot of experience, but still, she had her rules. She wasn't a one-night stand kind of woman.
She locked the bathroom door and turned on the golden faucets. In the small, white, antique cupboard she found bath salts and dumped them liberally into the hot water. What kind of bachelor had scented bath salts in his guest bathroom? One who entertained all the time--that was for certain. She was grateful the fragrance didn't worsen the churning in her stomach; in fact, it seemed to make it a little better.
Waiting for the claw-foot tub to fill, she pulled off her long gown and walked slowly over to the full-length mirror to stare at her body. She felt different. Not just a little different but very different. Her body was the same yet not. She had marks and smudges all over her. Little bites and bigger ones. A shiver went through her as she remembered how each of those brands had been placed so deliberately. She'd gloried in that last night. All night. She'd wanted him to mark her. She touched one smudge along her thigh, and instantly her feminine sheath clenched with need. For him. Tariq.
Charlotte cupped her breast, her thumb sliding across her nipple, and instantly she had a vision of his mouth over her soft mound. Sensation followed, the stroking of his fingers, the heat of his mouth, the erotic bite of his teeth. She touched the exact spot where his teeth scraped and bit, sending a streak of lightning straight to her clit. The impression was so real that damp heat collected and her body felt empty and needy all over again.
She wanted him for her lover. For her man. She wanted him to belong to her exclusively. Did men like Tariq Asenguard commit to one woman when they had several clubs and thousands of women to choose from? That was highly unlikely.
She touched the dark strawberry on the swell of her breast. Two tiny puncture wounds from his teeth were there, and once again sensations swamped her. That bite of pain resonated deep inside of her. She gasped as she felt the burn. The need settled into a continuous torture. She would never be free of her hunger for him.
The fragrance of the bath salts helped to soothe her when a part of her wanted to cry. She would never be the same, but did she even want to be? Did she wish she'd never met him--spent a long, beautiful, perfect night with him? Sinking down into the steaming water, she had to admit, she wouldn't have traded the experience for anything. Not. Ever.
She'd felt loved and protected. Safe with him. She'd trusted him with her body. Not just her body, she realized, but with her soul and maybe even her heart. It was impossible to fall for a man she barely knew, but they'd shared such intimacy she felt connected to him in ways she'd never connected to another human being.
The water soothed her body and she closed her eyes to savor the feeling. She was very sore, but every movement was a delicious reminder of his possession. She pulled her legs up and rested her head against the tops of her knees.
She was still tired, almost in a fog, but she couldn't allow herself to take advantage of Genevieve by letting her take charge of Lourdes's first day at the Asenguard compound. She just needed a few minutes to get herself under control. What was she going to do? You didn't sleep with the boss. Essentially, if she took the job of restoring his carousels--and she wanted the job very, very much; it was her dream job--she couldn't make the mistake of sleeping with the boss.
Of course she hadn't actually accepted the job yet. But she would if she hadn't already blown it. If he had the wooden horses Ricard Beaudet had shown her in the photographs, she had to take the job. Ricard had been so excited, believing them to be some of the oldest carousel horses in existence. Where a collector in the United States had gotten such treasures, Ricard didn't know, but he was certain they were authentic. If they were, Charlotte wanted to be the one to restore their splendor to the world, but . . . Her boss. She'd thrown herself at Tariq, and she still wanted him . . . desperately.
"Almost desperately," she corrected herself, not believing it, whispering against her knees. He'd kissed her knees. He'd woken her twice more, worshiping her body. There was no other word for it. He'd worshiped her. Slowly. Making her unravel. That had been just as good as the wild--and there had been a lot of the wild.
Her body shuddered, remembering the pleasure his mouth and hands brought her, the way his body stretched hers, filling her full, flinging her into a world of pure feeling, over and over again. The kisses. He'd kissed her like he was a starving man, so hungry for her. So worshipping of her. He'd made her feel as if she were the only woman on earth. The only woman for him. Could he do that and walk away from her the next evening?
She needed to know. She had to believe she wasn't just a one-night stand for him. If he could act that well, make her become something she had never imagined, a purely sexual creature, when she knew she wasn't, then he was the greatest actor on the face of the earth.
Charlotte sighed. She couldn't hide forever in the bathtub. The water felt wonderful on her tired, sore body, and the fog was beginning to lift. She glanced toward the window. It was covered with filmy Victorian lace and looked out over the lake. Shrubbery was everywhere, beautifully cared for, but left a little wild. Everything seemed to be a little wild on the property. She'd noted that even when she'd driven in so late and it had been dark. That should have given her a warning.
Sielamet, are you doubting me? Are you sorry you gave yourself to me last night? All night? You swore you were mine. I believed you and woke up happy. Did you?
His voice moved through her mind. Soft. Intimate. Compelling. Was there a note of hurt? Her heart clenched in her chest so hard she pressed her fist to her breast. She would never hurt him, not ever. Not for anything.
