Undaunted

by Diana Palmer

  “Emma,” he groaned against her mouth. He lifted her, turned her, so that she was lying on the couch and he was above her.

  His hands slid under her, grinding her up into the swollen contours of his body while his mouth fed on her soft, trembling lips.

  “Two weeks,” he moaned. “Two long, damned, endless weeks without you... Kiss me!”

  Her arms went around him. She clung, letting him take what he needed from her. She registered the faint tremor of his arms, the dampness of the thick, cool, wavy black hair that her fingers tangled in while he made a banquet of her mouth.

  He’d missed her! She was so unbalanced by the hunger in him that her mind barely functioned, but that one thought penetrated the sweet anguish of his ardor. He’d missed her!

  He hadn’t wanted to. She sensed that. It might explain the irritation she’d heard in his deep voice when he spoke to her on the phone. He resented the hold she had on him; he didn’t want to be attracted to her. But he was.

  This wasn’t a teasing embrace, as the first ones had been. It wasn’t tinged with amusement at her naive response or her equal hunger for him. This was desperation.

  “Next time, you’re coming with me,” he ground out against her mouth. “I can’t...bear being away from you. Damn you!”

  She melted into him. She smiled under his lips. If he could be this hungry for her, it wasn’t likely that he’d been to bed with that gorgeous brunette in the tabloid.

  “You’re smiling,” he growled. “Why? Do you think this is funny?”

  “You didn’t sleep with her,” she managed breathlessly. “Or you wouldn’t be so hungry...”

  He stilled. His chest vibrated. “No, I didn’t sleep with her, you irritating, nagging little innocent,” he said huskily.

  “I’m glad,” she whispered shakily.

  “Were you jealous?” he murmured as his mouth slid down into the warm curve of her throat.

  She swallowed. She shouldn’t admit it, even if she was.

  He felt her body cooling. His big, warm hands slid up, his thumbs teasing at the lower band of the lacy little bra she wore under her long-sleeved sweater. “You were jealous,” he answered his own question, and felt ten feet tall. His mouth nuzzled her shoulder. “I don’t belong to you,” he said roughly. “I never will.”

  “I know that,” she said quietly.

  The hurt in her tone wounded him. He let out a long, heavy sigh. “She works for a foundation for the blind,” he confessed. “She went with me to make sure the reporters wouldn’t notice anything amiss, to keep them from seeing that I couldn’t see.” He hesitated. “She’s married and has three children.”

  “Oh.”

  His thumbs passed over her firm breasts, finding the hard little peaks that told him how hungry she was. “Oh?” he teased. His mouth slid down to where his thumbs were, and found her firm little breast right through the sweater.

  She shivered and arched up into him. She’d missed him so badly that she was beyond any hope of protest. She loved his hands on her, his mouth on her. Even if it was just physical, just for this little space of minutes when she could pretend that he belonged to her... It was just something, a piece of him, to take down the long lonely years with her. Surely it wouldn’t hurt just to give in a little, just enough that he wouldn’t take his mouth away from her warm, hungry breasts...

  “Did you do this with him?” he asked angrily.

  “No,” she moaned. “He never...wanted to...!” She gasped, because his mouth was moving down, onto her flat stomach.

  While she was trying to find just enough will to stop him, he eased her jeans down, along with her cotton briefs, and spread her thighs apart.

  She came right up off the sofa as he moved his lips up the soft skin on the inside of her thighs.

  “Two weeks,” he groaned. “Couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep. All I wanted was this. This!”

  “Oh, please, you...mustn’t,” she whispered weakly, with one last desperate attempt at saving herself as his hand found her in a new, shocking way.

  “I must,” he ground out. He touched her ardently and she gave up any hope of stopping him.

  Eleven

  The phone rang in the other room and Connor groaned. Emma, suspended in mid-heaven, lay still, stunned by the invasive sound. He stopped long enough to feel for his cell phone. He pushed the first speed dial number.

  “No calls for a while, Marie. No interruptions,” he added curtly. “I’m eating crow.”

  There was an audible chuckle on the other end. He turned off the phone and tossed it in the general direction of the coffee table, where it landed with a soft thud.

  “And after crow,” he whispered, bending back to Emma’s soft mouth, “we have dessert.”

  His mouth descended on her soft breasts again. She was vaguely aware that she no longer had a stitch of clothing on to hide her body from him. Not that he could see her. But his hands were seeing her, learning her, exploring every inch of her. So was the hard, warm, sensuous mouth that was arousing sensations she’d never felt in her life.

  Some part of her was aware that he felt different now. His warm, muscular, hair-roughened chest was pressing against her bare breasts. His legs, like tree trunks, had a feathering of hair that she felt as he moved in between her own soft thighs.

