by Brenda Joyce
It was after midnight, and the lobby was shockingly quiet. No one else was present except for the hotel staff, which relieved Sofie. Coming here like this was making her feel uneasy, and very much like a fallen woman. At any moment she expected the hotel staff to lift their heads and stare and point accusingly at her.
Edward turned and strode to them. Sofie’s heart danced a little as he approached. It was impossible not to be affected by such a man. And clad as he was in his black tuxedo, he was stunningly elegant. But especially now, when he had rescued her so heroically and when she was exhausted beyond words from the strain of the past week and at her most vulnerable, did she find him almost larger than life. “I am afraid that there are no more suites available,” Edward announced.
Sofie tried to hide her dismay. “We can manage with a room, Edward.”
“Forget it. You can have my suite. I’ve already taken a single room for myself.”
“Edward.”
“Shh. You will not change my mind, it is made up.” And for the first time that evening, his mouth quirked, revealing his dimples ever so slightly. His eyes, holding hers, were suddenly warm. It was the man she had known and loved so thoroughly almost two years ago.
Sofie ducked her head, cuddling Edana. The four of them piled into the brass-doored elevator. A few minutes later they alighted on the fifth floor. Edward threw open the door to the suite that had previously been his. “Fortunately there are two bedrooms. I was using the smaller one as an office, but tomorrow I will come and remove all of my things. Sofie, the master bedroom is directly ahead.”
Although Sofie had come to this hotel in search of him once before, he had not allowed her inside his suite. She was quite certain that this was the same set of rooms. Very curious, and very awed, she glanced around.
She stood in a circular foyer. The floors were beige marble, the walls painted in a trompe I’oeil, and it appeared as if one were looking into a huge and sumptuous salon. But the real salon was directly ahead. Blue Oriental rugs covered more beige and white marble floors. There were two seating areas, one with chintz sofas, another with a red damask love seat and a pair of red and beige striped bergères. A floor-to-ceiling mahogany breakfront covered one wall. Opposite it was a marble-manteled fireplace. Red damask draperies covered the windows overlooking Central Park, and some very nice eighteenth- and nineteenth-century French and English works of art hung on the walls.
There was a dining area to the left which could seat eight, a small kitchen just behind it. Also on the left was the second bedroom Edward used as his office. Sofie could see that he had already been working at the small escritoire there, where papers cluttered the leather writing surface.
He took her arm, guiding her across the salon. Sofie ignored the heat of his hand, and when his thigh brushed against her taffeta skirts, she vowed that she did not care.
They paused on the threshold of the master bedroom. His room. Sofie looked at the oversize, canopied bed and realized that he had slept there last night, and the night before that as well. The bed had been made up since then, of course, and now the yellow silk covers were turned down, revealing darker gold sheets beneath. It was shameless, but Sofie wondered if he had slept there with another woman. She despised the very thought.
He had released her arm. The moment was too intimate for Sofie. It was difficult enough to be taking over his suite, his bedroom, his bed. He should have known better than to escort her within. Sofie looked for a place for Edana to sleep. She knew her cheeks were heated.
He said, “I have asked that a cradle be sent up. It should arrive immediately.”
How had he guessed her thoughts? Sofie was afraid to meet his eyes. She moved to the bed and laid Edana down in the center of it, but did not dare sit down beside her, afraid he might think it an invitation of sorts. She stroked the silk counterpane, her back to him. “Perhaps you had better leave before the cradle arrives,” she said, trying not to think about all the ramifications of being in a public hotel with her daughter—and taking over Edward’s suite. Trying not to think about the ramifications of Edward having entered her life once again.
She was too tired. Tomorrow she would unscramble her thoughts—and her feelings.
“All right.” Edward nodded, hesitant. Then he moved swiftly forward. Sofie froze, but he bent over Edana, not her, and brushed his mouth to the baby’s temple. He straightened, locked gazes with her. Sofie could not move.
