The Runaway Heiress

by Meg Tilly

  “I’m not a drug user either, and in the abstinence department?” Sarah’s expression was wry as he set her down on his bed. “I’ve got you beat.” A shadow flickered across her face, so quick he almost missed it, and then it was gone. “While I was in the hospital, I had the doctor run the works on me. Got the results in the evening, and the next morning I hit the road. Kevin and I hadn’t been intimate in the seven months prior. Once we discovered I was pregnant, he’d lost all interest, and since he’s the only man I’ve ever slept with . . .”

  The need to possess, to be buried deep inside her was more than a hunger now. It was rapidly becoming more vital than the inhalation of his next breath. “You’ll be sleeping with me.”

  “Haven’t slept yet.” A teasing smile played on her lips.

  “Oh, we will.” His voice summoned up from the very core of him and carried the weight of a vow. Her eyes darkened, her lips parted, as if an inhalation was caught between them, like a wish, while she waited for what came next.

  He untied the sash of her thick terry-cloth robe and removed it from her glorious body. He felt thick-fingered at the sight of the creamy perfection of her skin. He couldn’t stop his hands from shaking. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured. No lie. The unobstructed vision of her breasts had caused his breath to catch in his throat. Her nipples were ruched into little tight buds of pale peach. The color similar to the delicate flush of a Bonica rose. The innocent, almost virginal color created an erotic contrast to the sensual, satiated knowledge in her eyes and the slightly swollen pout of her lower lip.

  Sarah wrapped her hands around his engorged cock, stroked up, one hand doing a swiveling rotation over the top of the head, and eradicated any possibility for conscious thought. Down her hands swooped, the finger and thumb of one hand circling the base. “A cock ring,” she murmured, tightening around him, her thick lashes fanning against her cheek. “To keep you from coming too fast.” Her other hand reached farther and cupped his contracted scrotum and tugged gently.

  “Oh God . . . Oh God . . . Oh God . . .” he moaned.

  Her lashes lifted lazily, a sultry smile curving her lips. “And with regards to a condom . . .” She leaned forward, the tip of her tongue playing over the spot where her thumb and finger met.

  “A condom. Right. I picked some up,” he croaked. “In the bedside table.” She had loosened her grip slightly to slide her tongue through the gap. Flames of pleasure rushing upward, ready to blow, but at the last second her grip tightened and pressed down slightly.

  “What I wanted to say, before I was so rudely interrupted . . .” The sultry sound of her voice was intoxicating enough, but the sight of her elegant fingers wrapped intimately around his engorged prick, her pink tongue framed by her swollen lips as she lapped his shaft was beyond pleasure. It was like a religious experience. “Is that pregnancy”—her tongue began traversing up the length of him—“is not an issue.” She reached the swollen head of his cock. “I’ve got that covered.” And then she took his cock in her mouth and started humming. Humming. Causing vibrations to reverberate through him. Unbelievable. His breath was ripping in and out of his lungs like a freight train as her tongue, her mouth, and fingers made him weak-kneed and dizzy. “No more,” he rasped, his voice hoarse. “Can’t . . . hold out.”

  She looked up at him, her lips swollen and slick. “Sure you can.” Her hand rose, to take the place of her mouth, a hint of pleased laughter in her voice as she did that diabolical twisting motion over the head of his cock, ripping another moan from his chest. He was shaking. Literally shaking.

  “I need you, Sarah. Now.”

  “All right, then.” She released her grip on him, scooted back on the bed, spread her arms wide, and fell backward as if preparing to make a snow angel. “I’m all yours. Take me.”

  * * *

  * * *

  No sooner had the words left Sarah’s mouth than she felt the welcome weight of Mick’s magnificent body on hers. All six feet four inches of hot horny male, lean, hard muscles, gentleness, and strength. The fire in his eyes, his ragged breathing, the light sheen of sweat across his shoulders and face made her feel like the sexiest woman alive. She dragged her nails down his back, over the taut mounds of his buttocks, then slipped her hand between their bodies to position his hard cock at the entrance of her core. She drew small circles with the ruddy, swollen head, making it even slicker with her juices. Then, with a slight upward thrust of her hips, she had taken the engorged tip inside her. “More. I want more.” Need rising like a winter river after a hard rain. “I want you planted to the hilt, deep, deep inside me.”

