The Runaway Heiress

by Meg Tilly

  “I’m sure they are very beautiful.” His voice sounded stiff.

  She tipped her head at him like a curious chickadee, her sky-blue eyes shining bright. “You okay?”

  “Of course.”

  She studied his face, the joy in her eyes dimming. “I’m being insensitive. A member of your team passed away unexpectedly. I imagine it’s a shock.”

  “Any life lost is one too many. However, I’d be remiss if I led you to believe I’m reeling in grief. I should feel something, but I don’t. Numb really. Maybe it hasn’t set in? Or maybe I’m just an insensitive brute, incapable of the higher feelings that other people have?”

  “Bullshit.”

  “I beg to differ. Yes, Harmony was a relatively new addition. I didn’t know her well, but shouldn’t the news of her death have me reeling?” He shook his head. “Nope. There was a jolt of shock when Peterson told me, a dropping in my stomach, a sense of disbelief. But grief? You want to know the truth? I wasn’t thinking about her just now. I had forgotten that she was dead.” He saw Sarah blink. “Yep. That’s the man you are sitting next to, painting him with noble colors that he doesn’t deserve.” She opened her mouth to say something, but he beat her to it. “You want to know what I was thinking? I was thinking about you. About how stupid I was not to have leaped into your bed when I had the chance. How’s that for an enlightened male? Harmony’s dead, and I’m obsessing about what an ass I was holding off making a move on you.”

  “You know, I’ve been curious about that. Why didn’t you?”

  “You’d been through a tough time, and I knew you were vulnerable. You’d mentioned your ex was abusive. You needed help. I could do that, for which you were grateful. I didn’t want to take advantage.”

  “Take advantage?” She arched an eyebrow. “I offered.”

  “I know,” he growled. “That’s where the ‘ass’ part comes in. I was operating under some antiquated cockamamie belief that it would have been wrong, unfair to lure you into my bed when I held all the power.”

  “Aw . . .” The noise she made sounded sympathetic, but he could see amusement dancing in her eyes. “Hate to break it to you, Mick,” she practically purred. “But you never held all the power.”

  “Whatever. We’re arguing about semantics. What matters is that you are free now. Soon you’ll have access to your funds and properties. Your petition for divorce has been filed. You hold the world in your hands.” And I have nothing left in my arsenal to tempt you with. He managed a smile. “And for the record, I am happy for you. Truly, I am.”

  43

  Mick swiped at the fogged-up bathroom mirror with a thick hand towel. It didn’t do much good, but at least he could see a blurry version of himself and should be able to manage a shave without slitting his throat. His mind was still mulling over the long conversation he’d had with Peterson. The man was shaken, balling his eyes out. Mick had never heard him so undone. After he’d hung up, there was the call to the police department. A promise had been extracted. Mick would drop by the station when he returned to Los Angeles. A hot shower was no longer a luxury but a necessity. He needed the ritual of washing off the weight of the day. The thought of Harmony with all her hopes and dreams extinguished. Why had death chosen her? Didn’t seem fair.

  Generally, Mick kept his showers short, doing his bit for the environment, but this night a long shower was needed. Steaming hot, with lots of soap. And in the shower, perhaps there was a component of salt intermingled with the water beating down, but if there was, it was nobody’s business.

  Mick had removed his travel-sized shaving cream from his toiletry bag and began lathering his face when he heard a knock on his room door. “No thanks,” he called, figuring it was hotel housekeeping or minibar service.

  “Hey, now,” he heard Sarah retort from out in the hallway. There was a trace of laughter in her voice. “You haven’t heard yet, sir, what’s on offer.” Her husky, honey-drenched tone wreaked havoc on his body. Mick adjusted himself so he wasn’t tenting the towel slung around his hips and walked to the door, blood pulsing through his veins like a drumbeat.

  He braced himself, then opened the door. “Yeah,” he said with a nonchalance he didn’t feel, because being in her presence snatched the breath from his lungs

  She looked at him, her eyes narrowing. “Have you been crying?”

  “Hell no. Got soap in my eyes. What’s it to you?”

