Into His Private Domain

by Janice Maynard

  “I do,” she said.

  Her simply phrased response sounded a bit too weddinglike for his peace of mind. He ignored the odd shiver her words produced and kissed her roughly. He tried to wedge a leg between her thighs, but the siren’s dress was too damned tight.

  Reaching around her for the zipper, he lowered it without waiting for permission. The rasp of the teeth in a downward slide sounded abnormally loud in the stark silence. The fabric gaped, but Gracie clutched it with her hands, apprehension shadowing the cornflower-blue of her eyes.

  He unfolded her fingers one by one. “Don’t be afraid of me, Gracie. Not now. Not ever.”

  With one smooth slide of his hand, she was all but naked, standing in a pool of crimson fabric, her pert nipples a paler shade of ruby. Fiery hair, high breasts, long shapely thighs.

  He held her hand as she stepped free of the gown and came to him eagerly, her arms sliding around his neck. Her shocked cry as his heavy shaft prodded her belly echoed inside his head.

  Slowly, carefully, he backed her toward his room. Her room tonight, as well. And along the way, he kissed her. Long, slow, intimate kisses that tested his control.

  Gracie’s lips mated with his, her enthusiasm increasing his own ardor exponentially. Heated whispers. Soft sheets and scented pillowcases. A curved breast gripped by hard fingers. Pale, slender thighs parting instinctively.

  His passion consumed him, threatened to tear away the veneer of polite society and rage unchecked in this room filled with shocked gasps, quiet sighs and muttered curses.

  Everywhere she was soft, he was there. The inside of an elbow. A delicate earlobe. The moist petals at her center. He wanted it all…ached to claim every inch of her for his own.

  Shuddering…shaking…he hooked her legs over his forearms. He saw on her face the moment she realized how the new position increased her vulnerability…opened her to him without reservation.

  The condom was a frustrating but necessary stop on the road to heaven. Hovering over her, the head of his shaft nudging impatiently for entrance, he sucked in a gulp of oxygen and tried to formulate the words. Words she deserved to hear. But his throat closed up and his ability to speak was incinerated in the rush of ravenous hunger that drove him to the brink of insanity.

  Gracie’s eyes were closed. Her breasts rose and fell with the rhythm of her breathing. Against the pure white of the sheet, her hair glowed like fire. And that sweetly curved mouth, those perfect lips, parted in a whimper of pleasure as he fingered her deliberately.

  She was swollen, wet and more than ready for his possession. And still he waited. Was he testing her or himself? Or was he simply relishing a night that was waning with reckless speed?

  He positioned his shaft…rubbed her intimately. “Watch us, Gracie.”

  Her lashes lifted in slow motion, the glaze of need in her eyes telling him that the time for play was over. In deadly earnest, he lunged forward, drawing a shout from him and a faint cry from her. The sensation was indescribable. Her body received him with the tight squeeze of a too-small glove.

  Heat rocketed down his spine, pooled in his loins. He withdrew and drove in again, losing himself in sheer bliss. How long had it been since he felt this raw, unshakable need? Maybe never.

  Again and again he rocked into her, going so deep he felt the mouth of her womb. He would give his entire fortune, gladly, to be able to love her like this all night, never pausing, never falling off the edge.

  But only a robot could withstand the intense pleasure. Only a eunuch could be immune to the way her tight passage milked him, her inner muscles caressing his shaft, giving him an excruciating pleasure he hadn’t known existed until now. In a faraway corner of his mind he acknowledged that such perfect union was far more than physical. That the mating of two souls was as integral a part of this cataclysm as damp flesh and aching lungs.

  He felt the end stalking him…fought it off with slow strokes that tormented them both. Gracie’s legs were on his shoulders now, giving him compete access, total trust.

  When he snapped, his vision blurred, his heart stopped. And then he could do no more than hang on as he shot to the stars and then fell helplessly into her arms.

  Dimly, uncomprehending, he sensed her completion as it sparked from his. He held her tightly as darkness claimed him.