  Mick thrusted his hips forward. His beautiful eyes locked on hers as he drove his cock into her warm, welcoming sex. “Like that?” he murmured.

  “Yeah, just like that,” she replied like a woman starving. Slowly, he withdrew, even as everything inside her tightened, wanting, needing the feel of him filling her. Slowly, he withdrew until just the tip was still lodged in her. “Please,” she moaned, and he plunged into her again and again, stretching, claiming every millimeter of her, and it felt so incredible, so very right, how she had imagined lovemaking would be before she’d hooked up with Kevin and discovered the truth. But now . . . A sudden groundswell of gratitude and emotion swept all thoughts aside, and there was nothing left for her to do but to wrap her legs around him tight, hold on, and ride the love, ride the cresting waves higher and higher until they obtained completion.

  45

  “You know what we forgot to do?” Sarah said, trailing her fingers lazily through the scattering of hair on his chest, her palm settling over his heart. She could hear the comforting thump of it through the ear nestled against his skin. She was tucked around him, his arm holding her close. She loved the warmth of his hard body, the contained strength he possessed, and was reluctant to move. Mick had carried her into the bedroom as if she were a dainty five foot four, making her feel like a heroine in a movie. Heck, even the memory of it was causing a languid heat to course through her. However, she hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and hunger was making itself known. She removed her leg, which had been resting across his thighs, enjoying the sensation of the slight rough texture of the hair on his legs, so different from hers, bringing a jolt of heat to her sex. She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed.

  “What did we forget?” His voice was like warm toffee. His gaze was as wide open as the desert sky. “I aim to please, ma’am,” he said with a cheeky grin. “Your satisfaction is paramount to me. Although . . .” He paused, looking like a mischievous fallen angel. “You did scream pretty loudly, more than once, if I recall, but hey, let’s give it another go. Practice makes perfect.” He reached a hand and tugged her back into his arms, rolling over so she was underneath him.

  “You gotta be kidding,” Sarah said, unable to help the smile that was spreading across her face as Mick positioned himself at her opening, which was still slick from their last encounter, and in one smooth thrust he was where he belonged.

  Forty-five minutes later she lay boneless, breathless, and more satiated than one woman deserved to be. “Wow . . . if I’d known this was what I was missing, I wouldn’t have waited so long.” She heard Mick growl possessively, which made her chuckle. He spread his hand over her abdomen. She liked the way it looked, his long, tan fingers against her pale skin.

  “Good thing you’re on the pill. Made me come so hard, woman. No way that load wouldn’t have impregnated you.” And just like that, the sorrow came, for what would never be. “What?” He rolled to his side, pushed up on his elbow, concern in his voice.

  “I’m not on the pill.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

  “IUD? Diaphragm?”

  She shook her head. Squeezed her eyes shut to block out the worry on his face. It was easier this way, to say what needed to be said. “I don’t need birth control. I’m unable to get pregnant.”

  He gathere
d her in his arms, holding her close. “Were children something you wanted?” She could feel his voice rumbling through his chest.

  “Yes, of course. I always believed that one day I would be a mom.” It was comforting being held by him. Made her feel safe, less alone. “And when I found out I was pregnant.” She paused, words stuck in her throat.

  “Go on.” His hand made soothing circles in the space between her shoulder blades.

