by Marinelli, Carol; Hayward, Jennifer; Stephens, Susan; Anderson, Natalie
“You like my callused hands?”
She pushed back to look at him. “I have this fantasy…”
His blood heated. “Which is?”
A self-conscious shimmer invaded her brilliant blue gaze. “The night we were in the stables…when you were giving Bacchus that massage.” Her silky long lashes shaded her cheeks. “I was imagining your hands on me. How they would feel…what you would do with them.”
The warmth in his blood deepened to full-fired lust. He lifted a brow. “You want my hands on you, querida? It would be my pleasure. If you promise to submit to a fantasy of mine.”
Her eyes widened. “Which is?”
“You’ll find out in a few minutes,” he murmured, scooping her off the chair and heading for the bed.
“Spanish,” she murmured as he set her down. “Is that your heritage?”
Damn, he hadn’t even registered the slip. “Yes,” he lied, thankful the word was the same in Portuguese and Spanish. He might well go to hell for this. He truly might. But his intentions were good.
Cecily watched him as he stripped off his shirt, eyes darkening to a deep slate blue. “You have an amazing body.”
He threw the shirt on the floor, his fingers moving to the button of his jeans. “Strip shows are on your list of fantasies?”
Her mouth curved. “If it’s you, yes.”
He slipped the zipper down, her admission turning him hard as stone. Stuck his fingers in the sides of his jeans and dispensed with them in one quick movement. Kicking the denim aside, he straightened to find her eyes glued to his close-fitting white briefs. More than a bit aroused by the whole show, by the thought of having her, his erection was thick, straining against the fabric.
“I might switch fantasies,” she murmured.
“Oh, but that’s not how this game is played,” he drawled. “Lie down and roll over.”
A flush touched her cheeks. Then she obeyed. He drank her in, testosterone sizzling every nerve ending. She had the most amazing backside he’d ever seen. Firm and curvaceous, toned by hours in the saddle, it was the best part of her by far.
He swallowed past the lust clogging his throat. He intended to show that part of her anatomy his deepest idolatry.
He knelt on the bed beside her. Placed a palm on the small of her back and settled her as he would a nervous filly. A shiver moved through her. Tracing his palm up over her back, then down over her bottom and legs, he absorbed every dip and curve of her beautiful body.
Need gnawed at the edges of his self-control, goading him on. He straddled her. Set his mouth to the back of her neck and took a long, deep taste of her. She arched beneath him, a low moan leaving her throat. “That’s not hands.”
He ran his tongue along the curve of her shoulder. “I made no promise about the exclusive use of hands.”
Not a word in response.
Down her body he went, his touch reverential as he explored every inch of her, kneading her silken flesh. Her whimpers, the way she came alive beneath his hands, fired his hunger. His erection thickening, growing with every low moan, he leashed himself with superhuman effort.
Finally, he reached her amazing backside. The silk thong barely covered the twin smooth globes. Cupping her in his hands, he squeezed and shaped her. Absorbed the hitch in her breath when he slid his palms down to her satiny thighs and pushed them apart.
“Colt—”
“Shh.” Pressing a kiss to the small of her back, he slid his fingers underneath the sides of her flimsy panties and stripped them off.
Her breath grew shallower, her muscles tensing. “Relax,” he whispered, stroking the inside of her thighs with a feather light touch. When she softened beneath his hands, he slid a pillow underneath her hips to raise her up. Spreading her thighs wider, he ran his knuckles along the soft, silky hair that covered her most intimate flesh. She shuddered, fingers grasping hold of the comforter.
He parted her with gentle fingers. Stroked her hot flesh from bottom to top.
She jerked beneath his hand. “Colt.”
“Easy,” he whispered in her ear, ghosting his thumb over her. Again and again until she sighed, sank into it and pressed into his touch.
She grew softer, moister beneath his hand. Coating his fingers with her slick arousal, he eased two inside her. Her mewl of pleasure pushed him close to the edge.
He set his mouth to the hollow between her shoulder blades and pressed kisses to her skin while he worked his fingers in and out of her, keeping up a smooth, deep rhythm that had her climbing the rungs of a ladder he knew would lead to her release.
“God, Colt, please—”
Her body clamped tight around his fingers. Shifting lower, he spread her wide and put his mouth to her. Licked her with provocative, leisurely strokes while he worked her with his fingers.
“More,” she begged.
He closed his mouth over the swollen nub at the center of her and sucked. Devoured her.
“You’re so sweet,” he rasped, drunk on the taste of her. “Come for me, angel.”
She whimpered and lifted her hips. He drove his fingers hard inside her tight, hot warmth, his tongue nudging her core. She screamed, burying her face in the bedding, her earthy sounds of pleasure as her climax rode her the most arousing thing he’d ever heard.
He didn’t stop until he’d made her come twice.
* * *
Her body racked with a series of aftershocks, Cecily stared up into Colt’s beautiful dark eyes as he flipped her over.
Bracing a corded, insanely strong arm on the mattress beside her, he ran a finger down her cheek. “Live up to your expectations?”
Words stuck in her throat. She couldn’t be droll in that moment. It had just been too…earthshattering.
