Up again, thumbs grazing her breasts. She didn’t balk, didn’t quibble. She let him play with her, let him thumb her nipples lightly until they tightened to perfect peaks.
They were just right, her breasts, just a handful, all he wanted. He palmed them, felt the pulse in his cock, the erection that hadn’t fully gone away.
He’d have to shift her, withdraw, dig a new condom from his pocket. Not that they needed protection. He’d seen her medical record—Gio was nothing if not thorough—and it was as clean as his own. But he needed her to tell him that in her own time, and to trust him when he told her the same. That was something that couldn’t be rushed.
So for now, he’d allow a thin layer of latex between them. But soon even that would have to go.
Rubbing his jaw along her temple, he smiled, smugly. She was docile as a lamb, enjoying his handling but too proud to let him know it.
Her pride amused him; he loved that about her. And he hated to nudge her along before she was ready. But things were getting dicey. His growing erection had to be dealt with. And when he’d taken it in hand, sheathed it anew, then he’d take her to bed, make her writhe, make her . . .
Snore?
He took her shoulders, sat her up. She blinked at him blearily. Then her focus sharpened, her eyes narrowed to slits. “What?” she said, annoyed as ever.
“You’re asleep.” Indignation made his voice rise an octave.
“I was. You woke me up.” She flattened her palms on his chest, pushed back to arm’s length. A shaft of light from the bedroom slanted across her knotted brow. “Grab ahold of that thing”—she pointed her chin at the condom—“because I’m getting up.”
“For Christ’s sake,” he muttered, doing as she asked. “Is that the best you can do after getting fucked against a door?”
She scrambled to her feet, leaving him on the floor, hard-on poking up stubbornly from the V of his jeans.
Tugging her nightshirt down over everything he’d handled so confidently, she tossed her head. “What the hell do you think you’re doing in here?”
“Do I really have to explain it?” He scraped together the tatters of his pride. “We just made love.”
“Pfft. You mean we had sex. A quickie. Slam, bam, thank you ma’am. Now scram.” She jerked a thumb at the door.
He clambered to his feet, hamstrung by his sagging jeans. Hoisting them, but not zipping them, he shook back his hair. “No.”
She goggled at him. “No? No?” She stuck out her chin. “Yes. And make it snappy. I’ve got things to do.” She scooped up her panties, reached for the doorknob.
He caught her arm, yanked her up against him. “You’re not pestering your sister. Not under my roof.”
Wrong thing to say. Steam whistled out of her ears.
“Don’t you dare—”
He kissed her. He had no choice. Her mouth was right there in front of him, tempting, irresistible. She jerked her head, but he splayed a hand on the back of it, crushing her lips, tasting her fury.
Living dangerously, erotically, he thrust his tongue past her teeth. He didn’t care if she bit it as long as he had something inside her.
She moaned in spite of herself, hooked his tongue with hers even as she tried to twist away; ground her hips against his even as she shoved at his chest. She was a mess, a snake pit of contradictions.
He was wild for her.
“Bed,” he mumbled against her lips.
“No,” she got out, but he swallowed it, scooped an arm under her butt and carried her off anyway.
Her bed was untouched. He tossed her in the middle. She bounced up on her knees and he knocked her back with his body. She hit the pillows. He landed on top of her.
“Get off me, you big ox.” She whacked his shoulder with a sharp fist.
He levered up on his elbows, looked down into her snarling face. “Maddie.” His voice was gentle but firm. “I’m going to kiss you again.”
“Like hell! This is sexual assault and you’re going down for it.”
Her face was puce, but he knew the difference between fury and arousal. He dropped his chin, held her eyes. They glowed sea green in the bedside light.
“I won’t hurt you, Maddie. I’ll never hurt you.” He let it sink in, then, “Kiss me once. Just once. Then I’ll leave if you want me to.”
Trembling like a leaf, pupils dilated with desire, she swallowed, convulsively. Nodded her head half an inch.
And with everything hanging on it, everything balanced on the head of a pin, he dipped his head, took her lips.
