Bound by the Millionaire's Ring

by Dani Collins

  “You like that you’re my first,” she accused softly, biting her lip as a particularly sharp sensation glittered into delightful places.

  “I do,” he admitted, unabashed, dipping his head to suck her nipple, smiling with dark satisfaction when he provoked a wriggle and a gasp from her. He bent toward the other, and when she forced his head up, he added, “I like it more than I should. I can’t wait to feel you come.”

  That sounded like he was impatient, but he took his time, let her get used to the intrusion of a man while he caressed and kissed and complimented her.

  It wasn’t until she arched into him and said, “Ramon, I can’t take this,” that he laughed softly and moved with heavier, more wicked thrusts, giving her what she had unconsciously begged for. What she longed to keep each time he slid away, and welcomed with a noise of gratification each time he returned.

  She didn’t know what she thought sex would be, but she hadn’t expected to flush all over, to want his teeth against her skin, his weight, his animalistic dominance over her.

  It was base and elemental and made her moan and writhe and arch to offer herself until he pushed her into that glorious space where release burst over and around her, leaving her shivering and feeling like the most beautiful woman alive.

  But she was alone again.

  Still panting and dazed, she opened her eyes, betrayed yet again. “You didn’t—”

  “I will,” he promised, shifting slightly so he could caress where they joined.

  She sucked in a breath as fresh desire shot into her loins, making her clasp at his shaft. A latent pang of climax pulsed through her sex. She wouldn’t have thought that could make her feel so turned on, but her limbs drew close around him of their own accord, trying to pull him more fully atop her, not even thinking, just knowing that she needed more of him.

  “Tell me if I get too rough,” he said as he loomed over her, voice gravelly and lips hot against hers. His kiss held nothing back and neither did his body as he pressed deep, quickly sucking her back into the whorl of mindless passion.

  When he moved faster and harder this time, she wasn’t sure she could take it. Not because it hurt, but because the intensity was so great, drawing her tight, threatening to cleave her in half. She needed this from him, though. Needed his unbridled desire, the possessive grasp of his hands on her shoulders. She wanted it. Gave herself up to it—to him.

  And when the world exploded around her, she clung to his shuddering, damp form, listened to the echo of her cries in his hoarse shout and knew that once again, he had given her everything she had ever craved.

  And still, it wasn’t real.

  CHAPTER NINE

  FOREPLAY. AFTER-PLAY. SEX was play for him. At least it always had been.

  Not with Isidora. Nothing in him felt light or humorous as he came back from the bathroom and found her naked, on her side, clutching a pillow to her chest. Her wary, sideways glance speared his throat, his gut.

  He dragged down the blankets, shifted her feet, then the rest of her as he pulled her beneath the covers with him. He grabbed the pillow and sent it to the floor so nothing was between them but naked skin and silence.

  After a second, she gave a shuddering sigh against his chest and relaxed in his arms. He relaxed at that point, too, oddly relieved.

  “Did I hurt you?” There’d been a streak of red on the condom.

  “A little. It’s okay.”

  It wasn’t. He didn’t know how to react, but brushing off her virginity as trivial wasn’t right. He knew that much.

  “I wasn’t, like, waiting for you or anything,” she murmured. “Don’t think I expect anything. There just hasn’t been anyone I was that interested in doing it with.”

  “You let me believe you’d slept with Etienne.”

  She didn’t say anything, only shifted her face against his shoulder. He rolled onto his back so she could settle more comfortably against his side, and pulled her leg up so her thigh was across his waist, smooth and soft under his absent touch, twitching as he found a ticklish spot.

  Should he tell her how closely he’d been watching Etienne, looking for an excuse to fire him?

  “It was nice,” she said so quietly he barely heard her. “Thank you.”

  “You’re the Queen of Understatement, aren’t you? It wasn’t ‘nice.’”

  Her head came up and she looked appalled. “You didn’t like it?”

  She was a bright, confident woman, but still such an innocent.

