by Nina Bruhns
That was the whole idea. For now. But later, after they went home, she’d make him glad again. Oh, so very, very glad.
And her, too.
“There you are, my dear,” Lecherous Lou said when she swept into the VIP room.
Conner was standing next to him, looking too handsome for his own good. Damn, the man was fine, as Tawni would say. Broad shoulders; square jaw; long, hard, muscular legs; strong hands. And those eyes. She’d never known eyes so bone-quiveringly sexy as those hot-as-the-desert hazel ones gazing at her from under his perfectly shaped masculine brows. “Vera,” he said in greeting.
“Hello, Mr. Rothchild,” she said with demure formality. “Lou. What can I do for you gentlemen?”
“I think you know what Mr. Rothchild would like, Vera,” Lou said. Subtlety had never been his strong suit.
She allowed herself a coy smile at her would-be lover. “I’m pretty sure that would be illegal. Wouldn’t want to get any of us into trouble with the law, would we?”
Those perfect brows flicked. She’d caught him by surprise. He’d been expecting her to flatly refuse, as she had yesterday.
“Of course not!” Lou blustered. “Nothing illegal. Just a standard lap dance, that’s all. The VS1 Special.”
Which was code for total nudity.
She swallowed.
She’d avoided this for so long that the words almost stuck in her throat. “All right,” she said.
Omigod, what was she doing?
What they both wanted. That’s what.
Lou almost fell over. He’d been expecting a total refusal, too, and to have to threaten her with her job. “Get lost,” she told him. “Before I change my mind.”
He was out the soundproof door, and the gauzy curtains were drawn closed faster than she could blink.
“Surprised?” she asked Conner when they were alone.
The lingering shock and the slight parting of his lips belied his causal stance. “I could have sworn you don’t do lap dances.”
“This isn’t a lap dance.”
“Strange. I’m pretty sure that’s what you just agreed to.”
She smiled. And took a step toward him. “Then, it’ll be our little secret—” and another step “—what we really do.”
That’s when he started to get nervous. And in spite of himself, excited. She could see his body reacting to the fantasies in his mind. The ones she’d planted there. “Vera? What’s going on?”
“I hope you’re prepared, Mr. Rothchild,” she said, lowering her voice to a throaty purr, and with one finger pushed him backward onto the divan. “To be seduced.”
Chapter 11
Vera seduced him slowly, minute by minute, inch by inch, the way she’d done onstage earlier. If Conner had any notion of resisting her, the man could just forget it.
She was an expert at very few things, but this was one of them. She knew how to make a man want her.
Not that he needed any help in that department. He’d made no secret of his desire to sleep with her. He hadn’t pressed her on it, but only because she’d told him no. The man was a true gentleman, just as he’d said.
And now he would get his reward.
Well. Sort of. She knew he’d do his damnedest to follow club rules and not touch her. It would be pure torture on him. Heck, for both of them. But it would make the coming night all the sweeter, once they got back to his place.
She adjusted the music to a low, bluesy song she loved, and took her place in the middle of the small room. He sat sprawled on the divan, looking like a tiger who couldn’t quite believe a kitten had wandered into his cage.
“You don’t have to do this,” he said.
Making her fall for him all the more.
“I want to,” she assured him. “Just relax and enjoy the show.”
“I already did. You were incredible onstage. It felt like I was the only man in the room and you were dancing just for me.”
“You were.” She smiled and started to sway her hips to the music. “And I was.”
His eyes darkened, his smile going sexy. “What brought on the change of heart?”
“You,” she said simply. And let her body take over.
She knew all the moves, but suddenly they had a whole new meaning for her. She wanted to seduce this man, body and soul. Wanted to entice him. Enthrall him. Make him pant. Make him sweat. Make him never, ever forget this dance of temptation…
Or her.
Slowly, she peeled off her wedding gown. Taking her time. Moving her body to the music. Teasing him. Provoking him. Making the anticipation last and last. Until she was left wearing only the lace corset, stockings and shoes. The G-string of tiny seed pearls she’d selected for tonight hardly counted as attire.
His gaze devoured her, lingering on the special wax job her line of work demanded.
“Like what you see?”
“I’d like it a whole lot better closer up.”
She smiled. “Yeah?”
He looked relaxed, arms lying along the back cushions of the sofa, his legs spread wide. But she knew it was a hard-won facade. There was a film of sweat on his forehead that had nothing to do with the outside night heat, and the pulse on the side of his throat throbbed wildly. Not to mention that solid ridge in the front of his pants. “Oh, yeah.”
She moved closer. He swallowed.
He couldn’t touch, but there were no such restrictions on her. She put a knee to each side of his, kneeling on the red leather divan with her hands on his shoulders, and straddled his lower thighs. Keeping distance between them.
“This better?” she asked.
“Not nearly close enough,” he murmured darkly.
The fabric of his suit was smooth and luxurious, cool to the touch. But the man in it was sizzling. She ran her fingers down his shirtfront. “Mmm. You’re hot,” she observed.
“Burning up,” he agreed.
She peeled off his jacket and tossed it aside. Loosened his tie.
“Take it off,” he ordered huskily.