“Good night.” He bowed slightly, politely, formally. Then he spun on his heel and crossed the room. Sofie clutched the silk bedcovering, watching him cross the salon. A moment later he had entered the foyer and was lost from view. She heard the front door open, and close. With a ragged sigh, she lay down beside her daughter.
“What am I going to do now?” she whispered to herself.
Rachelle had taken Edana alter her dawn feeding, as was customary. Sofie had fallen back to sleep immediately. Never had she slept as deeply, as dreamlessly, as she did in those few hours after sunrise. Now she awoke gradually. She became aware of the sunlight streaming through the bedroom’s windows. Briefly she was confused, certain that the drapes had been drawn when she went to sleep last night.
Then Sofie realized where she was. She was not at the waterfront rooming house. She was at the luxurious Savoy Hotel—in Edward’s suite—in his luxurious bed. She snuggled more deeply under the plush down-quilted covers. For the first time in a long time she felt safe, secure, almost free of worry. It was a tremendous relief not to awake to fear.
Sofie turned over. The sheets beneath her bare cheek, her bare arms and legs, were smooth satin and faintly erotic. Sofie sighed. Last night Edward had charged into her life the way a knight in shining armor might in a fairy tale, rescuing her the way beautiful damsels were rescued, in a moment of great distress. Something fluttered more insistently low in Sofie’s abdomen, muscles knotted more tightly in her thighs. Desire. Fierce and burning bright.
She turned again, this time onto her back, shoving the covers down to her waist. This was not the first time that she had awakened to throbbing need and fanciful thoughts of Edward. But it was the first time she had awakened to such thoughts while in satin sheets in his bed, and she was more undressed than dressed, having been too tired last night to exchange her worn shift for a full-length flannel nightgown. Fully awake now, she wondered why she was not ashamed of what her body was feeling, why she had never been ashamed of the desire he had taught her once so long ago. Perhaps it was because when they had made love that one single time, it had seemed exactly like that, like making love. It had been wonderful, not duly or lewd or unclean. But it had been so very long ago. She wondered how she would resist temptation, how she would resist him.
Shivering slightly, Sofie sat up. Her hair was loose instead of in its usual nightly braid, and she shoved the wild mass back and off her shoulders. She flung the covers off her legs and slipped to the floor. Two paces later, her steps slowed.
Suddenly she froze. Afraid that she was being watched.
Her heart skidding, Sofie turned slowly, and froze yet again.
Edward stood in the doorway, regarding her intently.
She could not move. Sofie became utterly still, except for the fierce, wild beating of her heart.
His gaze was blue smoke. His eyes were as piercing as a hunting hawk’s.
Sofie felt panic bubble up in her breast. For the dark gleam in his gaze left her in no doubt as to the nature of his thoughts.
And she realized exactly how she looked. Her hair was loose but as tangled as a bird’s nest. She wore only a thin, threadbare, thigh-length chemise. She was naked beneath it. She looked as wanton as her body was feeling—she was sure of it.
She told herself to move, to run. He had the look of a predator about him. But her legs refused to obey her mind—which was functioning only halfheartedly.
She met his gaze. As she had feared, he was looking through her undergarment—and down her slim white legs and at her breasts,
which were hardly contained by the chemise. His hungry blue eyes moved to her mouth.
Sofie came to life. She jerked the entire yellow silk bedspread off the bed and wrapped herself in it. “What are you doing in here?” she asked hoarsely.
“Enjoying the best view in Manhattan.” Without another word he whirled and stalked from the room.
Sofie stared after him, shaking with hot, liquid desire, and with a curious mixture of both disappointment and relief. And she was furious. Furious with him—furious with herself—and most of all, furious with Life.
She rushed into the master bath, throwing the bedspread down. She snatched the long paisley robe from the hook where it hung on the door, pulled it on. Too late, she realized it was a man’s robe—that it was his. His scent was unmistakable. Gritting her teeth, acutely aware of the silk teasing her mostly bare skin, she ran out of the bedroom. In the salon she skidded to a stop.