  “Ah,” she said softly. She glanced over his shoulder to the living room beyond. “I called the switchboard and had them forward any phone calls to your room. Thought we’d have dinner together. You good with that?”

  The tightness eased in his chest. Grateful he wasn’t going to face the evening alone. He leaned against the doorframe and drank in the sight of her, barefoot, scrubbed face, wet hair, wrapped in one of the hotel’s thick white robes. Clean. Fresh. Like a new beginning. Jesus, you’re a goner, Talford. He was glad he had something sturdy to prop him up until his knees lost their sudden gelatinous quality. “So, this offer you mentioned,” he drawled. “Were you talking about dinner? Or . . . something else?”

  She took a long, lazy perusal past his partially lathered face, to his throat, down his body, her gaze lingering as she took in the broad expanse of his bare chest, still damp from the shower. “Mm . . .” The pink tip of her tongue peeked out briefly, moistening her lips as if the sight of his partially naked body had made her mouth dry. A rosy flush stained high on her cheeks, but she didn’t stop her downward trajectory. Her gaze paused at the front of his towel, and her eyes widened. “I remembered thinking you were big that first time I met you, but you’re larger now.”

  * * *

  * * *

  “Woman.” Mick’s eyes had darkened even further, his voice a low growl. “You are playing with fire.”

  “Good.” Sarah arched her back slightly, enjoying the knowledge that she was naked beneath her robe. She could see the exact moment he broke. Was unable to contain her satisfied smirk when he grabbed her hand, yanked her into his room. Gone was the restraint and cautious fragile care with which he had treated her, as if she were made from spun glass. He kicked the door shut and in two seconds flat had her against the wall, her face cradled in his hands as he lowered his head and took possession of her mouth. There was something so heady, so thrilling—as if she were dancing barefoot on the edge of a cliff in a rainstorm—about the way she had snapped his self-control, because she knew on the deepest, most fundamental level that in this man’s hands she was absolutely safe. What a sense of freedom that knowledge created, after years of tiptoeing cautiously through life, to run full tilt into the waves, arms outstretched. She reveled in the animalistic hunger and urgency she had incited in him, her body writhing against his, needing to get closer. She fisted her hands in his hair, which was wet from his shower, pressing him closer still. Wanting everything he had to give and more. A groan erupted from deep in his chest as he captured her lower lip, dragged his teeth over her bruised flesh, then soothed the throbbing ache with his tongue. The slick slide and taste of him against her lips, dancing with her tongue was intoxicating. A revelation. When he pulled back, his breath was ragged and the wanting in his eyes caused her body to heat even more. His pupils dilated with passion, leaving only a narrow circlet of his amber irises visible. She reached up and, using the blade of her hand, tenderly removed the lather from his jawline. The contrast of textures, the thick silky lather against the rough scrape of whiskers was such a turn-on, she had to press her thighs together tight to try to ease the throbbing.

  “I forgot that was on my face.” A slight laugh in his husky voice, his eyes sleepy with lust. “You can wipe it on my towel.” His hand guided hers down, down to the towel wrapped around his waist, to press against the straining hard length of him. She curled her hand around him, could feel the pulsing heat through the thick fabric.

  Need, longing, and unspoken words buil
t a logjam in her throat. “You’re so damned beautiful,” she murmured, when what she really wanted to say was I think I love you . . . And that realization caused her eyes to flutter shut and her head to fall backward to rest against the cool wall. I love him. Oh God. I am in love for the first time in my life. And the enormity of the revelation caused her eyes to fill with the beauty of it. Fear was there, as well, of the vulnerability and the possibility of being broken in two.

  He left her hand wrapped around his cock and returned to his exploration of her face. “You slay me.” His voice was a soft rumble as he brushed a gentle kiss on her closed eyelids, which made her knees weaken. She could feel him trace her eyebrows with his thumbs. His warm, sweet breath caressed her face, a hint of mint. He must have brushed his teeth. She still couldn’t open her eyes. It would be too much, too overwhelming. He would see the truth in her eyes. The shaving cream was gone from his jawline, but she could still smell the scent of it on his face, could feel the creamy thickness of it on her hand, between her fingers. Bergamot and something else, apple, perhaps, mingled with his freshly showered skin. His callused fingertips continued their exploration of her face, down her cheeks and throat, causing tingling trails in their wake, as she memorized the shape and feel and heft of him through the towel. He returned to her mouth so his lips could caress hers, back and forth, as if by the lightest of touches he was better able to imprint the taste and texture of her on his lips. Back and forth, softly, sweetly, like a whispered prayer.