  Gracie slipped from the bed in the wee hours to use the bathroom and sponge the evidence of their lovemaking from her body. She felt used and abused in the best possible way, her muscles lax with remembered pleasure, but at the same time sore and spent.

  In her absence, Gareth had rolled onto his back, but he never stirred when she climbed back under the covers. His big body radiated heat. She snuggled into his embrace, one leg resting across his hard thigh.

  Suddenly wide-awake, she moved her hand bravely across his abdomen and found his groin. His shaft, already partially erect, flexed and grew. He murmured in his sleep. As she held him in a loose grasp, he hardened to steel wrapped in velvety skin. The drop of moisture that wet the head of his erection signaled his eagerness.

  “Gareth?”

  Her whispered invitation bore no fruit other than the pulsing, rigid length of him.

  Filled with a dangerous mixture of bravado and desperation, she scooted around and over him, taking him in her hand once again and guiding him into her body. She needed him so badly.The hourglass was almost empty. And who knew what moment would be their last?

  Rising and falling on her knees, she pleasured herself on his erection. Eventually Gareth rose from the depths of sleep and moved with surety, surging upward and filling her beyond the realms of possibility.

  Despite their earlier excess, the climax was near painful…drawn out…shiveringly intense.

  She was half-asleep already when she felt him draw the covers over both of them, warming chilled skin and cocooning them in down-filled layers.

  When she finally surfaced from a deep, restful sleep, she sensed someone watching her. Cracking one eye open, she witnessed Gareth’s grin. He was lying on his side, leaning on an elbow, head in his hand. “I had the most amazing dream,” he drawled.

  She licked her lips, wondering what to say that would perhaps not implicate her. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Liar.” How a single word could convey amusement, affection and lust in equal measures baffled her. He grinned. “I’m not complaining, mind you. A guy can never have too many good dreams.”

  She smiled lazily, recognizing the dual gifts of happiness and contentment as they took up residence in her heart. No words could convey her mood.

  His smile faded into something less lighthearted while his hand, hidden beneath the covers, parted her legs. “Feel like dreaming again?” he asked huskily, his breath warm at her throat as he moved over her.

  Her stomach growled audibly. “I need breakfast,” she complained, giggling when he groaned in protest. Already she felt him pushing deep.

  “Later, darling Gracie.”

  His unexpected transposition of her names caught her off guard. A man like Gareth Wolff didn’t make free with careless endearments. So she savored the unexpected sweetness and tucked it away in her heart.

  Surely by now his determined possession should not have been as shocking, his take-no-prisoners approach to lovemaking less overwhelming.

  But nothing about this barely blossoming relationship was predictable. Moments later when she arched in stunned pleasure and found her release, it was as shiningly perfect as the first time he’d taken her and as sweetly sensuous as the last.

  They were late for checkout. Fortunately for Gracie, such mundane concerns were not on Gareth’s radar. When they made their way to the rooftop, the helicopter and pilot awaited them despite their tardiness.

  Gracie was more able to enjoy the return trip to Wolff Mountain than on the first leg of their journey. Any nerves borne of a new experience had settled in the interim. As the pilot and Gareth chatted via their radio headsets, Gracie was content to take in the s
pectacular view. Like a bird on a mission, the chopper flew a steady, swift path south and west. In no time, they were settling onto the helipad and disembarking.

  The Jeep, keys inside, awaited them. Gareth stowed their bags and after seeing that Gracie was tucked in, jumped behind the wheel and slung gravel as he turned and headed back through the forest at a fast clip.

  As they broke through a gap in the woods, the magnificent Wolff fortress came into view. Gareth, face carved in mysterious lines, slowed the vehicle to a stop. With the engine still running, he half turned to face her. His hand covered hers, fingers linking with hers.

  She was shocked to see his teeth worry his lower lip. All around them nature burst forth in a panoply of spring exuberance. Gracie’s heart followed suit. Gareth felt something for her. She knew it. Without false modesty or brain-addled, amnesia-created, pie-in-the-sky dreams, she sensed his caring at a most basic level.

