The #1 Bestsellers Collection 2011

by Catherine Mann

  Alone, again.

  Holly remained frozen where she was until rationality kicked in and she made for the door. She couldn’t stop in case she threw herself at him again. Already she wanted more of him, more than she could ever ask for.

  “Don’t go. It’s not over, Holly.”

  “Yes, it is. It has to be.” With swift simple movements she gathered her garment bag and handbag and made it to the elevator before even taking another shaking breath. With each step she’d expected to hear Connor’s footfall on the carpet behind her, yet when she stepped inside the elevator and turned to push the ground-floor button he remained silhouetted in the door to his office, his face inscrutable.

  Behind him, his office appeared normal, unchanged—the clock on the wall giving evidence to the passage of but half an hour. Only half an hour? It felt like a whole new lifetime. Holly knew she would never feel normal again. But whatever happened after tonight, she would always be able to lock the memory deep within her to take out and examine and cherish at will.

  The elevator doors took forever to close but finally they began to draw together. She bit back a cry of alarm as a dark-suited arm wedged between the closing elevator doors sent them springing wide apart again.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, her voice high pitched and foreign to her ears.

  “It may have escaped your notice but we didn’t use protection. We need to talk. Besides which, that was your first time, Holly. For whatever reason, you chose me, and now I owe it to you to make tonight memorable and not just some denigrating experience.”

  Denigrating? He thought that had been denigrating?

  “You don’t need to—” Her protest was cut short by an implacable sweep of his hand.

  “No, that’s where you’re completely wrong, Holly. I do need to. And, I will.”

  Four

  Holly watched as Connor swiped his key card through the internal controls that permitted access to the penthouse apartment on the top floor of the tower that he used during the week when late nights didn’t make it practical for him to fly back to his home on the island.

  She knew she could stop him, if she really wanted to. He was nothing if not a gentleman. But she didn’t want to. Not at all.

  Despite the climate-controlled temperature in the elevator, a shiver ran down to the base of her spine. She’d only wanted to belong to someone for a moment, to have a connection, albeit fleeting. She hadn’t dared dream for any more than that. From the time she’d been old enough to understand what had happened, that her mother was never coming back for her and there was no one else out there who cared enough to try and find her, Christmas Eve had always been the hardest day of the year.

  It now struck her as ironic that despite all those years of conditioning, the one time she’d weakened and sought comfort had turned into her first sexual experience. A tug of heat reminded her that Connor had intimated there was more to come.

  Was that why she hadn’t put up any argument? Was she so pathetic that she’d take whatever he could hand out to her and be grateful? Yes.

  Suddenly his comment about not using protection struck home. She’d acted purely on instinct, on basic need, and been so swept away by both the man and the moment that the possibility of pregnancy hadn’t even occurred to her.

  Stupid! Of anyone, she should have known better. There was no way she could have a baby. No way.

  She silently counted back to the days of her last period. If all the overheard conversations in the staff cafeteria from the women desperate to become pregnant were any measure, she should be safe.

  Well, there was always the morning-after pill. Provided, of course, she could find a dispensing pharmacy open on Christmas in the suburb where she lived. Yes, that’s what she’d do. As soon as she could get back home she’d source the nearest one.

  She stood to one side of the small enclosure as it raced to the top of the building, unsure about where this evening would end. For three years she’d been of no more interest to Connor than a fixture in his office, yet now he chose to spend the night with her? Her skin tingled—the whole night?

  What had triggered this change in him? Carla! Of course, that was it. He’d been behaving out of sorts ever since his meeting with his ex-wife this evening. Anger and passion were both powerful, strong emotions. Holly knew, from her own tempestuous teenage years and the frustrated anger that had led her into so much trouble and seen her caseworker throw her hands up in surrender, how intrinsically mixed the two emotions could be.

  So, he’d spent his anger on Carla, then he’d slaked his passion on her.

  The realisation flayed her like a whip. Holly mentally squared her shoulders, absorbing the pain. She was a big girl, and well used to looking after herself. If he wanted to find comfort in her, so be it. They could each have their own agenda, fooling themselves for however long it took to burn out. And burn out it would, Holly had no doubt. On Connor’s part at least.

  For her, however, the physical act of love had only heightened her senses as far as he was concerned. The intimacy they’d shared in his office now made her more aware of him physically and emotionally.

  And more in love with him than before.

  The realization was as agonizing as it was hopeless. They were oil and water. The silver-spooned rich boy and the girl from the wrong side of town. The man who wanted children and the woman who swore she wouldn’t.

  Connor took her things as they stepped into the sumptuously furnished apartment and tossed them onto a leather-covered sofa. In silence he walked over to the bar and poured two glasses of wine before returning, like a panther on the prowl, to where she stood, waiting and unsure of what he expected.

  He watched as she tilted the wineglass to her mouth and took a sip, his eyes drawn to the movement of her slender throat as she swallowed. He could still taste her, he realised. And he still wanted her with a fierceness that made his hand tremble slightly as he lifted his own glass in a silent toast.

  “Could you become pregnant?” His stark question obviously startled her and she fought to regain her composure.

