Secret Baby Santos

by Barbara Mccauley

  “You what?”

  “I...got pregnant.”

  He went still. “Drew?”

  “Yes.”

  He sighed, then cuddled her against him and kissed her forehead. “And the man you were with, Drew’s father?”

  “He...wasn’t around.”

  “The bustard.”

  “No,” she said quickly, then more softly, “please don’t ask my any more, just believe me, it wasn’t like that.”

  As dangerous as this conversation was, Maggie knew she could tell Nick all this and there still was no way he would ever know the whole truth. She needed to tell him, needed him to understand, if only a little, why she’d behaved the way she had. She was certain she would regret it tomorrow, but at this moment, sit ting on Nick’s lap, his arms holding her tenderly, there was no tomorrow, no yesterday. No past, no future.

  Only now.

  She felt safe in the shelter of his arms, as if she’d come home at last. The tension that had knotted her insides shifted from fear and anger to something entirely different. The warmth of his body seeped into hers, and she felt herself softening, melting into him. His aftershave, a masculine, erotic scent, curled deep in her lungs, triggered a primal response that was impossible to ignore or deny.

  And the truth was she no longer wanted to deny it. No longer wanted to ignore it. And what better way to put out a fine then to let it run wild?

  She turned in his arms, cupped his cheek in her hand, then traced his lips with her fingertips. His body stiffened against hers; his eyes darkened, narrowed at the corners.

  “You wanted truth,” she murmured, “this is it. I want to make love with you, Nick. I want to feel your mouth on my lips, your hands on my skin.” She yanked at his shirt, pulled it roughly from his jeans and slipped her hands underneath. His muscles jumped at her touch.

  “And most of all,” she whispered as she brushed her lips, just barely, over his, “most of all, I want to feel you inside me.”

  Eight

  For one long, heart-stopping moment, Nick swore that he’d heard her wrong, that he’d simply imagined her asking him to make love to him. He couldn’t trust himself to move, to even speak. If he did, he was certain she would vanish and he’d wake up from the dream.

  But if this was a dream, it was one hell of a doozy. The woman nestled in his arms was all curves—smooth, cool silk and warm, soft velvet. Her scent was feminine, seductive and incredibly arousing. Her hands soothed over his cheeks, her eyes deepened to a smoky green as she raised her face to his.

  Light as a whisper, her lips brushed his. “Kiss me, Nick. Please.”

  He needed no other encouragement. On a groan, he covered her mouth hungrily with his. Her arms came around his neck, and her soft breasts flattened against his chest He groaned again, dragging her closer still while he kissed her with all the pent-up frustration from what seemed like a lifetime of wanting this, of wanting her.

  “Maggie,” he murmured, dragging his mouth over her smooth, silky throat, “have you any idea how crazy I am for you, how much I want you?”

  Her response was a throaty, sensual sigh. She dipped her head backward, exposing more of her delicious skin, and he feasted on the sweetness, trailed hot kisses over the base of her neck, the ridge of her collarbone, down to the soft swell of her breast. He felt the quickening of her breath, the tiny gasp of delight as he nuzzled aside her suit jacket and made contact with black lace.

  Every primal instinct screamed at him to take her now, hard and fast, to bury himself deeply inside her and ease the throbbing ache in his loins. But strangely, he needed more than that from Maggie, more than he’d ever needed from any woman before. And stranger yet was the feeling that somehow he’d come home, that holding her in his arms, making love to her, was as natural to him as breathing.

  She squirmed in his arms, and the movement brought her firm, rounded bottom snugly against his arousal. Groaning, he stilled her restless hips with his hand, then leaned her back against the easy chair to free his other arm. Eyes heavy with desire, Maggie rolled her head backward while she ran her hands up his arms, then tugged at the collar of his jacket and pulled it down. He shrugged the garment off and tossed it, then turned his attention to the soft velvet-covered buttons of her suit jacket. Slowly, one by one, he slid each button open, keeping his gaze locked with hers until the jacket fell open.