He held back this time, chained the animal within, and kissed her softly, licking inside, nipping lightly at her swollen lips.
She lay perfectly still, clutching the blanket, rigid with tension. And he sank deeper, still gentle, but his tongue wanted inside. She let it stroke hers, let it learn the shape of her teeth.
His hand came up to cup her cheek. His thumb grazed her jaw, touched the corner of her mouth. Then pushed inside.
A wanting sound hummed in her throat. It vibrated through her chest, quivered her limbs. He felt it run through her; it ran through him too, resonating on a primal plane. He held on to himself by one fraying thread, moving nothing but his lips, his tongue, and that thumb.
She fought him on a cellular level; he felt the battle in the sweaty sheen on her skin. She didn’t know it yet, but she’d lost before she’d begun. When she’d stepped into that conference room, she was his.
He stroked his thumb along the silky inside of her cheek; she shook harder, moaned deeper. And then her tongue surrendered, circling his thumb. Her hands came off the bed, fisting his hair, dragging him down, down.
Rolling with her, he pulled her over to straddle him, shoved her shirt up until she sat back on her haunches and yanked it off. He reached for her breasts, those perfect handfuls crying out to be palmed, but she went up on her knees and hooked his jeans with her fingers, backing up, dragging them down until he kicked them away.
Then she crawled up his body, lips parted, eyes dark. “T-shirt. Off.”
He obeyed, then caught her arms and pulled her down, tits to chest, skin on skin. He slid one hand through her hair, wrapped the other around her ass, fingers dipping into wet heat. “Fuck,” he breathed.
“Definitely,” she gasped out, squirming against his hard cock as she groped through his pockets.
His laugh was a panting, desperate sound. “Wait. I want to taste you.”
She tore foil with her teeth. “Later.”
“Swear it.”
“On a stack of bibles.” She sat up, rolled it on. Then her eyes rolled back as she mounted him. “Nice. Cock.”
“All yours, all night.” His eyes feasted on her, so slender, so lithe, glistening with sweat as she rode him. She dropped forward, hands flat on his chest, perfect breasts within reach. “Open your eyes.” He needed to see her as he palmed her, needed her to see him.
“Shut up,” she panted. “Keep doing that and shut up.”
“No.” He surged up and rolled her, put her on her back, pinned her with his chest. The shock on her face made him grin savagely. Her eyes were damn well open now.
Stroking, never stopping, he dipped down, bit her jaw. She turned her head; he turned it back. “Used to calling the shots, aren’t you?” He stroked in and out. “Keep the boys begging, that’s the way you do it. But not with me, Maddie. Not with me.”
“Don’t—”
He cut her off, took her mouth. Jammed his tongue in and stroked in rhythm with his cock. Her nails dug into his ass, a painful grip that barely registered. He was lost in her, lost in fucking her, lost in taking her, breaking her.
He never slowed, never changed his rhythm, let her fight her inner battle, let her surrender on her own terms. And when she did, when she caved in and circled him with her legs, pumped her hips up to meet his, then everything, everything in him aligned with everything in her, a cosmic rhythm, the very beat of their hearts.
His hand pushed down be
tween them, found her center, her core, and stroked it exactly as he knew she’d want it. And when she came, screaming, he pumped himself into her, taking her, and losing himself.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
MADDIE NEVER TWITCHED when Adam slipped from her bed. For a long moment, he stood over her, watching her sleep, the gray dawn deepening the shadows under her eyes.
She looked so small in the big bed. So defenseless.
She’d hand him his head if he said that out loud. Awake, her whole being was focused on convincing everyone—herself included—that she was tough as bark. But it wasn’t true.
What she was, was wounded. And like any wounded animal, when someone got too close, she snapped at him.
He’d need to learn what caused her pain and help her heal it. Because after last night, he was hooked. He’d ripped through her defenses, and the woman underneath the thorny facade was every bit as supple and giving as he’d hoped.
He wanted more of that woman. He wanted all of her.
For now, though, he let her sleep.
Stepping into the hallway, he came face-to-face with Lucy, sneaking back to her room. Her eyes popped out of her head.