  “That’s impossible.” She was emphatic.

  “Nothing’s impossible, Holly. What if it happens?”

  She stared at him across the room, her eyes shooting sparks of blue fire. “I’m never having children.”

  Her words were like a knife twisting deep into his gut. They were harsh words from a woman her age and, ironically, words his treacherous ex-wife had never uttered, even though that had been her intention all along. The knife gave another sharp turn.

  “So you’re saying you’d terminate a pregnancy?” It was hard to keep anger from his voice, to maintain a rational, conversational tone.

  “I didn’t say anything of the kind. Don’t put words into my mouth.”

  “Then what are you saying, Holly?” he demanded. “It might already be too late.”

  “If the worst did happen, I’d take care of it,” she replied flatly.

  “Take care of it,” he repeated. “Why don’t I get the impression you’re discussing love and nurturing here.”

  “Look, I’m safe. I already told you that.”

  “So you say. Nothing’s infallible, Holly. And I doubt you’re on any form of contraception. Are you?” He gazed at her over the rim of his glass as she responded with a fierce shake of her head. Such fire, such passion. And all this over a conversation. What would she be like when she assumed that passion in the luxury of a large bed? There had been no denying her response to him earlier.

  Heat, hot and heavy and clawing with need, engulfed his body.

  One thing was for sure. Holly Christmas wouldn’t be “taking care of it” if she was pregnant. Nothing would happen to another child of his ever again.

  Grief tore at the ragged edges of his mind. He determinedly forced the crushing strength of the emotion aside. He’d take his time to grieve, later. The loss was still too new, too raw to even acknowledge. He needed to lock it away inside and deal wi
th it on his own terms.

  For now he intended to lose himself. To focus on the energy that seethed inside of him and turn it into something positive. Something that would surpass the loss and replace it with physical, pleasurable sensations.

  Connor reached across and took her wineglass, placed it on a coffee table then reached to take her hand.

  “I’d take care of you, Holly.” It was a promise. If she carried his child he would ensure they both had the best of everything medicine and money had to offer.

  “I can take care of myself.” She lifted her chin in defiance of his words, yet her voice, tellingly, wavered. Her vulnerability cut him to the quick, and stark realization dawned. Take care of her? What the hell was he thinking? Had he been so addled by the intoxication of making love to her that he’d forgotten his position as her employer?

  He forced himself to question his motives and, for the first time in forever, he didn’t like the answers. Had he been so driven by the detestable evidence he’d been presented this morning that he’d subconsciously grasped at the next available opportunity? The thought was anathema to him, yet even so, he couldn’t categorically state that in some dark and wounded corner of his heart he hadn’t been provoked into manipulating the situation, manipulating Holly, to his own ends.

  He dropped her hand as if her touch burned him. “Holly, I—” For the life of him he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t apologise for making love to her—especially when he wanted to do it again.

  She lifted her hand and pressed her fingers gently to his mouth. “Shhh. Don’t say it. Don’t say you’re sorry.”

  She knew him that well? Shock robbed him of speech, even more than the warm gentle imprint of her fingers against his lips.

  “We’re both adults,” she continued, her voice slightly hesitant at first but growing stronger with each syllable. “We both know what we want. I’m not asking for forever, Connor. Just tonight. Only tonight.”

  Her fingers traced the outline of his lips and his body leapt to rock-hard attention at her touch. The sound of his name on her lips hung in the air, crashing through the final barrier of indecision. Intently he examined her face, her eyes, searching for the tiniest hint of reluctance, and could barely suppress his elation when he found none.

  “Tonight, then.” His throat felt raw as the words strained from him in agreement.

  Sizzling anticipation shot scorching sparks through her. Her body felt taut, like a runner at the starting blocks, every nerve, every particle on alert. Waiting. Wanting.

  “Ready?” Connor murmured as he lifted her hand to his lips and gently pressed them against her knuckles.

  “Yes.” Her voice was strong. There was no hesitation now. This was what she wanted. Her lips parted on a gasp of pleasure as his warm tongue stroked a hot, wet line between her fingers.

  “Let’s go, then.”

  In the softly lit bedroom he let her hand go. Holly stood on the threshold, seeing, but not really taking in, the lush draperies at the window and the hand-crafted armoire and matching dresser. Connor hit a switch on a remote and the curtains drew closed.

  “Come here,” Connor commanded from where he stood, next to the impossibly wide bed.

  Shivering with nerves, Holly did as he bade.

  “Undress me.”

  Where to start? Holly thought for a frantic second, then, almost of their own volition, her hands reached for the lapels of his jacket and pushed them wide, sliding the tailored garment off his broad shoulders and letting it drop to the floor.

  She pulled his shirt free of his trousers and painstakingly undid each button from top to bottom until the fine white cotton hung free from his body. She reached for his hands, one at a time, and undid the cuffs on his sleeves, then pushed his shirt away to expose him to her.

  He was beautiful. The latent strength of his body evident in the swell of his shoulders and the depth and breadth of his chest. She watched as a quiver ran over the taut muscles of his stomach, the same skin she’d barely grazed with her touch earlier tonight, yet could still feel searing her fingers.

