by Christa Wick
Even if business had brought him to the estate, he didn’t have to go into the nursery to check on her and the baby. That had been intentional—no more debating about that. Now, she just needed to pull up her big girl panties and go talk to the man.
He had a significant lead on her and much longer legs. The distance from the exit to the front of the house was a short walk—at least for Trent. He also knew where he was going, which was helpful. Whether that was straight to his vehicle or for a walk in the woods, she had no idea. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, Daniella cocked her head and listened for the sound of the sports car starting up or worse, the tires crunching gravel down the driveaway already.
All she heard were crickets.
Daniella squinted into the darkness for some hint of where Trent had wandered off to. With few options beyond the house and trees, she walked in the direction of the gardens, tightening the shawl around her shoulders as she mentally rehearsed what she would say to him, how she would even begin.
Thank you…
I’m sorry…
Both pretty lame. And both far overdue. She should have said at least one of them to Trent before now, and she definitely should have behaved differently at dinner.
But the second she’d caught sight of his stony expression, she’d been unable to speak at all. It was all she could do to keep herself from looking at him again and falling to pieces.
Now it was too late. Now he was gone. He would stay gone, too. No matter what everyone else might suggest, Trent wasn't leaving the company because of the Congressional hearings. He was leaving it to get away from her.
Knees buckling, Daniella made it to the nearest stone bench and sat. She covered her face, her shoulders shaking from the tears she held back. The tremors intensified, her fingertips vibrating against her forehead.
“Dani…”
The unexpected voice didn’t startle her. She didn't believe it was real. She had lingered in Vivian's peaceful garden so many times, the moon shining down as blissful reunion fantasies played through her mind.
“Dani,” he repeated, the rustle of his clothes joining his voice.
Her fingers curled, exposing her eyes. Trent stood a few feet in front of her, body sagging in a way she couldn’t reconcile with his usually stiff spine.
“I thought you left.”
He straightened then, unanswering, his gaze casting about. Her chest squeezed painfully around her heart. There was never going to be anything more between them. He had been shot and stabbed and sliced too many times to make himself vulnerable to another wound.
Yet he wasn’t walking away. He was as rooted to the ground as the trees bordering the gardens.
Damn him! Why had he said anything here or outside her door? Why hadn’t he just left?
Pushing onto her feet, Daniella approached Trent on mutinous legs. Reaching him, she teetered for a moment, her palm bracing against his lower chest. She started to withdraw, then trailed her fingers along his ribcage toward his left arm.
Skimming the surface of the silk dress shirt, she dipped beneath the expensive business jacket until she found the spot where Stoker’s bullet had bit into his flesh.
“What did you name this one?” she asked, gently exploring its outline despite the fabric separating them.
“Christine.”
She nodded. “I’m sure when she finally hears the story, she’ll be honored.”
There had been more than one layer to her question. And though there was no right or wrong answer, his simple reply told her there would be no further meetings with Trent Kane.
Daniella would not ask forgiveness or tell him she was sorry for her reaction to the news story and the wall she had immediately thrown up. There was no point to it. Those words were for negotiations and they were past that.
But she would end things with Trent as she had intended to start them—with gratitude.
“Thank you for saving her.”
Ready to retreat before she broke down in front of him, Daniella withdrew her hand.
Trent caught her by the wrist and pressed her palm against the center of his chest. His heart, caged by bone, muscles and memories, beat erratically against her fingertips.
She knew what it was like—all those invisible cuts. She had scars there, too. The biggest one bore his name.
Is that what he was trying to tell her? That she had indelibly marked him before Stoker’s bullet?
Releasing his hold on her wrist, Trent cupped his hand along the side of her face, his thumb caressing her cheek. Heat rolled off him in thick waves, the warm blasts from his powerful body making Daniella want to curl up against him.
Hades, she mused, wondering if that had remained his ops name up until the end.
Keeper of ghosts, Trent lived in shadows, out of the light, and yet he seemed most vulnerable in the dark.
That night in the kitchen.
Here in the gardens.
Daniella leaned into him, her body turning soft and pliant. She lifted her head and willed him to dip his, to erase the last few inches separating their lips.
She clutched his lean hips, her fingertips digging at muscle. Her toes pointed, lifting her body up but not high enough. He was too tall, too unyielding.
With her heart beating hard and fast, she felt like it would explode across his chest at any second. She would die then and she needed that kiss before she went.
Her hand shot up, wrapped around the collar of his shirt and tugged.
“Woman…you’re—” His throat strangled the next word before it could emerge.
Daniella released a short, surprised giggle. “Woman?”
With a growl, he pulled away, grabbed her by the wrist again and tugged her to the bench she had vacated minutes before. Taking a seat, he pulled her onto his lap, his mouth instantly buried against her neck, his arms curled around her waist so she couldn’t escape.
“You’re killing me,” he rasped, teeth scraping at the crazy sensitive skin of her throat. One rough hand dropped to her thigh and squeezed. “You’re always killing me—even that first day on the steps.”