  Sheer black lace cupped her breasts. Her skin was pale in the dim light of the room, and through the delicate texture of lace, he saw the rosy outline of her hardened nipples. Heat exploded in his veins, then burst into flames.

  “Do you know how beautiful you are?” he asked hoarsely, circling her narrow waist with his hands. Her skin was warm and silky, smooth as cream, and he slid his thumbs upward across her flat stomach, lightly brushed the underside of her breasts. She trembled at his touch. “Do you, Maggie Smith?”

  Maggie tried to answer him, but words simply failed her. A river of liquid heat flooded her body, pooled low in her belly and between her legs. Her skin felt tight and hot, and the slow rhythm of his thumbs on her breasts left her dizzy and weak. Closing her eyes, she let her head fall back against the chair. His thumbs moved upward again, a slow, sensuous massage, and she moaned softly.

  He bent over her, closed his lips over one lacecovered nipple and kneaded the sensitive skin with his teeth and lips. She gasped, then shuddered at the intense waves of pleasure rolling through her. His mouth was doing the most amazing, most glorious things to her, and she lost herself to the feelings, just as she’d lost herself to the man so many years ago.

  Deftly his fingers unclasped the front hook of her bra, exposing her bare breasts. She felt the cool air mix with his warm breath, the gentle caress of his large, callused palms on her skin. She arched forward on a groan as his lips closed over one beaded nipple. His mouth was hot and wet, the pleasure so great it bordered on pain. She dragged her hands through his dark, thick hair, dug her fingers into his scalp while she pulled him still closer.

  “Nick, please,” she pleaded, and moved restlessly under him. “I need you.”

  “I need you, too, baby,” he said raggedly, then gripped her hips in his hands. “I need you so bad it’s killing me. But I’ve thought about you, about this, too long. You’re mine, Maggie, all night, and I’m not going to rush one precious minute.”

  His words excited and tormented her at the same time. She thought she couldn’t bear it, this delicious torture of his hands and lips as he moved over her. While his mouth worked its magic on her heated skin, he slid one hand down her thigh, lower, to the curve of her calf, then down to her feet, carefully removing each high heel before skimming back up her leg. His fingertips burned a trail on the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh, then slowly rolled down the lace tops of her silk stockings and removed them, as well.

  Her legs were long, like satin, made for a man’s hand, Nick thought possessively. His hand. The struggle to control his raging desire was nearly lost as he explored the arch of her foot, the smooth skin behind her knee, then higher still, up to the soft, sweet vee of her thighs. He could be blissfully lost here forever. He pushed her skirt upward, traced one finger along the thin strip of lace across her hips, then slid underneath, into the hot, moist glove of her body.

  Gasping, she strained toward him on a whimper, then raked her hands through his hair and pulled his mouth roughly back to hers. He stroked her, and she matched the rhythm, opening to him as her hands slid anxiously under his shut She moved her palms over his bare, damp skin, skimmed her smooth fingertips through the coarse hair on his chest Intense, hot pleasure throbbed in his blood as she murmured her approval, and when her hand moved to the buckle of his belt, his breath caught, then rushed out on a groan.

  He knew his control was thread thin, and when her hands roamed lower, to the zipper of his jeans, then lightly slid over the hard length of his arousal, he knew he couldn’t wait any longer.

  His breathing was harsh and deep as he moved away from her, then
scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. Her arms wound around his neck, her lips pressing urgent kisses to the base of his throat. They fell together on the bed and rolled in a tangle of arms and legs, struggling to remove clothing between heated kisses and roaming hands. Even as he reached into the bedside table for the necessary precaution, he kept his gaze locked with hers. Her skin was flushed, translucent in the soft light; her eyes were heavy with desire.

  Desire for him, he realized, and pulled her beneath him with a fierce need to possess he’d never experienced before.

  “Nick.” She reached for him, pleading, and the sound of his name on her lips inflamed his alreadyburning senses.

  His control snapped and he moved over her, between her legs, watching her while he slid into the tight, slick glove of her body. She arched upward to take him more deeply and he groaned, a mixture of pain and pleasure and amazement at the intensity of sensations pounding his insides. The need to thrust even deeper, even harder, overwhelmed him, but with a will born of iron, he stilled her writhing hips, wanting this moment, this joining, to last as long as possible.