  “Of course I liked it,” he grumbled, cuddling her into him again. “It was exquisite. You are exquisite.” He wasn’t a sensitive man. He knew how to charm, but rarely shared his true thoughts or feelings. Nevertheless, he admitted, “I will never forget it.”

  “Oh.” He felt the word more than heard it. She swallowed and relaxed against him again. “That’s sweet of you to say.”

  But she didn’t believe him. Maybe that was for the best. He didn’t want to lead her on, but it still bothered him. Their lovemaking had been incomparable. He’d been riding painted horses on a carousel all his life, then suddenly found himself atop a wild stallion. No, steering a purring race car. Flying a fighter jet. A rocket into space.

  She wouldn’t know how remarkable their connection was, though. Not until she moved on.

  An uncharacteristic possessiveness struck him as he thought of her climbing into bed with other men, sharing her body, abandoning herself to passion, finding pleasure from their touch.

  It was never going to be that good with anyone else. Did she realize that?

  Was it fair for either of them to believe it?

  He unconsciously tightened his arm around her, causing her to start, and she said, “Mmm?”

  “Nothing. It’s fine.” He turned his lips against her hairline and inhaled her scent. He wanted her again. His body was hardening, longing to be inside her, but he reminded himself she was new to physical intimacy, so gently ordered, “Sleep.”

  * * *

  Isidora had never slept with a man. They took up a lot of room. When she woke in the early hours, in a room so dark it was nearly black, she almost fell out of bed she was so close to the edge. She searched with a hand across the mattress for her pillow but found only warm, naked limbs. One snaked out to pull her tight against him. He was sinewy and hot, muscles flexing beneath satin skin. Hard.

  “Where are you going?” he growled sleepily.

  “Nowhere. I just...” She touched him. Couldn’t help herself. She drew away enough to follow the line of silky hair down his tight stomach, then took his shape in her fist. He was smooth and ultrahot, his textures fascinating to her curious fingers.

  He made a noise as she traced the arrowed ridge at his tip and pulsed under her touch.

  “Did that hurt?”

  “Hell, no. Don’t stop.”

  She swallowed, surprised to feel a throb and rush of heat between her thighs. She was tender from their lovemaking, but in a way that made her feel secretive and luxurious and sensual. She stretched against him, wanting to feel him with every inch of her nude body. She thrust her nest of hair against his shaft and pressed him with her hand to firm the contact.

  “I was trying to show some restraint, but if you’re going to do that...” He kissed her and his hand stroked her thigh. He grew harder in her hand and shifted to suck her nipple, then asked, “Sore?” as he stroked into her wetness.

  “No. It feels good.” So good.

  He rolled away and came back, then he was there, carefully pushing into her, thrusting lightly, then, when she moaned, with more power.

  Somehow it kept getting better. The buildup was faster and more sure, the pinnacle higher, the release more complete. Maybe because he said, “Isidora!” like an incantation. The waves of pleasure expanded to her fingertips and toes, going on and on, both of them moving with it, playing out their mutual orgasm until they both settled to rest.

  It happened again in full daylight, after they rose and showered. They fell on
to the unmade bed for an energetic tussle that left them washed up like storm survivors, panting and damp, on their backs.

  “This is insane. I can’t keep my hands off you.”

  His words caused a pang under her heart. It was nice of him to say sexy things, but she expected he did the same for every woman he bedded. It was all part of his love-’em-and-leave-’em routine. Maybe he was even trying to make up for past hurts, wanting her to feel desirable.

  She did, but she couldn’t let the remarks mean anything beyond face value. Her father’s eternal optimism where her mother was concerned was proof enough that some people were not a good risk.

  Ignoring the slant of agony that pressed on her heart, she forced a wry tone and sat up, patting his thigh as she said, “You’ve been going without since our engagement. I wish I’d known sooner what I was missing. We’re kind of experiencing a perfect storm. But now I need another shower. We really should get going or we’ll be late for your mother’s.”

  She paused as a thought occurred.