His thumb slid to her mouth. He exerted a sensual pressure on her bottom lip until she opened to his caress. “Want to know what my fantasy is?”
Unsure she could take anymore, she forced herself to nod.
“You riding me,” he murmured. “With all of that superior control and concentration of yours.”
Her heart thudded in her chest. Dropping his hand from her mouth, he slid off the bed, stripped off his boxers and threw them on the floor. Her chest went tight. Full, heavy, so insanely masculine, just looking at him made her throb deep inside her core.
“I might like to redirect this fantasy,” she murmured, eyes hot on him.
He pulled his wallet out of his jeans and extracted a foil package. “No,” he said, coming back to her and tossing the condom on the bed. “You get yours,” he murmured, sinking his fingers into her hips and lifting her on top of him, “and I get mine.”
Twining a thick, golden curl around his finger, he brought her mouth down to his for a hot, devastating kiss that wiped any alternate plans from her head.
“You can put this on,” he murmured when they came up for air. Curling his fingers around the foil package, he handed it to her.
“Oh.” She gave him an uncertain look. “I’m not so good at that. My ex-fiancé and I—we—I was on the pill.”
He didn’t make fun of her. Didn’t look down on her as Davis had for being so inexperienced. “Let me show you then.”
He ripped the package open and took the condom out. Rolling it part way up his heartstoppingly virile length, he paused, capturing her fingers in his. “Now you.”
Carrying her fingers to his shaft, he closed his hand over hers. Eased the condom up his pulsing flesh. Her breath hitched as he jerked beneath her touch. It was the most erotic thing she’d ever experienced.
“You’re beautiful,” she murmured, heart in her throat.
“Not like you,” he said, shaking his head. A sensual promise lit his gaze. “Now get on me.”
The stark, sexual command, the promise of oh,
so much more pleasure, sent her pulse skyrocketing.
Lifting up on her knees, she curled her fingers around his shaft and brought the lush wide crest to her center. Empty, aching, the desire he inspired in her almost frightening in its intensity, she lowered herself onto the thick column of flesh, a moan tearing itself from her throat as she absorbed the power of him.
“Slowly,” he murmured, eyes hot on hers. “You were made to take a man, angel.”
Her stomach fell apart. Lost, immersed in a storm of her own making, sure nothing would ever compare to this moment, she had no choice but to surrender to it.
Slowly, gradually, her body gave around his, making way for his possession. When he was finally buried to the hilt, when she’d taken all of him, he uttered a curse, the hard lines of his face a study in concentration.
“Cecily,” he murmured, his voice a rough caress, “querida. I need you to move, before I lose my mind.”
He was holding back. On the edge. She dug her teeth into her lip, a flash of heat careening through her. That she could turn him on this much, that he desired her this greatly, healed a part of her she hadn’t been sure would ever mend. It was a soul shaking moment she had to pause and fully absorb, bracing her palms on his rock-hard abs. For in that moment, they belonged to each other.
“Cecily…” Hoarse. Desperate.
She started to move, watching the pleasure explode in his eyes. The intimacy seemed too much, clawed at her to look away, but she couldn’t, wouldn’t, because if this was going to be her one night with Colt—she was going to remember every last second of it.
Her body fully aroused, drowning in the pleasure he was giving her, she took him easily now, sliding up and down his staff. He impaled her, touched her deeper every time she came down on him. Another orgasm built, this one slow moving and slumberous, radiating out from her core.
Colt tugged on her hand and pulled her forward. A palm at the small of her back, he arched her toward him and closed his mouth over a lace-covered nipple. She gasped, pushed herself deeper into his mouth. His cheeks hollowed out as he sucked her deep, sending more pleasure coiling in her abdomen.
“That feels so good,” she moaned, moving faster on him now.
He switched his attention to her other nipple, teeth rasping across the tip as he drove up inside her, pushing so deep he set off a soul-shaking burst of pleasure that tore her apart.
Oh, dear God.
He cleaved his fingers through her hair and brought her mouth down to his. “I want your beautiful lips on mine when I come, angel. Your body is so sweet, you blow my damn mind.”
Holding her bottom in his hands, he took her with sensual, mind blowing thrusts that sent more aftershocks of pleasure spiraling through her. Capturing her bottom lip between his teeth, he came with a throaty growl that reverberated right to her toes.
Seduced by his guttural sounds of pleasure, the hard stroke of his body, another wave of white-hot pleasure pulsed through her, rending her boneless and brainless, sprawled across his chest.
And then there was nothing but a dark, delicious abyss.
* * *
He woke her before dawn. Cupping her breast in his palm, he nudged her thigh forward and slid into her from behind.
“You wanted one night,” he intoned huskily in her ear, “you get more.”
His finger caressed the hard nub at the centre of her with smooth, delicious circles that soothed her sore skin. Rousing her desire all over again, he stroked her flesh until it was wet and pliant beneath his fingertips…until a low moan left her throat and she arched back against him, demanding his deeper possession.
He was in total control in this position. Exquisite and leisurely, as unhurried as the night before had been urgent, he made it last forever. A deep, delicious orgasm sliding over her, she curled back into his arms and slept.