  He played with a lock of her hair, his eyes trained on the house above them, the home where he had grown up so harshly, so quickly. “I want you to meet my father tonight,” he said. “I think the two of you will like each other.”

  Her heart bounced and swelled, dancing with amazement and joy. “I’d love to,” she said softly, trying not to let him see how much this significant gesture of trust gave her hope for the future—their future. Was it possible that she and Gareth were more than lovers passing in the night? She hoped so…dear God, she hoped so.

  He held her hand the rest of the way to his house. With the sun beating down on her head and the breeze tossing her hair in her eyes, she was momentarily blinded. Gareth was her lodestone, her anchor.

  Jacob’s car was parked in front of the house when they pulled up. Gareth hopped out. “I see we have a welcoming committee. Hopefully he’s brought lunch. I’m starving.”

  But when they entered the cool, dimly lit foyer and then made their way to the living room, Gracie knew that Jacob was not here to provide a picnic. His face was somber, his eyes hooded.

  He never even glanced at Gracie. Instead he went to his brother and wrapped his arms around him, holding tight. Gareth returned the embrace and then broke away to stare at his sibling in puzzlement. “What’s wrong?”

  Jacob swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly as he strove for control.

  Fear like she had never known crashed over Gracie, threatening to swallow her whole.

  Gareth paled, his gaze locked on his brother’s face. “Tell me, damn it.”

  “I thought about not showing you,” Jacob said, his voice harsh with suppressed emotion. “You’re not going to like it.” He half turned and gestured to what Gracie had not been able to see until this moment. Strewn across the surface of the coffee table was a series of tabloids, Gareth’s unmistakable face plastered on the cover of each one.

  But even more shocking were the small, square insets on all of the papers. Blurry, grainy head shots of Gracie. Her stomach clenched.

  Gareth’s mouth opened and snapped shut. He reached for the worst of the gossip rags, one where Jacob had folded back the page to reveal the article inside. With no one to stop her, Gracie stood at his elbow and read with shocked dismay.

  Edward Darlington, owner of Darlington Gallery in Savannah, Georgia, spoke to our reporter at a charity golf tournament in Cannes this past weekend. It seems that Mr. Darlington is on the verge of scoring a coup for his modest gallery. Darlington’s daughter, Gracie, has recently become intimately involved with the reclusive eldest son of the renowned Wolff family, whose considerable fortune has suffered very little at the hands of the American economy. Mr. Darlington hints that he will soon be allowed to exhibit the small but remarkable collection of oil paintings completed by Gareth’s Wolff’s mother, Laura, prior to her violent and untimely death in the mid-1980s…

  The story went on for another sentence or two, but Gracie turned away, unable to read another word. Sick to her stomach, she cringed when Gareth turned on her and stared through eyes that chilled her with black ice. “How did he find out about the paintings?” His voice shook. At his sides, his hands clenched, as though he wanted to strike her. “And was this your intent from the beginning? To fake amnesia…worm your way into my bed… God, you’re self-serving…both of you.”

  Jacob touched his arm. “Give yourself a minute. I know this stings.”

  “Stings?” Gareth’s expression was incredulous. “It doesn’t sting. It makes me want to put my hands around Edward Darlington’s neck and squeeze until he’s a dead man.”

  He stared at Gracie, his expression fierce as a thunderstorm waiting to strike. “And you. You know I don’t exploit my mother. I told you that. You’ve been playing me from the beginning, haven’t you? And God knows I fell for it.”

  Seventeen

  Gracie backed up to the wall, her arms wrapped around her waist. “I didn’t know,” she whispered hoarsely. “I’m so sorry.”

  Jacob still barely looked at her. All his attention was focused on his big brother, the man who was in so much pain it was terrible to watch. Jacob spoke soothingly. “Clearly the man’s an ass. He’s using this as a publicity stunt to draw business to his gallery. No one will take him seriously. We’ve never exhibited Mother’s work, and we won’t start now. He’s trying to pressure you into agreeing to a gallery showing, but little does he know you’re a stubborn bastard.”

  Gareth stalked Gracie, grabbing her shoulders in a bruising grip and shaking her. “Get out of here,” he yelled. “Now.”