  Her other hand released its grip on his hair and traveled the breadth of his shoulder, gathering intimate knowledge of his hard muscles and hot skin through the pads of her fingertips. Greedy for more as restless heat rampaged through her body and pooled low in her abdomen and lower still, thrumming with need and want. A soft moan escaped her lips. She slipped her hand beneath the flap of the towel and wrapped her fingers around his hot cock, so hard and yet the skin so very soft, silky-smooth. She slid her hand up the thick length of it. Her thumb explored the swollen head, the ridge, glided through the droplet of moisture at the tip, ripping a husky groan from his throat. Sarah felt a tremor run through him, which caused an answering ripple of need in her own body. His hands traveled downward and nudged the robe from her shoulders, his mouth tasting the sweetness of her skin, the shape of her collarbone, a lick and then a kiss in the hollow at the base of her throat. His mouth traversed outward, upward to the muscle leading from Sarah’s neck to her shoulder, lightly, ever so lightly. A slight growl as his teeth bit softly down.

  A cry flew from her lips as heat surged through her. Her hand tightened around his hot cock, which was getting slick from his juices.

  “Too rough?” he murmured.

  “No,” she gasped. “No. I liked it.”

  “Good.” Mick soothed the bite with a lick, a kiss. His hand slid underneath her robe to palm her aching breast, fondle her nipple. She felt his teeth biting down again, toying with her, his teeth scraping, then releasing. Another soothing lap of his tongue, and then his mouth latched on, sucking hard on her tender skin, marking her, branding her his, causing shivers to ripple through her. All the while his nimble fingers wreaked havoc on her, such knowledge in the way he caressed her body, taking her higher and higher. He pulled back and looked at where he’d been sucking. “Mine,” he said, tracing the mark lightly with his fingertip. The primitive male satisfaction in his voice pumped through her like a shot of hot whiskey. “When you leave this room, everyone will know what we’ve been doing.” With his other hand, he gently rolled her taut nipple between his forefinger and his thumb. “They are going to see that mark, look into those innocent baby-blue eyes of yours, and know that I have carnal knowledge of you. They will know that you had my thick, hard cock buried deep inside you.” His dark gaze fixed on hers as the pressure on her nipple tightened and tightened, pleasure and pain intermingled. “And that you liked it.” He released her nipple, and she found herself arching toward him as his thumb made a slow, soothing circle.

  His other hand on the move now, traveling down, down, to caress the slick, wet folds between her legs. Oh God . . . Oh God . . . He dipped a finger inside her. More. She wanted more. Everything tightened around her. A moan escaped from between her lips. His face was taut with need, with longing. Sarah was unable to look away, drowning in his eyes, panting slightly, but it was impossible to contain the unfamiliar sensations that were roaring through her. Trembling, she was trembling as he caressed her most intimate parts with his knowledgeable fingers, which seemed to know just exactly where to touch.

  “Mick,” she moaned. “Please . . .” He caught her other nipple between his finger and thumb, giving it a soft caress. He slid another long finger inside, stretching her further, to join the steady pulsing in and out, slick with her juices. His thumb gently circling over the swollen quivering nub, pressing down occasionally, then circling again, as his fingers inside her mirrored what his cock would soon do. Higher and higher she traversed, past the moon and the stars. “Mick . . . I’m . . . I’m . . . going to . . .” Mick curved his fingers inside her and began stroking some kind of magical spot she didn’t know was there, his other hand at her breast, ruthless now, his finger and thumb clamping down hard on her nipple. The sudden sharp sensation sent Sarah flying over the edge. Wave upon wave of pleasure crashed over her, and a startled cry ripped from her throat as her convulsing body shattered into a million pieces. A million pieces flying outward all in the safety of his arms. “Sarah. Oh, baby,” Mick murmured. “You humble me.” He swept her still-shivering body into his arms and strode through the living room to the bedroom beyond.