  She heard his swift intake of breath as she reached out and trailed her fingers across his belly before fumbling for the catch at his waistband.

  “Stop.” His voice was a deep-throated growl.

  Her fingers halted their activity. Now she wanted to finish what she’d started. He knew already how painfully inexperienced she was, had he changed his mind?

  “Touch me.”

  “Like this?” Her question was tentative. While she’d dreamed of touching him, the reality was hugely different. His skin tightened beneath her feather-light caress as she trailed her fingers over his chest and traced his nipples. To her surprise, and delight, they tightened into hard peaks, much like her own at this very minute. Did he ache for more, like she did?

  With a groan, he grabbed her hands, halting them on their path as they trailed down past his belly button. “It’s your turn.”

  “But—”

  “But, nothing.” He drew in a shuddering breath. “Undo your hair.”

  Holly lifted her shaking hands to slide out the pins that bound her hair, letting them scatter on the carpet at her feet and allowing the thick black swathe to uncoil and drape past her shoulders and down her back.

  Connor ran his hands through the weighty length and she felt his fingers twist and curl in the tresses, gently tilting her head back. He lowered his head and captured her lips in a fierce sweep, demanding she surrender her mouth to him.

  At first hesitantly, and then with increasingly more courage, Holly met his onslaught, giving as good as she got. Sucking at his tongue and swirling her own around his in a tango that turned her legs to water and her blood to molten lava.

  She could feel how much he wanted her in the marble-hard lines of his body, and even though she knew it wasn’t in the same way she wanted him, she would accept everything he had to give her. Her breasts ached to be touched, to be suckled as he suckled her tongue.

  His hands skimmed down, pushing her dress over her waist to slide unhindered to the floor. The irony of how easily he’d undressed her wasn’t lost, considering her inexperience in undressing him, yet she couldn’t have cared less. She needed him holding her, touching her, inside her. Finally his lips were at her breast and a new tension built deep within her. A tension she was learning to identify. The rhythmic pull of his teeth and tongue over her sensitive nipples wrought a tiny scream of pleasure from her lips.

  He swooped her off her feet, lifting her from her shoes and leaving a pool of clothing where she’d stood. She felt the fire of his skin as her breast pressed against his bare chest before he placed her on top of the fine, cool sheets of his bed. There had to be an acre of cotton, she thought wildly before she felt the depression of his body next to her. The finely woven fabric felt like a caress against her sensitised skin and even in the dazed heat of passion its quality wasn’t lost on her. She had to hoard every memory, every sensation, and hold it fast to her forever.

  He’d removed his clothes, and the rasp of his legs along her own made her squirm against the sheets. The hard dry heat of his erection nudged her body, causing a deep-seated contraction to ripple wildly from her core—a prophecy of what was yet to come.

  “I won’t hurt you this time, Holly,” he whispered, his voice laden with more promise than mere words could imply.

  “But you didn’t—” She stopped on a gasp as he traced her lips with his tongue.

  “Don’t make me eat your words.” A tiny smile played around his lips as he nibbled across her jaw and over her neck.

  The laugh that fought past the constriction in her throat surprised her. Humour, when she’d never felt more serious in all her days? Life was full of contradictions.

  She pressed against the bed as he gently licked and nipped a line down her body, between her breasts, stopping to lave at her belly button before dropping lower.

  Propped as she was on a mound of pillows, the shadowed view of his dark head
against her skin made an erotic picture. She could almost separate her mind from what was happening. Almost. But when she felt his warm breath against her, through her panties, thought and reason fled on the building waves of delight that undulated through her body.

  She gripped wildly at the sheets, almost too afraid to draw breath, as his tongue traced the leg line of her panties. His fingers tugged the scrap of fabric away from her to be discarded onto the thickly carpeted floor.

  Holly almost sprang off the bed when he replaced her panties with the hot wet pressure of his mouth. The surging waves of pleasure built and built inside, until she hovered so close to the brink of release she thought she might shatter.

  His weight shifted just before she toppled over the edge, leaving her trembling, craving for more. He slid over her, stroking the line of her body with his hands. She felt him reach past her head and heard the tear of a foil packet. He held himself away from her momentarily and then he was nestling between her thighs. Hot, heavy and totally male.

  “Open for me.”

  At his bidding she lifted her hips and let her legs fall open. He slid within her in one slick delicious movement. Her inner muscles tightened and released against the length of him as he pushed deeper until he was buried inside her. She luxuriated in the sensation of oneness with him, the deep sense of rightness in how they fit together. He’d had her heart for far longer than he knew, or would ever know, and now he had her body. She’d never felt drawn to another human being the way she was pulled to this man. Admitting how much she needed him both thrilled and terrified her. How would she cope when it was all over?

  She sighed, the breath erratic, as he slowly withdrew before resettling back so deeply in her body she thought she’d pass out from the exquisite fullness of him. This was nothing like their first encounter where everything had been driven by the heat of the moment. This was making love on a completely different level. She could almost feel his heartbeat, hear his blood rush through his veins, breathe each breath he drew through his lungs.