I woke up confused and a little scared. She tried thinking the words in her mind. Tried projecting them to him. Instantly she felt the connection between them grow stronger, as if she'd tapped into stored energy--or his mind was just that powerful.
Scared? Of Fridrick? Those men stalking you? They cannot get to you here. Safeguards are in place. The children living here as well as Emeline need to be guarded day and night. They choose to be here because we can protect them. Your friends--Grace, Genevieve--and you as well as little Lourdes are welcome to the same protection, although I am told Grace has refused.
Charlotte hadn't known that. She hadn't checked her phone and Grace was certain to have texted her as to why she didn't want to stay. She had no family and tended to stick with Charlotte and Genevieve. She was younger than them and had taken the job of nanny to Lourdes almost from the time Charlotte's brother had lost his wife. She'd only been nineteen years old.
Charlotte knew she could easily take the out that she was afraid of those pursuing her. It was the truth, but it wasn't the reason she'd woken afraid. She detested lying to him. Twice she started to let him believe that she was concerned for her safety, but the words just wouldn't come.
I didn't want to be a one-night stand. She had no idea how she could
talk telepathically to Tariq, but it felt easy. Right. I've never in my life done anything like that and I don't want you to think . . .
Do you think that I do not know that? I was with you last night. In your mind. Deep in your body. I know you belong only to me as I belong only to you.
Her eyes went wide with shock. What was he saying? He couldn't be whispering into her mind so intimately what the impression in his own mind was saying. She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, her heart pounding fast. An impossibility given the fact that he was so confident, so clearly experienced. She'd seen his picture in tabloids, in magazines. He'd been written up in the society pages of the newspapers. She was misreading what he was saying to her.
There is only you. There has never been another nor will there be. There is only you.
His voice wrapped her up like a gift, soft and caressing, holding her close. Intimately. She felt the brush of his mind in hers. So gentle. She wanted to believe she would be his only, that everything he said to her meant something. She really wasn't a woman who could hook up with a man and go unscathed. She knew that about herself even in high school. When all her other friends were enjoying one another and relationships, she had felt an aversion to letting men touch her. She thought it was a trust issue, but she'd all but flung herself at Tariq and hadn't even been careful. Or smart. She'd gone against her very own code.
I'm not on birth control, Tariq. I swear I wasn't trying to get pregnant and trap you. I just didn't think about it, but that's no excuse. I want you to know, if something happens, I won't hold you accountable.
Of course I am accountable; it would be my child, too. Do not worry so much over this. I would have known if you could get pregnant.
What does that mean? How could you know something like that?
You are getting cold. Get out of the tub and dry off. I want to show you the carousel horses you will be working on if you take the job.
She realized she was getting cold, so much so that she was shivering and the water was uncomfortable. If she could feel his emotions, she knew he could feel hers, but she couldn't feel him physically, so how could he feel her? A hand reached past her, and she had to muffle a small scream as Tariq reached into the rapidly cooling water and pulled the plug.
"I'm naked," she announced, making it a scandalized accusation. She felt breathless, not as shocked as she should have been, nor should she have been so glad to see him. She covered her breasts with her hands and turned to look up at him over her shoulder. That was a huge mistake. She was barely able to talk herself out of wanting him when he was away from her and she'd had a little time to think about how crazy she'd acted, but up close, the moment she saw him, the moment his scent filled her lungs, hunger, sharp and terrible, became a brutal need.
Her sex clenched. Went hot. The blood in her veins coursed through her in a rush of heat. Her breasts felt swollen and achy, the need for his mouth, his touch, hitting so fast and hard, tears swam in her eyes. "What did you do to me?" She murmured the question, dazed by her lack of control and the unfamiliar hunger beating at her.
Her hunger or his? She couldn't tell, she was so far under his spell. She could hear his heart beating. The sound was in her head. Thundering in her ears. Her heart followed that steady, rhythmic beat, and then to her horror, the pulse began strong and insistent between her legs. She wanted to put her hand there. Press her fingers deep to feel the beat. To assuage the need that threatened to overwhelm her. "What did you do to me?" she whispered again.
He crouched beside the tub, his fingers under her chin, lifting her face to his. The pad of his thumb slid over her skin, tracing her jaw and sending shivers down her spine with every stroke. "What is it, sielamet? Tell me why you have tears in your eyes and I feel your distress beating at me."
He drew her up out of the water, lifting her right over the edge of the tub so that she was standing naked and dripping in the circle of his arms. He seemed uncaring that she was up against his immaculate suit. The one that had to have cost thousands of dollars. Before she could move or protest, he took her arms and wrapped them around his waist, pressing her head against his chest at the same time, her ear right over his heart.
The moment his arms enclosed her, she felt safe and sheltered. She felt secure and a part of him. She closed her eyes on the burn of tears and let him make her feel safe when she hadn't for what seemed a very long time.