  Sarah pulled back a little so she could see his face. “Even though I was in a terrible relationship, I wanted that baby. Wanted her so much. My mother was thrilled that she was going to be a grandmother. My dad . . . He was a little less ecstatic. I think he was enjoying having my mom’s undivided attention, and that took a back seat once the baby was coming. My mother became a whirling dervish of activity. There was a nursery to set up, a layette, and maternity clothes to purchase. She was so happy. Came with me to every doctor’s visit. Held my hand when we both saw the baby’s heartbeat for the first time. It was the most amazing thing, this miracle of life growing inside me. My mother attended Lamaze classes with me so she could be in the hospital to help me through the birth . . .” Sarah stopped, unable to speak, the weight of all she had lost crashing over her.

  Mick held her close to his chest, solid as a mountain. His head bowed over hers, and his heartbeat was a steady, comforting thrum. Great breaths of oxygen entering his lungs and exiting again, slow and measured, as if he were breathing for both of them. Time passed and still he held her, keeping her safe in the storm. And when it passed, he snagged some tissues, wiped her tears, and then stuck a couple in her hand. Didn’t so much as blink when she blew her nose more than once. There was no way to do it delicately, not after crying that hard. And once she’d mopped up, he held out his hand and made her drop the soggy tissues in it. He got off the bed, and she watched his long, rangy body stride naked into the bathroom to toss the tissues away and was filled with gratitude that this man had entered her life.

  When he returned, he sat cross-legged on the bed and took her hands in his. “So, then what happened?” He was right, of course. She couldn’t stop there, no matter how much she wanted to pull the covers over her head.

  “A cement truck plowed into my parents’ vehicle. My dad died on impact. My mom passed away in the ambulance on route to the hospital. The driver of the cement truck must have been high or drunk, because the footage shows him backing up and taking off. The license plate was covered in mud and was unreadable. Every time I see a gray cement truck, this irrational rage wells up inside. I fantasize about dragging the driver out and punching him on the nose. It doesn’t matter if the person was actually the one who killed them and then drove away, leaving my parents’ car and their broken bodies discarded like litter on the road. I literally hate all drivers of gray cement trucks.” Mick didn’t look shocked or repelled by her revelation, but inside he probably wanted to run screaming from the room. Sarah exhaled slowly, suddenly weary. “The next few days passed in a blur. So much to set up, graves to purchase, coffins, headstones to order, a funeral to arrange, a memorial, food, flowers, what the readings should be, and on and on and on. Jane and Phillip helped. Vicki, too. But still there were so many details that only I could attend to.” She paused, looked down at her hands encased by his. “After it was all over and everyone had gone home, there was the legal stuff that needed to be dealt with. Wills to be read. Papers to sign. Kevin took the day off work to come with me to Phillip’s office.”

  “And . . . ?”

  “And I’m not sure if I mentioned this before, but when the will was read Kevin . . . wasn’t pleased.”

  “Because your parents tied their estate up in a trust? It shouldn’t have been a surprise. Many people do.”

  “Yes, but this one had a caveat. It was to be kept in trust for as long as I was married to Kevin. If we ever got divorced or he died, the trust would be dissolved and I would own everything outright.”

  “Pissed him off.”

  “You could say that. He took it pretty personally. When we got home, he took it out on me. Me and the baby.” She could hear her voice. It sounded flat, emotionless, just stating facts now, one after another, too tired and heartsick for any more tears.

  “That son of a bitch.” Mick’s curse was a low growl that had her gaze flicking upward to his face. Anger and a vow to avenge her and her unborn child were blazing from his eyes. Good, she thought. Let Kevin know what it feels like to be hunted and scared.