“Good morning,” he said easily, as if he always bumped into her outside her sister’s bedroom with his T-shirt wadded in his hand.
“Um, good morning.” She looked confused. “Maddie said you guys weren’t sleeping together.”
He gave her a wide grin. “We weren’t. Now we are.”
She cocked her head, appraised him. He waited for her to tell him not to hurt her sister. Instead, she said, “Be careful, Adam. She’ll break your heart.”
Then she tapped her finger to her lips. “Don’t tell her you saw me, okay?”
He nodded, and she slipped into her room.
Back in his own suite, he greeted John Doe with a chin scratch. “Sorry I abandoned you, boy. Tonight you can sleep with both of us.”
He smiled to himself. Lucy was wrong. One night wouldn’t be enough for Maddie. A week, a year, a decade might not be enough for either of them. He was hard again just thinking of her.
He crossed to the window. He didn’t often catch the New York sunrise. It was spectacular. Golden sunbeams lit the tops of the city’s tallest buildings, setting them on fire while the streets below remained in deep shadow.
Yes, it promised to be a beautiful day. He could hardly wait to get it started.
He went to the phone, but before he could call for coffee, Henry tapped twice and entered with a pot on a tray.
“You’re a mind reader,” Adam said.
“I heard the elevator.” Eyeing the shirt in Adam’s hand, Henry tsked. “Talked the fair Lucy out of her lover’s bed, did you? Fast work, my friend, even for you.”
“She’s practically a child. Get your mind out of the gutter.”
“Maddie, then?” Henry’s brows rose a full inch. “So Fredo recovers his paycheck, and half of mine to boot.”
“Betting on my sex life again?”
“It’s usually not worth betting on. But our Maddie’s brought some interest to the game.”
“Not anymore.”
“Finished with her so soon?” Henry looked disappointed. “Too bad. I’m fond of her. We all are, prickly though she can be.”
“She’s more bark than bite. And we suit very well, so you can hold on to your paycheck. I won’t tire of her anytime soon.”
Ignoring the stunned silence that met that little speech, Adam nodded at John’s leash, dangling from Henry’s hand. “I’ll walk him this morning.” He felt exceptionally energetic considering how little he’d slept.
John did a happy dance as they passed through the door, leaving Henry still speechless behind them.
“SHIT.” MADDIE STARED at the ceiling. “Shit shit shit.”
What the fuck had she done? Why the fuck had she done it? And how the fuck was she going to undo it?
She rolled off the bed. Ouch ouch ouch. Her girl parts had gone from rusty to overworked in one marathon night.
Limping into the bathroom, she caught a glimpse in the mirror. Oh God. She leaned over the sink, turned her head side to side. Bruised, her lips were bruised. Her whole body felt bruised.
She blasted the shower as hot as she could stand it, all five heads scorching her from every angle. When she got out, she could almost move normally.
Bridget knocked on the outer door, sang out, “Good morning” as she waltzed into the parlor.
Maddie decided she’d never get used to servants barging in, then reconsidered when the girl brought a steaming mug to the bedroom.
“It’s a beautiful day,” Bridget said brightly. “I’ll get you packed up while you’re at breakfast and send your things down to the car. What’ll you be wearing for your trip?”
“Jeans. And a T-shirt. And that sweater.” She pointed at the plum pullover. Then the caffeine hit her bloodstream and she worked up a smile. “And good morning, Bridget. How are you today?”
“Oh, I’m good as gold. Though I’ll miss the lot of you while you’re gone.” Moving to the bed, Bridget picked up the bedspread that had been kicked to the floor. “I’ll have your suite all polished up for you when you come back.”
“Thanks, but I won’t be back. This is good-bye.”
The girl cocked her head. “But Mr. LeCroix just now told me you’d be back in a week and I’d be at your service again.”
“Well, Mr. LeCroix was wrong.” The nerve.
Bridget was canny enough to drop a hot potato. “Your lovely sister’s already in the dining room with her beau. Such a nice, polite fellow he is.”