  She clung to him, her heart shattering at his feet. “I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know.”

  The rage melted from his face to be replaced by something far more frightening. He thrust her away. “But that’s just it, Gracie Darlington.”

  It hurt unbearably to hear him say her name with such loathing.

  He bit out the words. “You did know at one time. And how convenient that you forgot.”

  Tears streamed down her face. “It’s not really such a bad thing, is it? He went about it the wrong way, trying to bully you, but the showing could be a beautiful tribute to your mother. I never meant to hurt you. I wouldn’t. I couldn’t.”

  “I thought I knew how low a woman could sink. But you’re a bitch of the first water. It was lies from the very beginning, every bit of it.”

  She fell to her knees, willing to beg, to humble herself on behalf of her idiot father. “I love you,” she cried. “Why would I hurt you?”

  But it was too late. The wolf had gnawed off his own foot to spring free of the trap. Whatever tender feelings he might have had for her were cauterized in an instant.

  He stared downward, disgust and fury shriveling her where she knelt. “Don’t make me call the authorities,” he said coldly, every inch the firstborn of the manor.

  Sensing the utter futility of any appeal, she stumbled to her feet and fled. The keys were still in the Jeep. She could barely see through the burning wash of tears. Cranking the engine, she threw the vehicle into Reverse, turned and shot down the road, hysteria dictating every motion.

  The driveway was kinked with twists and turns that negotiated the mountainside. At the third switchback, she lost control and slammed into a tree.

  “Gracie. Wake up. You’re okay. Open your eyes.”

  Sluggishly, wrapped in a cloud of dread, she complied. Jacob sat beside her in the passenger seat, his gaze watchful. He took her wrist in an impersonal grip and checked her pulse. “That was a stupid thing to do. The Jeep is a mess, and you’re lucky you didn’t get hurt.”

  “Where’s Gareth?” Just saying his name out loud was like scraping her throat with razor blades.

  Jacob shrugged. “He headed up the mountain. I’ve known him to disappear for days at a time. He won’t come back until you’re long gone. I’ve been charged with escorting you off the property and taking you to the airport. I’ll pay for a first-class ticket and arrange for one of our employees to meet you at the other end and stay with you until your father returns.”

&n
bsp; “But I…”

  He got out and motioned for her to follow. “We need to collect your things. Get in my car.”

  At Gareth’s house, she held her breath, hoping he had relented, but knowing in her heart that he would never forgive her.

  Jacob stood in the doorway of her bedroom while she packed. It didn’t take long. Gracie took nothing of Annalise’s bounty except for a couple of casual outfits. She didn’t know what to expect during the journey home, and it seemed prudent to have a change of clothing. When she had added her few personal items, the things she had brought with her when she first arrived, she zipped shut the small carry-on and stood quietly. “I’m ready.”

  Jacob nodded tersely.

  The forty-five-minute drive to the airport was accomplished in dead silence. Nothing looked familiar to Gracie. And she no longer cared.

  At the departure gate, Jacob pulled to the curb, engine idling. With his face set in grim lines, the resemblance to his brother was striking. He scowled at Gracie, not a shred of the compassionate doctor in evidence. “Don’t contact him,” he said bluntly. “No phone calls. No texts. No emails. If you ever try to approach our property again, you’ll be charged with trespassing. Do you understand?”

  A dagger of unbearable pain lodged beneath her heart, making it difficult to breathe. “I understand.” Her voice was dull. Every scrap of life had been beaten out of her. No memory. No future. No Gareth.

  As soon as she stepped out of the car with her bag, Jacob drove away without a backward glance.

  She wandered the airport terminal in a fog of agony, feeling as if she had lost a limb. To have something to hide behind, she purchased a copy of People magazine. All the faces on the cover were familiar. It was too damn bad that the rich and famous were more accessible in her memory bank than her family and friends.

  When the flight boarded, she huddled in her first-class window seat and tried to block out the world. After one abortive attempt at conversation, her travel companion, a balding middle-aged man, left her alone.