  “I tried to shield the baby when he knocked me down”—her face felt slightly numb and masklike—“and was kicking the shit out of me curled up on the kitchen floor. Did the best I could, but it wasn’t enough. After his fit, he slammed out of the house. I crawled to the phone, called 911, so worried for the baby. There was so much blood, and contractions were ripping me asunder. The last thing I remember is the ambulance crew strapping me onto a stretcher and starting an IV. When I regained consciousness, I was in a private hospital room. There were bouquets of expensive flowers, get-well cards, a box of chocolates from La Maison, but no baby. Phillip had brought Auntie Jane by, hoping her presence would help soften the blow.” She turned her palms upward, stared at them. Felt almost as if they belonged to someone else. But she knew they were her hands because they were empty. Would always be empty. “I knew they meant well, but it was exhausting, meaningless chatter about the weather and such. Finally, I pretended to fall asleep so they would go. After they departed, the doctor informed me that the violence of the miscarriage had caused a lot of internal damage, which resulted in uterine adhesions, synechiae. Basically, fancy words for scarring. Scarring that would prevent any new embryos from implanting.” She shrugged, attempted a light laugh, but it came out sounding more like a dry heave after one had vomited out one’s guts. “So, you’re safe. A baby won’t take root.” Her voice cracked slightly, but otherwise she’d managed to hold it together pretty well.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said, and she could tell he was, could hear it in his voice, see it in his eyes.

  “Me too,” she whispered. They didn’t talk anymore. There wasn’t a need to. Mick gently settled her back on the bed, retrieved the covers from the floor and pulled them over her. Then he climbed into the bed, opened his arms, and she snuggled in, her legs and arms wrapped around him tight. And they stayed like that. The past was behind them. There was only the present. Only the now. The two of them holding each other tender and sweet, their breath, their heartbeats intermingled as one.

  * * *

  * * *

  Luckily, Mick and Sarah had gotten their order in the nick of time. Ten minutes later and room service would have switched from the expansive all-day dining to the truncated overnight menu.

  When they had awoken from their impromptu nap, Mick remembered a great mom-and-pop Italian bistro that was only a couple of blocks away, but Sarah had been reluctant to leave the room. She was still hopeful Vicki might call. Mick could have told her waiting for the phone to ring was a waste of time. A decade of directing had made him something of an expert at reading faces, and Vicki’s was stone-cold shut. No call would be forthcoming.

  The room service arrived twenty minutes later and was surprisingly good. They ate the perfectly grilled halibut with buttery mashed potatoes, “local” asparagus—which Mick had argued against because where in the hell were they growing asparagus in New York City—but Sarah won. He was grateful to see her appetite was better than it had been that morning. However, she still looked a little pale and had developed violet shadows under her eyes. It was as if they had made an unspoken pact and talked only about inconsequential things, like the premiere of his new movie, which would be a week from Thursday in New York. He floated the idea of the two of them staying the extra week. “We could make a vacation out of it, amble through the museums, take in some Broadway shows, shop for a fancy outfit, and you can attend the premiere with me.”

  She demurred. Her ca
t, Charlie, would be missing her. And even though he was disappointed, he enjoyed watching Sarah’s face lighten as she described how her motley cat would insist on sleeping with his nose tucked into the nape of her neck, his paw draped across her shoulder. “Claws ready to extend,” she said, raising her hand, arching her fingers into pretend kitty claws, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “To hold me in place, even in his sleep, to make sure I’m not preparing to vacate the bed.”

  “Sounds like a tyrant,” Mick said, not in a complimentary fashion, but Sarah took it as one and smiled.

  “He is,” she replied, and scooped up another forkful of mashed potatoes.

  Once they had noshed on the “healthy portion” of the meal, they tucked the dirty dishes and leftovers in the belly of the white-linen-covered trolley. Then, with fanfare, Mick had removed the organic carrot cake with crushed pineapple, the homemade chocolate peanut bar, and a pot of steaming-hot coffee.

  “Oh my,” Sarah half moaned, half sighed as she sank her fork into the cake. “You are a terrible, terrible man.”

  “Thank you,” he replied with a gracious nod of his head. He watched her kiss-swollen lips close around her forkful of cake, and his prick sprang to attention remembering those warm, luscious lips wrapping around his engorged member. Down, boy, he told himself sternly. Every muscle in his body was insisting he bend her over the room service trolley and take her from behind. You are not a wild beast. You are a civilized man—Mick tugged his gaze away from her mouth—who will let the woman eat her dessert in peace. He speared a forkful of the chocolate peanut bar for himself with one hand and poured coffee into their mugs with the other.