“Why, Mr. Rothchild…”
“The tie.”
She obliged, using the length of silk like a sex toy. Drawing it off slowly, teasing him with the end, glancing at his wrist debating whether to tie him up to the iron ring attached to the wall above his head.
“Don’t even think about it,” he warned.
She smiled, setting it aside. “Later, then.”
“We’ll see about that.”
One by one, she teased his shirt buttons open. Touched his broad chest. Reveled in the feel of his skin under her fingers. In the soft scratch of the curls of masculine hair. He shifted under her, and she could feel the slight trembling of his thighs.
She wet her lips and brushed them over his. He groaned softly. “You’re killing me here, you know that.”
She put her hands to his chest, rubbed her thumbs over his tight nipples. “Hope you have nine lives.”
He sucked in a breath, lifted his knees and tipped her into his chest. “Not fair,” he gasped.
She tilted her head up, taking her time pulling her body away from his. “Who said anything about fair?”
He gave a strangled laugh. “Witch.”
“Candy-ass.”
“You are so getting a spanking when we get home.”
She winked. “Promises, promises.”
His eyes cut down to hers, darkened to the color of a forest in a storm. “You are a naughty girl.”
“Want to see how naughty?” she whispered in his ear.
“I’m your lawyer. I need to know these things.”
Her corset was held together in front by a row of bows. She reached down, found the end of one of the ribbons, and tugged it almost open. Then she put the ribbon to his lips. With a jerk of his head, he finished the job. Her breasts spilled out of the garment…just enough to be a tease.
She lifted up on her knees a little. Like lightning he grasped the end of the next ribbon with his teeth and tugged that one open, too. Her
breasts tumbled out, brushing his face. He groaned, trying to catch a nipple with his tongue and teeth.
“Uh-uh,” she scolded, wagging a finger. Feeling the intimate contact like a wave of shivers.
“Let me,” he pleaded.
“Finish undoing the bows. Then we’ll see.”
His hot breath puffed over her skin, his wet tongue grazed her flesh as he bent to his task. Her nipples spiraled harder. Achy coils of desire tightened around her center.
He made quick work of the bows. Clever man. The corset slid to the floor. On impulse, she unclasped her G-string and let it slither off, too. She wanted to be completely naked for him.
His expression was pure sin as his gaze caressed her.
“You are so damn beautiful,” he whispered.
Still up on her knees, she bent forward, offering him her breasts. She wanted to feel his mouth on her. He latched on like a hungry babe, suckling one then the other, until she was panting with need.
With a groan, she pulled herself away. “Any more and I’ll come,” she murmured.
“Do it,” he urged. “I want to see you come apart for me again.”
“Not here.” She eased out a shuddering breath.
He blinked and glanced around, as though he’d completely forgotten where they were. He’d dug his fingers deep into the divan back, holding on to the cushions with a death grip, but now he eased them off and flexed them. “God. You’re right. What was I thinking?” He nuzzled his lips against her throat. “Let’s get out of here.”
“I still have another show.”
“Forget it. You’re coming home with me.” He stood up, sweeping her into his arms. “Now.”
She didn’t protest, other than to insist on picking up her discarded costume and his jacket and tie. He and Lecherous Lou seemed to have some kind of understanding. Hopefully she wouldn’t lose her job over this.
Not that it would change her mind if she did. She was ready to be his. In every way. More than ready.
Conner drove like a madman, making the trip to his house in less than twelve minutes. He didn’t want to waste a single second. He wanted to be inside her, now, finding release for this volcano of desire roiling inside his body.
Before leaving the club, he’d allowed her to slip back into her pencil skirt, peasant blouse and do-me shoes, but nothing else. He could see her tawny nipples through the almost-sheer fabric of the blouse. He was dying. He needed her under him.
As soon as they got inside the door of his mansion, he had her up against the wall, his mouth to her breast. She moaned, clasping his head in her hands, pulling him closer.
“Conner,” she pleaded, her voice strangled, writhing against the wall as he ground the silk blouse onto her nipple with his wet tongue.
“I’m here, baby.” He threw aside his jacket and practically ripped the buttons from his shirt, ridding himself of it. She lifted her shirt up over her ample breasts, baring them for him. They were breasts a man could lose himself in. Soft, round, full. Perfect.
He could smell the feminine scent of her desire, lightly musky and spicy, an alluring aphrodisiac that made him twitch in an agony of want.
With a growl, he banded his arms around her and carried her into the living room, swept the things off a low coffee table, and lowered her onto her back on it. Wrenching her legs apart, he tasted her, covering her with his mouth and tongue.
She gasped, arched and splintered apart. So fast he didn’t have time to enjoy it. So he did it again.
When he finally climbed up on the table and lowered himself on top of her, she was totally wrung out and he was ready to detonate. He grasped under her knees and spread them.
“Protection?” she managed to murmur.
“Taken care of,” he told her. Thank God he’d tucked a few condoms in his trouser pocket. Just in case.
“Mmm.”
He thrust into her. The feel of her hot flesh surrounding him burst through his consciousness like a kaleidoscope of erotic sensation. He froze. If he moved a muscle he’d be lost. She held him tight, her chest expanding and contracting against him. It wasn’t helping. He groaned.