"I know, for you, this has happened fast between us, Charlotte," he said, his hand moving through her hair, fingers sliding through the wet silk, spreading the strands out and combing them as he did so. "That does not make it any less real."
It was too real. Too good to be true.
"Have you ever felt this way for anyone else? Because I haven't, Charlotte. Just you. The moment I saw you, I felt different. I saw the world differently. I have searched for you, hoping you were out there somewhere, but not believing I would find you. You're the reason I own the clubs."
She tilted her head to look up at him. He felt solid and very warm. Strangely, she felt warm, no longer covered in water drops from her bath. Even the shivering had stopped. He was magic. The way he made her feel was magic. "Kiss me again, Tariq. I want to know if I dreamt about you kissing me or if it was real."
He didn't hesitate. He bent his head to hers, his lips skimming hers in a barely there caress, but she felt that touch all the way to her toes. Her heart clenched and then her sex did. Her fists bunched in his perfect suit jacket. Held him tighter. Held him closer. Tried to become part of him. That close.
His mouth moved again over hers. Gentle. Coaxing. Not at all like his possessive kisses of the night before, but even so, he owned her with them. Just with his mouth, without all the rest of him, or what or who he was, and that was terrifying beyond anything she'd ever known, even the dangers of Fridrick and the three men stalking her. This was a threat to her heart. To her soul. If she lost him, if it wasn't real, she'd never get over him. Never. She knew that. She also knew it was already too late.
"What did you do to me?" she asked him a third time. He had stolen some part of her, and he'd managed to wind himself around her heart and steal into her soul so she couldn't tell what part of it was hers and what now belonged to him.
His coaxing kiss went from gentle to pure heat in the space of one heartbeat. Her mouth opened automatically under his when his tongue ran along the seam of her lips demanding entry. She gave it to him instantly, just like she'd given him everything else. Instantly. Without thought. There was no thinking when she was melting into him. When his hands slid down her back, taking in the curve of her bottom and going lower until he cupped both bare cheeks and brought her up on her toes so that her mound was pressed tightly against the thick hard bulge his trousers covered.
His kiss turned to pure fire pouring down her throat like lava, melting her insides, wrapping her heart in . . . him. She knew she was giving herself to him and he was claiming her. His kiss said that. It was hard and possessive and even demanding. She gave . . . everything. Everything she was and would ever be. Everything he demanded and even more.
He lifted his head, his eyes dark with desire. With passion. Lust was etched in the lines carved deep, but there was gentleness there and it turned her heart over as nothing else could have.
"You ask me what I have done to you, and I ask you what you have done to me. I can't think about anything but you."
She liked that. No, she loved hearing that. His voice was a smooth silken web she was trapped in. He wrapped her up in all that beautiful silk and velvet, his arms strong and his body hard. He was safety. Heat. Paradise. He could give her everything. She knew that just by kissing him. Her body remembered his and craved him. She had a taste in her mouth, an aphrodisiac that set up a hunger she didn't understand.
He kissed his way down her throat and over the swell of her breast. She felt his breath on that spot, on the mark he'd left on her like a brand. Her sex clenched again, a need so deep she could barely breathe with wanti
ng him. Her hands slid up around his neck, drawing him closer while her own breath hitched in her throat.
His hair was thick. Soft. Her fingers sifted through it and then clenched into fists as she cradled his head while he bit down and the pain lashed through her like a silken whip, striking every nerve ending, sending her crashing into the world of pure feeling.
Her lashes drifted down and she held him to her while his mouth pulled at that spot, tongue moving soothingly while he suckled. His tongue slid over the throbbing pulse as he kissed his way down to her bare breast, drawing her aching, demanding flesh deep into his mouth, his tongue lashing down, pressing, flicking, a weapon of destruction--destroying her. Her body fragmented, came apart, and she could only cling to him as the orgasm took her hard.
His hands pulled at her legs so that she wrapped them around him, locking her ankles at the small of his back. She had the sensation of floating. When she was with him, she couldn't quite orient herself, and even when she tried to lift her lashes, it didn't work. She fought for one moment to be strong, to at least look and see where they were going. He couldn't take her down the hall absolutely naked. And if he took her back to Lourdes's room and the child came in . . .
"See me, sielamet." Tariq whispered the words in her ear even as his body drove hard into hers. The hands on her hips slammed her down over him, and she sheathed him, her tight muscles reluctantly giving way for his invasion.
The air left her lungs in a rush of shock. He was big, pushing through soft folds, a steel intruder that dragged over the bundle of nerves and set every part of her body on fire. Charlotte lifted her lashes instantly, as if by his command; her body suddenly responded when all it really wanted to do was feel. His eyes blazed down into hers. So much heat. So much passion. She would burn forever in his passion, and yet eternity wouldn't be long enough.
Her gaze went from his to the familiar room. It was the room she'd been in with him before. She recognized it, although there were more sconces lit, allowing her to see more detail.
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