  He braced his arms over her, lowered his face slowly to hers. His body coiled with need, sweat beaded his forehead, but he took his time, brushed his mouth over hers and tasted the passion on her lips. Her arms wound tightly around his neck, dragged him closer, and she kissed him with a desperation that took his breath away. He felt the longing in her surrender, the need, but there was something more, something he couldn’t quite recognize. But when she slid her long, silky legs over his and tightened her body around him, he could no longer think.

  He began to move, slowly at first, eased himself deeply inside her, felt her tremble as she received him, heard her gasp of pleasure as she moved with him. He rolled his hips again and she dug her fingernails into his back on a sharp intake of breath. When she sobbed his name he could hold back no longer. The fever exploded inside him, and his blood burst into flame. He drove himself into her, and she met him with each wild thrust. The flames rose higher, hotter, consuming them both with the need for each other, with the need for completion.

  He felt the shudders rip through her body, then let himself go with her.

  She couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. She felt as if she were floating in a dark, quiet tunnel. As if she’d been born, as if she’d died. And she was finally at peace with the demon that had plagued her for five years.

  Nick brushed his lips against hers, then gathered her in his arms and rolled them both to their sides. She rubbed her cheek against the solid, damp wall of his chest, loving the sound of his rapid, heavy heartbeat.

  Loving him.

  What a fool she’d been to think she could resist Nick, that she could deny her feelings, both physical and emotional. No man had ever made her feel this way before, made her feel so completely alive. No man ever would again.

  She knew that she’d regret this night, part of her already did But she could never regret loving him any more than she could regret Drew. Through Drew a part of Nick would always be with her.

  “You okay?” he murmured, kissing the top of her head.

  The best answer she could muster resembled something close to a purr.

  He laughed softly. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  Unable to help herself, she ran one hand over his steellike biceps, trailed her fingertips over his hip, then smoothed her palm over his muscular thigh. The dark, rough hair tickled her fingers, accentuated masculine against feminine. He sucked in a sharp breath at her touch, tightened his hand on her back.

  Her fingers stilled at the edge of a large, jagged scar that ran from his lower thigh, over his knee, and halfway down his left leg. Two smaller, faded scars zigzagged at his calf. Frowning, she glanced up at him.

  “That was the day I found out I couldn’t fly,” he said lightly, but his eyes were somber when he looked down.

  “The Colorado accident?”

  He nodded, pulled her with him as he rolled to his back. “I read somewhere that scars are supposed to be sexy. What do you think?”

  She merely frowned at him. As if the man needed any help with sex appeal If he had any more, he’d have to register himself as a lethal weapon. Supporting her head in her hand while she rested one elbow lightly on his chest, she ran the length of the scar with her fingertip. He jumped when she traced one of the pale, slender lines across his calf.

  “This one looks older,” she said, pleased that even though they’d just made love, she was still able to evoke a physical response from him. And she was certainly experiencing her own reaction, as well. Touching him like this, so intimately, so tenderly, was playing havoc not only with her body, but with her heart, too.

  “That one I owe to Ian.” Enjoying the sensual touch of her fingertip, Nick closed his eyes and tucked one hand behind his head.

  “Ian?” She followed the scar upward, to the inside of his leg. He drew in a slow, deep breath.

  “We were fifteen, riding double on my first scooter. He leaned the wrong way around a curve and we crashed. One of the wheel spokes popped, ripped through my jeans, then into my leg. It was the only time I ever hit him that he didn’t hit me back.”

  She paused. “You hit him?”

  “Of course I hit him,” Nick said with a puff of indignation. “He crashed my scooter. He expected me to hit him. It was a matter of honor.” He smiled wickedly and wiggled his eyebrows. “Next time I see him, though, I’m definitely going to thank him.”

  “You wouldn’t.” She started to sit, but with a laugh, Nick took hold of her wrists and pulled her on top of him.

  “Just kidding.” When he saw the look of panic in her eyes, though, he narrowed his eyes. “You don’t have a thing for Ian, do you? I would definitely have to punch him if you do.”