“Conner?”
“Yeah, babe?”
“Is anything wrong?”
“Other than me being about to shame myself and totally ruin my macho reputation?”
She let out a surprised laugh. Her muscles contracted around him.
Jeez-uz.
“Baby, have mercy,” he begged.
Her eyes softened, joy suffusing her whole face. She was so lovely his breath caught in his lungs. Was it really possible he had done that to her? Made her so happy she glowed with it?
“Kiss me,” she whispered.
So he did. Long and wet and thorough as a spring downpour in the Mojave. She wrapped her legs around his waist and held him tight and used her heels on his backside to push him deep, deep, deep into her. So deep he found he couldn’t hold back.
“It’s okay. Let yourself go,” she whispered into his mouth, her voice low and thready with emotion.
He shuddered, fighting it. Not wanting it to be over so quickly. “Too soon,” he gritted out.
“We have all night,” she refuted breathily.
Which was a good thing, because he had no more strength to resist.
An overwhelming surge of pleasure crashed over him. And he surrendered. Surrendered to the carnal bliss. Surrendered to the emotional rightness. Surrendered to the deep inner knowledge that after this night, he would never be the same man again.
This was just the beginning.
Chapter 12
“No, Dad. Because I don’t—” Speaking on the phone, Conner did not look like a happy camper. In fact, he looked downright angry. “What about Mike? Why can’t he—”
Vera wrapped the silk robe Conner’d lent her a bit tighter around her body and sank a bit deeper into the leather recliner she was curled into, trying to make herself invisible. They were in his study while he’d put out a fire or two at work. This didn’t sound like work, though.
“Yes, Dad. Of course I am. But—”
They’d made love all night. And all morning. And half the afternoon. They’d shared passions and done things together she’d never done with another human being. He’d claimed her body; she’d given him her heart and her soul.
But she still felt like a trespasser in his world.
“Fine, Dad. Yes, I understand.” He slammed the phone down with a curse, a scowl etched on his face.
She didn’t dare ask him what was wrong. Not her place.
“Too early for a drink?” she ventured. It was just past four. Hell, it was five o’clock just down the road in Denver. At least she thought it was. Of course, one never knew with Mountain Time.
He looked up, apparently surprised to see her sitting there. Oops. Should have kept her mouth shut.
“Come here,” he ordered.
She untangled her legs and did as he bid. Normally she wasn’t such a “yes” girl, but last night she’d quickly realized the considerable benefits of doing as he asked.
He patted the desk blotter in front of him, and she duly climbed up and sat.
“Open your robe.”
She smiled. The man was truly insatiable. Okay, this she could do. Her body already quickening, she unbelted the robe and held it open in anticipation of whatever he had in mind to make himself forget the conversation he’d just had with his father.
He didn’t touch her. Just looked. And looked.
“You have the body of a goddess,” he finally said. “You could have any man you want at the charity ball tonight.”
“Why would I want anyone else when I have you?” she asked, reaching out for his hand and raising it to her cheek. She kissed his palm. He frowned.
She knew it was the wrong thing to do. Men didn’t like it when a woman got all clingy after sex. But she just couldn’t help herself.
Heart on her sleeve? Look it up. Her picture would be right there under the definition.
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Did she care?
Ask her tomorrow.
She brought his hand to her breast. He cupped her, running his thumb gently over the nipple. Shivers of pleasure went up her spine.
“And you make love like a god,” she murmured.
Abruptly, he rolled his chair forward and leaned her backward onto his arm, bracing her as he took her other nipple in his mouth. Using his tongue, he imitated what his thumb was doing to the first one.
She sucked in a sharp breath, already rushing toward climax. Her body had gotten so tuned to him, physically, all it took was a touch or a kiss and she was practically there.
He withdrew, kissing her on the mouth instead. A sweet, tender kiss.
Her stomach sank.
A goodbye kiss.
Momentarily stunned, her heart squeezed painfully. Wow. That had happened more quickly than she’d thought.
But okay. She was a big girl. She could handle it.
She steadied herself, physically and mentally, for the inevitable.
“Are you ready for the ball?” he asked. “You still okay with what you have to do?”
The question caught her off guard.
In between their lovemaking and occasional foraging trips from the bedroom to the kitchen, they’d talked about what she would do tonight, how she’d go about getting the information about Darla that they needed. How to lure Darla’s accomplices in the jewelry theft ring out into the open. Alleged accomplices.
Vera was still convinced Darla was innocent. But she’d sworn to do her best for Conner and she would. She’d rather know the truth about her sister, either way.
“Of course,” she answered. She was nervous as hell about it but ready as ever. She thought about that phone call. “Why? Has something happened?”
His gaze dropped to her breasts again, and he stroked his hands over them possessively. “No,” he said. “Nothing that affects anything important.”
Now, there was a nonanswer if ever she’d heard one.
“What was that argument with your father all about, Conner?” she asked, a sick foreboding knotting in her stomach. “What did he want?”
Her lover leaned over and pressed his lips to her abdomen, trailing down to her belly button. He flicked his tongue into it. “Nothing important,” he repeated.