When she woke again, her arms and legs tangled with Colt’s, dawn had arrived. Hating to leave, but knowing she should before her absence was noticed and rumors spread like wildfire, she untangled herself and slipped from the bed.
Dressing in the pink-lit room, feeling like a very different woman than the one who had walked in here the night before, she let herself silently out the door and closed it behind her.
Shoes in her hand, feet soaked by the early morning dew, she ran up the path to the house.
All of a sudden, one night didn’t seem like nearly enough.
* * *
Alejandro woke with a heavy head and a stinging jaw. Hitting the snooze button with the back of his hand, he pried his eyes open to find Cecily gone, the delicate floral scent that clung to the bedding the only evidence she’d even been there.
“Better like this,” he muttered, dragging himself out of bed and into a shower. He made it a practice never to let a woman sleep in his bed, which made awkward goodbyes a non-issue.
Returned to the land of the living with a hot shower, he found a text from Sebastien waiting for him when he got out.
Only a few hours left until you’ve successfully completed your challenge. The jet will be on the tarmac by eight o’clock this evening. You are leaving for personal reasons you must attend to immediately. Looking forward to hearing the debrief.
Santo Deus. He pocketed the phone and headed out the door. He needed out of here and now. Before he did something else he’d regret. Because surely what had happened between him and Cecily last night had been unwise. The problem was, he thought he might do it again if presented with the same situation, because watching that sexy confidence take up residence on her face as they’d blown each other’s brains out in bed had been worth it.
He went about his daily chores, relieved to find Cecily and Dale had driven out of state to look at a horse after Knox Henderson’s abrupt departure this morning. It was better he leave without goodbyes or explanations, because he had none to give.
No matter how real his feelings for Cecily—no matter how unfinished things between them seemed—they could never be. He had nothing to offer a vulnerable woman like her except what he’d just offered—a temporary boost to her ego.
The women in his life were well aware of who he was—knew they were temporary fixtures, to be pampered, enjoyed, then replaced as required. Everybody won. Cecily didn’t fall into that category.
And then there was the fact that he was about to destroy her family’s reputation. He was now convinced Cecily knew nothing of her horse’s origins or the Hargroves’ transgressions. But the crime still had to be punished. As soon as Stavros handed him the proof, he would secure justice for his grandmother just as he’d promised her he would.
Bacchus would be the only exception from the Salazar’s revenge. Because on that point, he refused to break Cecily’s heart.
CHAPTER FIVE
CECILY REACHED FOR the iron control she was famous for as she cantered into the ring in Geneva for her world championship qualifying event. She found herself deluged by nerves instead, her stomach churning like a rollercoaster ride.
Saluting the judges, she breathed in deep, gathered the electric charge of the crowd and used it to propel her around the course in a very fast, clean round—the final in the jump off.
She pulled Bacchus to a dancing halt, her horse sensing he’d been a star today. Staring up at the clock, heart in her mouth, the roar of the crowd echoed the numbers on the screen.
She had finished in third place.
It wasn’t until Dale had pulled her off Bacchus in the collecting ring and engulfed her in a huge hug that it sunk in. She’d done it. Her world championship dream was still alive.
It wouldn’t erase the lackluster year she and Bacchus had had, nothing could do that, but it would go a long way toward convincing the committee she should be in the running for a spot on the team. And right now, that was all she could do.
All d
ue to Colt who’d found the key to her and Bacchus. A low throb pulsed through her as she pulled off her hat to greet the press. Colt who’d been gone when she’d returned from Maryland, a ‘personal matter’ drawing him home.
She’d been worried at first, asking Cliff for his phone number so she could make sure he was okay. But he hadn’t left one. As if what they’d shared had meant nothing to him.
She kept the smile determinedly plastered across her face as she did half a dozen media interviews, wishing he were here. Which was ridiculous. She’d known he would leave. Had prepared herself for that. What had hurt the most was he hadn’t even said goodbye.
Her stomach gave another ominous churn as she finished her last interview. Bile climbing the back of her throat, she barely made it to the washroom before she was violently ill.
It wasn’t until she was on the jet flying home that pieces of the puzzle began sorting themselves into dizzying place. In the crush getting ready for Geneva, she hadn’t had her period. She’d attributed it to stress, but oh, my God. Her heart seized as a sea of blue flew past outside the window. It couldn’t be. Colt had worn a condom both times they’d made love.
A trip to her doctor, however, proved the impossible possible. She was pregnant with Colt’s baby, a fact that threw her whole life—her career—into disarray once again.
Few top performing riders ever competed while pregnant. The risk wasn’t worth it. Which meant there would be no world championships for her and Bacchus this year, the last thing she ever would have thought would derail her.
Shock and crushing disappointment consumed her as she fought her way through the next couple of days. What was she going to do? Her single, coherent thought was that Colt needed to know about his child. He might not want her, but it was his right to know they had conceived a baby together.
Finding him a preferable next step than telling her father she was pregnant with Colt’s baby, she hired a private investigator who had tracked a fellow rider’s birth mother down. Forty-eight hours later, Victoria Brown arrived at the coffee shop in town where Cecily had arranged to meet her, a manila folder in her hand.