  “I think we should, um, keep this on the down low.” She waggled a finger between their naked bodies. “Do you mind? I don’t want things to be weird with your sisters.”

  “Why would it be weird?” He curled his arm beneath his head, but she had the impression he wasn’t nearly as relaxed as he looked. His glorious chest was tense despite their recent release, his gaze hooded by his spiky dark lashes.

  Her hand lifted, wanting to pet him. He was so gorgeous, with his brown nipples on his toasted almond chest, his defined abdomen and his sex relaxed but still lengthened against his powerful thigh. She wanted to rise over him, straddle—

  “What?” Focus. “I don’t know. I just don’t want them to think I’m still nursing a crush.”

  She would die if they teased her. It was bad enough that Trella had said last night that their kiss had looked “very convincing.” Isidora had quipped something about practice making perfect, adding a roll of her eyes, pretending it was all a huge act. Trella had moved on to other things, but Angelique’s gaze had lingered thoughtfully on her.

  “Surely my privacy carries the same weight as yours?” Isidora said to Ramon.

  Something flashed in his gaze, then he used a slow blink to hide his thoughts. “It does.”

  A stab of insecurity went into her belly anyway. She didn’t know why. Because this was new, she supposed. And it wouldn’t last.

  “Thank you,” she said, lungs tight as she rose. She kept her back to him until she was putting on her face and able to keep her anxious thoughts hidden.

  * * *

  Ramon wasn’t the sort of man who needed to keep his arm hooked around a woman, proclaiming to the world she was his. When he was in any sort of prolonged dalliance, however, like a week on his yacht, he enjoyed the affection that came between the bouts of sex. It was like petting a cat. The physical touches, the textures and warmth of her body, were as enjoyable for him as for her. He liked to keep them purring and content.

  Isidora was right that they should keep things simple, but Sus Brazos was where he and his siblings came to unwind. It was the place they could be themselves without subterfuge or judgments.

  And Isidora looked infinitely touchable with her hair loose—something she almost never seemed to do during the day. It tumbled in a mass of rich burgundy around shoulders bared by a sleeveless top in burnt orange. The color made her skin glow, especially where the collar was open down her breastbone.

  He wanted to play with her hair and trace that narrow vee and draw circles with his palm on that firm ass of hers. She wore a pair of pants that looked like chamois, soft and buttery. They snugly cupped her figure and ended in narrow cuffs over sassy little boots that laced up like a spinster’s, teasing him to find his lover behind the conservative facade.

  Dios, he genuinely had to fight the urge to keep his hands to himself.

  She forgot about him completely, enraptured by his infant nieces. As she gathered Rosalina against her chest and buried her nose in the baby’s neck, eyes closed blissfully, he caught a glimpse of what her future husband would see. His heart took a sharp corner, veering toward a cliff’s edge. He had to look away.

  And found Angelique watching him.

  She was the intuitive one among them. A pulse of guilt went through him, like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

  He turned away from her and looked for Henri. He was speaking to Melodie, the family’s official photographer, who was beginning to arrange everyone in front of the painting of their father.

  Since the whole family happened to be here today, and Angelique was now married, their mother wanted a family portrait. It was a perfectly reasonable request, since Melodie had already been commissioned to snap Henri’s new family.

  Isidora came up to them and handed off Rosalina to Henri. “I want to check in with my mother,” she said to Ramon. “She and Papa should be back in Madrid by now.”

  She slipped outside, but her weak excuse and even weaker smile stuck like a burr in Ramon’s chest.

  “Where did your fiancée go?” Melodie asked, stalling in surprise as she positioned Ramon.

  “She’s making some calls. Don’t wait.” He sounded peeved to his own ears, but this felt...inconsiderate. Isidora didn’t belong in the portrait. She was never going to be part of this family in such an official way.

  But he didn’t have to rub her face in it.

  Melodie blinked, astonished. “I see. Um, Trella, you stand here, then.” She positioned Trella in front of him.