A shocked gurgle escaped her. She could still remember the sensation—before she even saw him—of his touch sliding along her wrist and the flood of chemicals it had released, the effect electric.
“You were a jerk,” she protested lightly. “In the lobby, too.”
“And in my office,” he agreed with a soft bite at her lobe before he ran the edge of his teeth against the curve of her jaw.
Daniella leaned into him, her arms folding around his shoulders as her head tilted back to expose more of her neck.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “For my reaction—”
His mouth covered hers and she knew it was not the time to review their past. She surrendered to the kiss, melting against him, letting his tongue sweep ravenously against hers.
Heat built between her thighs. Feeling an equal, more prominent, response from him, her pulse began to thunder inside her head as her body tightened in need.
This couldn’t be just about sex, her brain cautioned. She had tried to convince herself of that the first time, that they were just satisfying an intense, but casual attraction.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, breaking the kiss and cupping her face.
Daniella shook her head then chewed at her lip. Saying nothing was wrong would be a lie. She had been heartbroken mere minutes before. As much as she wanted to blissfully ignore for the moment some of what had transpired, there was one thing she needed to get straight with him. If she didn’t, she would have no one to blame if her heart was crushed again.
Pressing a palm against his chest, she pulled her head back far enough to meet his gaze in the pale moonlight.
“I’m worried that you won’t be able to deal with my being in love with you,” she answered, her cheeks immediately burning. It was a shameful, cowardly way to tell him she loved him—not saying it outright.
Trent hadn’t released his hold
on her face. His grip tightened and he pressed a sweet, fleeting kiss against her lips before staring deeply into her eyes.
“Dani…baby, you’re only half right.” He paused, swallowed thickly, then rubbed his cheek lightly against hers as he whispered directly into her ear. “I can’t deal with you not being in love with me.”
She pulled back again, capturing his distracting hands and holding them tight.
“What are you saying?” Her voice cracked and wavered, the words breathless shapes of sound.
“I love you, Daniella.”
Her fool head began bobbing. All the oxygen had disappeared from the world. Trent was swimming in and out of focus. And all she could do was jerk her head up and down.
“Shh…” he coaxed, pulling her close and cradling her in his arms until she could breathe again. After stroking her hair for a minute, he kissed her forehead.
“We can…discuss things tomorrow. I’ll come back at whatever time—”
Daniella jumped up, the abrupt action silencing him. She found his hands again, her grip iron as she tugged him onto his feet and away from the bench.
No way in hell was she letting him get in that car and leave right then.
“Where are we going?” he asked with a hint of amusement that made her wish she could see his handsome face. “Shouldn’t you be getting back to Christine?”
“Michelle is watching her,” she answered, stopping for just a second to pull his head close enough to eagerly bite his bottom lip. “And I’m taking you to the only place this side of the woods that I’m certain there are no cameras.”
“Certain?” he teased.
“Well,” she said, picking up speed. “Certain enough.”
21
Daniella
Masquerading under the nomenclature of “greenhouse,” the building Daniella led Trent to was a cathedral of glass almost half a football field in size. Moonlight penetrated the roof to reveal a perimeter of young fruit and nut bearing trees. Precise rows of vegetables marched down the middle.
“This wasn’t here six months ago,” he mused as she led him deeper into the structure.
“Vivian wants to grow the fruits and vegetables the families visiting the Foundation are accustomed to,” she explained.
Stopping where the figs gave way to pomegranates, Trent pulled Daniella close. “What about the work you’re doing for the Foundation?”
She closed her eyes so she wouldn’t roll them. She shouldn’t have started a normal conversation with Trent when she wanted him naked.
With a sigh, she looked up. “I don’t have to be on site very often to do the work—which I would like to continue doing.”
“Don’t worry,” he teased as she pulled away to lead him deeper into the greenhouse. “I don’t expect you barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen. Shoes are optional and you can be pregnant in an office.”
She stopped again, a full body flush infusing her skin with heat and turning her thighs to jelly.
His lips suddenly against her neck, Trent chuckled. “That’s what people in love do, Daniella. They procreate…and practice. Lots and lots of practice.”
He gave her a little nip that curled her toes and then he pulled away.
“What makes you reasonably certain there are no cameras in here,” he asked.
“Did you notice the locks?”
He nodded with professional confidence. “Regular door lock, plus two dead—”
There was just enough moonlight for Daniella to see his mouth twist into a grin.
“Two deadbolts,” he continued. “But one only locked from the inside.”
“That’s the first data point,” she agreed, fingers circling his wrist and pulling him toward an internal boundary of flowering trees.
She stopped just in front of the border and slipped her shoes off. Trent mirrored her action and then they ducked and slipped between two slender trunks.
Feeling the thick, rich grass against the soles of her feet, Daniella let out a sigh. After a few seconds breathing in the naturally perfumed air, she released her hold on Trent.
It was darker within the circle of trees than elsewhere in the greenhouse. She slid her phone out of her pocket and used the flashlight app to find the nearest hanging candle holder. She lit the first tea light then moved on to the next until all twelve in their glass and bronze cages cast a golden glow over the scene.