Edward stood staring out the window at Central Park, his back to her. Behind him, the oval dining room table was set with a breakfast that could feed a king. No—four kings. Tantalizing smells came from several covered platters that undoubtedly hid bacon, eggs, sausages, and steaks. Cold platters of smoked salmon and whitefish, of hams and cheeses, of various fruits and baskets of pastries, covered every other available inch of space. Except for the two china and silver place settings. And Edana and Rachelle were nowhere in sight.
Sofie found her voice. “Where is Edana?”
“I told Rachelle to take her to the park.”
She bristled. “You what?”
He turned to face her and repeated what he had said.
“And Rachelle left me here alone, asleep, with you?!”
He stared at her. “It’s my suite.”
She inhaled. “Is that the way it’s going to be?”
His gaze was unfathomable now. “My room is barely big enough to hold a bed, and I certainly did not feel like having my breakfast there. I thought you’d be hungry, too. I’ve been waiting for over an hour for you to wake up. I finally decided to see if you were even alive. It’s not my fault you were sleeping in a wisp of cotton that hides absolutely nothing.”
She folded her arms across her breasts, quite certain he was remembering how she had looked in her ancient, threadbare chemise. “I can assure you,” she said acidly, “if I had known you would come into my bedroom, I would have worn a monk’s robes.”
His eyes narrowed. “Really?”
She did not like the interest she saw there, for somehow, she had kindled it anew. Or it had never died, and he failed to hide it now. She stepped backwards. “Yes.”
“How quickly we forget last night,” he murmured. “You still have that scrap of cotton on?”
Sofie began to move steadily backwards. “Edward, it was very thoughtful of you to order breakfast, and of course, I understand that you would rather eat here than in your room. You have every right to take your meals here! I will go and get dressed. You may start without me.”
His smile flashed. It was one hundred percent wicked, the dimples deep and damnably attractive. “Somehow what I ordered just doesn’t seem appetizing anymore.”
Sofie turned to flee, but Edward’s hand clamped on her shoulder and he spun her back around. Sofie found herself an inch away from being in his arms. “You look good enough to eat,” he said softly as he pulled her slowly forward.
Sofie stiffened, finding it difficult to breathe, to think. She whimpered as his hands slid over her back and down her backside. “I have no intention of being your breakfast,” she whispered.
“Why not?” he whispered, his mouth very close to hers. Sofie whimpered again as he pressed forward until their loins touched. He was erect, hot and huge and quiveringly erect. “Why the hell not?” he whispered against her mouth.
Sofie tried to find words, tried to think of why she should not make love with him. Her heart, she finally remembered. She was trying to protect her heart. “Don’t, Edward. Please.”
But he ignored her. “I’m going to kiss you,” he murmured, leaning over her, “and we both know you’re going to like it.”
26
Sofie shook her head in denial. Their gazes fused. She heard herself whimper when he slowly slid his arm around her, pulling her up even more firmly against his body. She pressed her hands against his chest, but it was only a feeble gesture—she could not make herself push away from him with any teal effort.
If only she did not love this man. Then maybe she would not want to melt into his body so badly. Then maybe there would not be the burning red-hot urgency, the sheer, insane desire.
Edward’s mouth brushed hers. It was a deliberately teasing action, and Sofie gasped. “You feel the way I do,” he said, the sound undisguised, raw in both lust and triumph. His eyes blazed. “I can see it in your eyes—feel it in your body.”
“No!” Sofie managed to lie, frantic now, for she knew he was going to kiss her, just as she knew he was expertly seducing her, and that wounded part of her was terrified. He would hurt her again—and she could not possibly survive another blow from him.
“Yes,” he whispered, smiling slightly and slowly rubbing his hardened loins against her. His hands moved up her rib cage, over the silk robe, cupping her aching, swollen breasts. “Oh, God, Sofie.”
And Sofie knew that he was thinking, as she was, about what it would be like when he pushed his way deep inside her. She felt faint, even dizzy. She was acutely aware of the hot, rigid muscle pulsing against her moist, clefted flesh. Acutely aware of his fingers plucking her enlarged nipples through both cotton and silk, and of his warm, uneven breath feathering her lips.