  She nearly laughed at the absurdity. “No, Nick, I don’t have ‘a thing’ for Ian, and you most certainly don’t have to punch him. Besides, when would you have the opportunity? You said yourself how difficult he was to get hold of.”

  “Sometimes, yes, sometimes no,” he answered in that same cryptic tone he used every time Ian’s name was mentioned. When he trailed his fingertips down her neck, then over her shoulder, she shivered.

  “Are you trying to distract me?” She closed her eyes as he dipped into the valley between her breasts, then moved upward again.

  “Maybe I don’t feel like hearing you talk about another man at this moment.” He discovered a sensitive spot at the base of her neck and using his mouth and tongue, he concentrated his efforts on that one exquisite spot.

  She gasped when his teeth nipped her skin. “All right, then.” She shivered at the pleasure skipping through her body right to her toes. “Let’s talk about you.”

  “My favorite subject,” he murmured, still exploring the curve of her neck with his mouth.

  She laughed softly, then drew in a slow, deep breath as his hands roamed down her back. “Tell me why you left Wolf River and never came back until now.”

  He laid his head back on a pillow and looked up at her. “You know the saying, ‘So many racetracks, so little time’? The rush of adrenaline was as seductive as it was addictive, and I was hooked. I was also pretty damn good,” he said with a cocky grin.

  “You were the best.” The feel of his long, hard body under hers, the slide of his work-roughened hands over her bottom, made her ache for him again. Ever so slightly, she pressed her hips against his, delighted at the desire that darkened his eyes. “But twelve years is a long time,” she said quietly, forcing her mind to concentrate, when her body threatened to rebel. “You never came back, not even once.”

  He shrugged. “There was nothing for me here. Lucas and Ian were gone, my stepfather drank himself into Wolf River cemetery, and I was too focused on my career to look back. Racing was the only thing I’d ever been really good at, the only thing I’d ever wanted.”

  “And now?” she asked softly. “What is it you want now, Nick?”

  A long, s
ilent moment passed between them as he stared up at her. She shivered at the intensity in his dark eyes, wished she could take her question back. A question she should never have asked. Without waming, he flipped her onto her back and raised her arms over her head.

  “I want you, Maggie,” he said roughly. “I want you.”

  Excitement raced through her blood. “Nick, I have to go,” she whispered raggedly, but even she heard the weakness in her voice.

  “Not a chance.” He shook his head slowly. “Like I told you, sweetheart, you’re all mine for the night and I’m not letting you go.”

  His mouth dropped down to cover hers, and she opened to him, arched upward, felt herself melt into him as he kissed her hard and deep.

  She shuddered at his touch, at his words, felt the heat rush through her veins as his mouth closed over hers again. One night, she told herself and gave herself up to the kiss. One wonderful night.

  He cupped her breasts, rubbed the hardened peaks with his thumbs, and she moved against him, already needing him inside her again. Moaning, she clung to him, ran her hands over his broad chest and flat belly. His breathing grew ragged and harsh, and the sound he made was low and guttural. His kiss turned desperate, and he plundered her mouth, her senses, left her gasping and wild with need.

  His eyes were nearly black, narrowed and glinting with desire as he knelt between her legs and stared down at her. Her heart pounded furiously, her breathing grew shallow as she held his gaze. His hands moved up her thighs, and with his palm he caressed the aching, swollen mound between her legs. She bit her bottom lip on a whimper and rolled her hips, torn between the desire to curse him or beg him to take her.

  He smiled wickedly at her response. “Do you still have to go?”

  “You don’t play fair, Nick Santos,” she whispered, reaching for him as he slowly lowered his body over hers.

  “All’s fair,” he murmured and slid into her body.

  In love and war, she finished silently, not certain which one they were dealing with here. But when he moved inside her, when he grew harder and bigger, she couldn’t think at all anymore. She could only feel. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist, and let herself go with the exquisite feeling. Damp skin against damp skin, the rough brush of his chest hair against her breasts, his mouth, insistent and demanding, on hers.