Turning back to Trent, she saw him looking up at the hanging plants that helped block out much of the moonlight and added another layer of privacy.
When he dropped his gaze and met hers, she experienced another warm flush from head to toe. Once again, he was staring at her like she was the most beautiful, most desirable woman in creation.
“Baby, why do you suddenly look like you want to cry?”
Daniella shook her head, held out her arms and made grabby hands to call him close because her throat had become tight for words.
He rushed forward, his worried look disappearing into an indulgent smile. He claimed her mouth with a kiss that was soft at first but quickly turned ardent as her body responded. His hands traveled along her back, caressing and rubbing.
He stripped away the shawl. She worked at removing his jacket.
A shaky breath filled with anticipation escaped her. Trent echoed the sound, his mouth fastening against the depression just above her collarbone. His hands surfed under her blouse, tracing the edge of her bra from back to front until he found the closure centered between her breasts.
He groaned, his cock tapping once against the curve of her stomach before he unsnapped the bra and filled both hands with her flesh.
Her knees started to give out. Together, their bodies folded, Trent keeping Daniella from landing hard. The grass they folded onto was cool but dry, the dirt beneath it soft and spongy.
Coaxing Daniella onto her back, he hovered above her, kissing her face and neck, one arm keeping his weight off her as the hand on the other side surfed her curves.
She reached between them to work the buttons on his shirt. They were small, malicious pieces of plastic and she cursed them inside her head.
“Here, baby,” he offered, straddling her as he settled his weight on his knees and lifted his torso. His fingers worked quickly on the shirt buttons as Daniella tackled the fasteners on his dress pants.
Ah, sweet, merciful Heaven he was so hard on the other side of that zipper. Hard and thick. Her mouth and pussy flooded at the same time.
Conquering the zipper, she reached into the silky briefs and wrapped her fingers around his cock. Her body vibrated with need, the contractions already running through her core giving her a hard squeeze that lifted her hips, pleasure rolling in a wave that compressed and curled her spine.
“Every night,” Trent confessed, slipping out of reach so he could strip his clothes all the way off. Naked, he settled over Daniella again and teased her with small kisses around the edges of her face. “Every night I’ve thought about this luscious body.”
His fingers skimmed lightly over the fabric of her blouse, tracing one erect nipple as he licked just below her ear.
“I fantasized about sucking these tight buds.”
Another wave of need cascaded through Daniella, her hips, then breasts, cresting.
Biting at her chin, Trent cupped her mound and squeezed.
“Of feasting mercilessly on this hot, wet pussy.”
She convulsed, a thick outpouring of her cream spreading at her core.
“Can I do that, love? Can I consume you?”
Her eyes rolled up in her head at the question, a faint mewl of consent crawling its way past her constricting throat muscles.
Trent pushed the hem of her blouse upward, unhooking her bra as he went. She squirmed, half assisting, half hindering. When he had her torso bare, he paused to suck at her breasts, teasing and tugging her nipples with tongue and teeth and calloused fingertips until she was barely able to stand the pleasure.
Daniella exhaled, every last ounce o
f self-direction leaving her. For that moment, she was his to devour, to stroke and lick and fuck to a state of mindless nirvana.
His lips sealed around one nipple, roughly drawing it deep into his mouth as he maneuvered a hand between them to unfasten her slacks. He plunged beneath the top band of her panties, a groan vibrating against her breast when his fingers found her hot and wet, her pussy swollen with arousal.
Trent released her nipple with a pop and quickly slid down her body. “I have to taste you now, baby.”
“Yes,” she answered breathlessly, fingers fumbling to help him get the slacks down her full hips, legs kicking weak and erratic until they were free of the fabric.
Wrapping his hands around the inner curve of Daniella’s thighs, he pushed her wide open and buried his face against the slick, throbbing folds of her pussy. She jerked, fresh cream slicking Trent's chin as his tongue and top lip attacked her clit.
She reached down, curled her fingers in his thick black hair. Wanting him all these lonely weeks had been pure torture. Having him now was a different torture, sweet but maddening. She wanted everything at once, his mouth, his cock, his hands, the weight of his torso atop hers, his hard body beneath her as she rode him.
Thick fingers slid inside. Her brain shut down with a meandering groan. Inside and out, he rubbed slow but rough, his tongue firm against her clit and his calloused fingertips massaging the fat, sensitive bulb of tissue that clung and spasmed at the ceiling of her pussy.
Her legs pressed at his shoulders, her ass squirming tight circles as her muscles milked his fingers, shallow thrusts working him in and out as strangled moans stacked up one behind the other in her throat.
Trent retreated, his mouth abandoning her but not his fingers. He rubbed his bristly cheek against her thigh then kissed the flesh. Lifting onto her elbows, Daniella stared at him with half-shut eyes. Candlelight reflected back at her.
With a hungry growl, he surged forward, forcing her flat again. His arm and hand strained to keep his fingers buried deep within her as he savagely kissed his way from her aching nipple, up to her collarbone, then to her throat and finally her mouth.