  “He’s engaged in image management, not marriage,” Trella explained. “He’s helping me.” Glancing over her shoulder, she added, “Don’t glare. You’ll break the camera.”

  “If you’re happy to tell the world that much, why not the rest?” He nodded at her prominent bump.

  “Oh, please. Melodie isn’t going to say anything to anyone.”

  “It doesn’t change the fact you’re being a hypocrite. Quit telling her my business and tell the father of your child he has one. Or let him off the hook if he’s not. He’s leaving messages with all of us, you know. Return his calls.”

  “Did you just air my business in front of company? Now who’s the hypocrite?”

  “Faire taire,” Henri growled. He was the last to move into position, along with Cinnia, and they each held an infant. “Do you know how hard it is to get two babies clean, fed and happy? Smile.”

  “Why do I even have to stand by him?” Trella growled, throwing an elbow into Ramon’s diaphragm.

  This was why he had always paired up with Gili. He glanced over at her, serene beside Kasim, glowing with joy. No doubt she would produce a new Sauveterre herself very soon.

  He hadn’t figured out how to handle this domesticity his siblings were embracing. It was far beyond what he imagined for himself. It wasn’t a traumatic change, but it was still an enormous shift in his most comfortable dynamic. The foundation he depended on was rearranging itself.

  Gili caught his eye and canted her head, expression concerned. Questioning.

  He dropped his gaze. Trella’s loosely curled hair cascaded down her back, too tempting to ignore. He reverted to when their lives had been simplest and gave one tendril a tug.

  “He just pulled my hair!”

  “Tattletale.”

  Everyone laughed. Melodie blinded them with a flash and said, “Perfect!”

  A few more snaps—and snipes from his sister—and Ramon stepped away to nod at Henri. “Así. We need to talk.”

  Henri grimaced. “Rio. Oui.”

  It was their typical shorthand. They both knew that politically and financially, one of them should go to Rio for the commissioning of a port project Ramon had been overseeing for the last two years. The enterprise was Sauveterre’s foundation in South America, establishing their expertise and credibility there.

  “What are you talking about? Rio? You have to go.” Sometimes they joked that if Trella had been old enough when their father ha
d died, she would have pushed the two of them aside and taken over Sauveterre International herself. Maison des Jumeaux was the world’s leading design house because she has a business degree in artist’s clothing.

  Certain things had held her back from reaching her potential, however, and Henri was as aware of them as Ramon. The trip had been planned before Cinnia delivered early and Gili had married and left Paris.

  “You’re not canceling. Not for me.” Trella’s jaw set.

  Ramon ignored her, just held his brother’s gaze. Their mother could step in if necessary, but she was better at helping Trella stay grounded. She wasn’t as good with actual attacks, found them distressing and often fell apart herself.

  “It’s not that far if I have to fly back to Paris,” Gili said, setting her hand on her husband’s arm. “Kasim understands.”

  “I’m right here,” Trella interjected. “Telling you all that I don’t want to be that person who needs hand-holding. How do I learn to cope on my own if you all keep rushing in? I want Ramon to go.”

  Ramon shook his head. He’d been down this road. “Bella—”

  She spun to confront him. “If I want a man to be the boss of me, I will call the father of my child. You need to butt out.”

  “Ça va,” Henri said, holding up a hand. “Do not start World War Three. If something comes up, Gili and I will handle it. Go. Or you’ll wake Colette and this will fall apart before Mama gets the rest of the pictures she wants.”

  * * *

  Whatever Isidora had conjured in her innocent dreams as the perfect romantic honeymoon didn’t come close to the reality of a week with Ramon in Rio de Janeiro. It was so much better and she knew that all future vacations with a man had been spoiled for her, along with all the rest of the things he’d ruined. Nothing would ever live up to this perfection.

  The temperatures in South America were balmy, not hot, but the weather was glorious all the same. Not that the weather mattered. It could have been cyclone season and Isidora still would have been floating on a cloud of joy.