Oh God. She’d forgotten all about Lucy and Crash. They’d probably done it all night. The kid looked like he knew his way around a woman’s body; Maddie could hardly blame Lucy for wanting to sleep with him.
And who was she to talk anyway? If she hadn’t gone under from sheer exhaustion, she’d still be at it herself. And Adam would be right there on top of her, doing things she hadn’t known she wanted done, ringing bells that had never been rung.
Even her imagination, which was randier than most, hadn’t gone where they’d gone last night.
The difference was, unlike her silly sister, Maddie wouldn’t fall in love.
In fact, there was no reason that one hot night should change anything between her and Adam. This wasn’t her first rodeo. She’d worked with Michael for months after their hot weekend together. If Adam got any stupid ideas, she’d give him the same stony stare that made Michael tuck his tail.
Because she wasn’t getting involved with anyone.
She found Lucy and Crash alone in the dining room.
“Morning,” she sang out, taking a page from Bridget’s book.
“You’re in a good mood.” Lucy’s smile edged toward a smirk.
Maddie narrowed her eyes and growled, “So?”
“Ah, there’s the Morning Maddie I know and love.”
Maddie grimaced at her, then managed a sour smile for Crash. He lifted his fork to her with a sunny grin, then went back to shoveling sausage and playing slap and tickle with Lucy.
Stalking to the sideboard, Maddie tried to ignore their giggling. How could she have let Lucy slip past her last night? It was unforgivable.
She drowned a mountain of French toast in maple syrup, took her plate to the table, and plunked herself down across from the lovebirds.
“Crash, could you”—get your hand out of my sister’s lap and—“pass the coffee?”
“Sure thing.” He passed the pot, nothing but obliging.
Grrr.
“So. How’d you sleep?” Lucy was wearing that half smirk again.
“Like a baby.” Maddie tossed it off casually. “You?”
“Same. The beds in this place are like sleeping on a cloud.”
Ever the lawyer, Maddie homed in on the details. “Beds?”
Lucy shrugged. “Well, you slept late, so you must like yours too.” Her blue eyes blinked innocently. “I mean, you were sle
eping, right?”
Enough talk about beds. The subject was a minefield.
Pointing her fork toward the door, Maddie said, “Did you swing through the gallery, check out the Rodin?”
That did the trick.
“Ohmygod, the gallery!” Lucy was off and running. Rodin blah blah, Degas yakkety yak.
Maddie sat back and sopped up syrup.
She was on her second cup of most excellent coffee when Adam strode in. He wore tailored black slacks and a dark blue pullover that fit him like a department store mannequin and pushed his impossibly blue eyes another notch along the color wheel.
She’d just taken a swallow, and at the sight of him, she caught her breath . . . and sucked coffee straight down her windpipe.
Dropping her cup with a clatter, she blasted a cough that spattered droplets across the white tablecloth and onto Lucy’s pink T-shirt.
“Maddie!” Lucy was around the table in an instant, hauling her from the chair, Heimliching the hell out of her.
Maddie flapped her arms. “I’m okay! I’m okay!”
Lucy stepped back, concern on her sweet face. Maddie patted her arm. “It just went down the wrong pipe. I’m fine. Go eat.”
Face burning like a campfire, Maddie took her own seat, dabbed at the tablecloth, refusing to meet Adam’s gaze. She’d seen enough to know that his hair was still damp from the shower, finger-combed back, glossy and unaffected, and that when she’d choked, he’d streaked across the room, reaching her a split second after Lucy did.
And even without looking, she knew he was watching her as he filled his plate, as he took the seat beside her, as he poured his coffee. Watching her. Waiting for her to meet his eyes.
She carved a hunk of French toast but didn’t dare put it in her mouth. Her throat was still tight, and it wasn’t from choking.
It was Adam. He was too close, too warm. His scent was too potent. It brought everything back, his touch, his lips, the sweet, scorching words that fell from them.
It seemed that one hot night had changed something after all.
But she didn’t have to admit it.
Scooting her chair away, she said crossly, “This table’s as big as an aircraft carrier. Quit crowding me, will you?”
The Wedding Vow Page 15