Sofie moaned.
Edward made a harsh sound and bent her over backwards. His mouth covered hers.
And then there was nothing in existence except for his mouth on hers and his hard body shuddering against her. Sofie gave up. She opened, she clung. Instantly the kiss changed, became a greedy, devouring monster.
Sofie kissed him back, licking his lips. She nipped him. he sucked her. Her hands slid down and gripped his high, hard buttocks. She fought with and conquered his tongue. He massaged and molded her breasts with increasing urgency until her warm milk began to flow.
Sofie cried out, aware of her need for him growing into something insatiable and overpowering. Her hands slid to his hips, holding him firmly against her throbbing sex. Edward ripped open robe and chemise, the worn shift tearing with hardly a sound. Sofie gasped in exultant pleasure when his lips claimed one of her taut, aching nipples. Sobbing, she threw back her head as he suckled.
And then she could stand it no more. Desire exploded inside Sofie and became madness. Her hands slid over the massive bulge behind the fly of his trousers. Shaking, frantic, determined, she followed his shape and molded his form. Edward gasped, tearing his mouth from her breast. An instant later she was in his arms and he was running into the master bedroom. He kicked the door closed. Still carrying her, he moved onto the bed, coming down on top of her.
And nothing mattered except this. Sofie spread her knees and hooked her ankles around his hips. Edward ripped open his fly. For one shocking instant they looked into each other’s eyes. Then he was on her, impaling her fully.
Sofie clung to his shoulders, rocking her hips wildly, crying, “Yes, Edward, yes!” Her nails dug into his back. For a moment he had frozen, but now he responded to her frantic urging and began to move hard and fast. Sofie had one coherent thought—she loved this man, she always would. An instant later she was swept upwards into a spiraling, red-hot, maniacal vortex, and she shattered in mindless ecstasy.
When she opened her eyes, panting uncontrollably, she met Edward’s wide, wild gaze. He was not moving, but he was still full and hard inside her. When their gazes met, something tierce flared in his. Instantly Edward’s mouth came down on hers for a long, intimate kiss. His raised his head, looked her piercingly in the eye. “Sofie.”
And then he began to stroke her, harder and faster now than bef
ore. Despite having just reached a stunning peak, Sorie’s blood surged yet again. Edward wrapped his arms around her, sinking deep one last time. He cried out. shuddering, his face buried in the hollow of her neck and shoulder.
Sofie slid her hand down his back, closing her eyes, exulting in the feel of him. Her heart still beat like a wild, trapped bird, and his pounded even more forcefully against her breast. Sofie did not want to think. She pressed her cheek to his. Being with him like this was bittersweet.
Edward stirred. Sofie dared not move, afraid of what might happen next. Dear God, they were strangers now. What had happened should have never been—yet it had been so right. What would they say to each other now? Hello? Good-bye? That was very nice, thank you?
She blinked back hot tears.
Edward shifted onto his side, keeping one strong arm around her, so that she was nestled against his side. Sofie was afraid to look at him, but was relieved he had not pushed her away. She tensed when his hand stroked over her shoulder and down her arm. A moment later she felt him exploring her waist, her abdomen.
She could not avoid him for much longer and she opened her eyes, looking up at his face. She did not know what she expected to see, perhaps insolent male arrogance, but he was very solemn, almost grim. She was stricken. Did he regret their encounter?
She could handle almost anything, the past two years had proved that—but not his regret for such splendid, abandoned passion.
“I didn’t come here for this,” Edward said.
Sofie choked. Before, she wouldn’t have believed him, but now, looking into his eyes, she did.
“It just happened,” Edward said, his hand lying still and motionless on her stomach. “I won’t apologize.”
Sofie stared at his large, tanned hand, sprawled on her white, flat belly just below her navel, only inches from the nest of hair that shielded her femininity. Sofie extricated herself from his arm and sat up, pulling his robe closed around her. “I d-didn’t ask for an apology.”