  44

  Somewhere along the journey from the living room to the bedroom, Sarah had managed to loosen his towel. It dropped to the floor. Mick shoved it out of the way with his foot as she nuzzled her face into his neck. “Before we go any further, we need to have the talk.” Her voice was low and throaty, the sound of pure sin, making coherent thoughts difficult.

  “The talk . . . ?” What was that? Some kind of woman-speak clearly, but for what? And then an image dropped into his sex-muddled brain. Sarah in a wedding dress smiling at him as she walked down the aisle. Oh . . . The Talk. Once he had the thought, it made perfect sense. Mick had known from the moment he met her that she was not a one-and-done kind of woman. She was permanence and forever and a warm, welcoming home. Mick was used to making snap decisions based on his gut. His work required it. “Right. The talk. Consider yourself engaged. We’ll go out tomorrow morning and shop for a ring.”

  She’s laughing. Why is she laughing? Her arms wrapped around his neck, and she was dropping little kisses amid her laughter, on his shoulders, his neck, his cheeks, his forehead, his ears.

  “You are”—kiss—“so damned adorable . . .” Kiss. “It kills me.” Kiss. She was still laughing. “Oh God . . .” Kiss. “I love you so much . . .” Kiss . . . kiss . . . kiss.

  Mick froze midstep. She just said she loves me. But wait. She said, “Oh God, I love you so much.” Was she talking about God? To God? Must be. Love and Mick Talford was a contradiction in terms. There was the Hollywood “love you, baby,” which meant jack dick, but love-love. Nah. Mick was an unlovable bastard, and he knew it. Never had it in his life and probably never would. Whatever. Doesn’t matter. What matters is now, and I am going to make love to this woman if it’s the last thing I do. She didn’t say no. And she’s kissing me, so I’m going to take that as a hard yes on the engagement thing. “So, we’re all squared up? Good to go.” She was still laughing, wiping moisture from the corner of her eyes, which had gone all soft and doe-like.

  “Oh, Mick . . .” She took his face in her hands and kissed him long and deep. Pulled back and looked at him with this indescribable expression on her face that made him feel comfy and warm inside. “You.” He waited for more words, but they didn’t come. She just traced his lower lip with her thumb. He started moving again, toward the bedroom. “What I meant was,” she
said, still dropping tender little kisses on him, “the I-have-a-clean-bill-of-health-and-no-sexually-transmitted-diseases talk.”

  “Oh.” Of course. That talk. What a ding-a-ling. Mick felt his face flush, as well as the tips of his ears and the back of his neck. But along with the embarrassment was another emotion he didn’t want to look at too closely. A feeling akin to waking up and discovering his Christmas stocking was just the way he’d left it the night before, hanging loose and empty on its thumbtack. Expectations. Frikkin’ fairy tales bite you in the butt every time. “Ah,” he said. “Right.” Mick shoved aside the childhood memory. That has no bearing on this. You have a wonderful, warm, sexy woman in your arms. Stop looking up the ass of things. Speaking of asses . . . Sarah’s terry-cloth-clad bottom was brushing against the bobbing tip of his rock-hard erection with every step, a glorious torture. He cleared his throat, trying to sound like a normal person instead of a man crazed with lust. “I had a full physical at the beginning of September. Had a clean bill of health. I’ve never injected. Haven’t had a sexual encounter for”—he paused; even counting backward was an effort, given all the blood from his brain had taken up residence in his nether regions—“in a little over a year.” A little over? Ha. Eighteen months to be exact. It was mind-boggling really. He hadn’t made a conscious decision to abstain. It had just happened. “So, health-wise, all clear on this front.” All this “health” talk had done nothing to tamp down his erection. The memory of Sarah’s sweet cries, how she’d shattered in his arms, had left him teetering on the razor’s edge of sanity. Every molecule in his body, every nerve ending was demanding succor.