  She began to panic, but his mouth gentled on hers and he touched her again, making her moan with sensations so joyful that she felt she was going to explode with every movement of his fingers.

  He probed between her thighs while he kissed her. She felt him smile against her mouth. It wasn’t going to be hard for her. She flinched in pain, but only for a second. Then he slowly thrust deeper, and she made a sound that seemed to electrify him.

  “That’s it, baby,” he whispered as her hips arched. “Do that. Do it again. Do you feel how easy it is? I’m not hurting you, am I?”

  “No,” she choked. She barely heard him. Her nails were biting into his shoulders with every slow, deep movement of his hips. She’d been afraid of this all her life, but it wasn’t hurting—only a little, just a little. Beyond pain was pleasure. So much pleasure! The tension was tearing her apart. She ached to have him even deeper. She loved what he was doing to her, loved the closeness, the hunger of it, the feel of all that warm strength under her hands. She was focused on some distant goal, some sweet prize that hung just out of reach.

  “Please,” she whispered as his hips moved a little roughly, as his knee pushed her legs apart even more.

  One big hand went under her, to lift her up to the hard, quick thrust of him.

  “Soon,” he whispered roughly. “Oh, God, Emma, Emma...”

  He began to shudder helplessly. He felt her body suddenly arch under him and shiver as she cried out. Then he drove into her furiously, his face buried in her damp throat, one big hand supporting her neck, the other lifting her rhythmically to the quick, rough movement of his hips.

  “Oh, God!” He groaned in agony as fulfillment brought him into actual convulsions, the pleasure so intense. His hands were hurting her, but she hardly felt it. Her body was pulsing with his, so racked with pleasure that she thought she couldn’t live through its culmination.

  A minute later, he shuddered once more and his heavy body collapsed onto hers, wet with sweat, shaking in the aftermath of something he’d never dreamed he could feel with a woman.

  Emma lay under him as the sweet pleasure drained away and she was left with a cold, sick numbness in her mind. She’d given him what he wanted. She couldn’t pull away in time. She’d sold out all her sterling ideals for a few minutes of pleasure, and now her conscience was going to haunt her forever. Hot tears ran down her cheeks.

  He felt them against his cheek. He lifted his head and winced. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry, honey,” he whispered, kissing the tears

away. “Did I hurt you? Was I too quick?” He moved slowly against her, making the sensitized flesh suddenly ripple with pleasure all over again. “Here,” he whispered softly. “I can hold out a little longer. Move with me. Move with me, baby, I’ll make it right.”

  He didn’t understand. She tried to open her mouth, to tell him, but the pleasure took her again almost at once. What she’d already felt was devastating, but there were apparently levels of pleasure, and the first fulfillment had only been a plateau. She went up another, and another, until she shuddered with such ecstasy that she clenched her teeth onto his broad, bare shoulder and moaned piteously as the wave washed over her again and again.

  “There,” he whispered tenderly, when she lay still and shivering faintly under the crush of him. “Better?”

  She made a soft sound under her breath. Her nails bit into him and she buried her face in his damp throat. He rolled away from her, onto his side, and drew her close again. His big hand smoothed over her cheek. He drew in a long, exhausted breath and kissed her forehead.

  She lay with her hand on his broad chest. The thick hair was damp. His skin was cool from the sweat. The hair tickled her fingers as they burrowed into it. She was quiet.

  His arm contracted. “It will have to be a civil ceremony, for now,” he murmured. “We’ll do it right later on. But I don’t want to be surrounded by reporters eager to dig into every corner of your life.”

  “A ceremony?” Her mind wasn’t working.

  He kissed her forehead again and stretched, groaning a little. “Honey, it’s like eating potato chips,” he mused. “You won’t be able to keep me out of your bed after this and what we feel will show.” He sobered. “And damned if I’m having you gossiped about, even by my closest friends.”

  “A ceremony.” She still wasn’t getting it.

  He rolled over toward her. His big hand smoothed over her firm, soft breast. He bent his head and kissed it tenderly. “A wedding ceremony, Emma,” he said gently.

  She felt the blood drain out of her face. “You mean, you want to...marry me?” she faltered. “But I’m ordinary, and I’m not pretty...!”

  “You have a heart as big as the world,” he replied. “It doesn’t matter what you look like. I can’t see you, anyway.” He sighed. “The one regret I have is that I couldn’t see your face this first time together,” he added quietly. “I’ve never been the first, Emma. Never in my life. It’s something I’ll treasure forever.”

  “It’s guilt, isn’t it,” she began worriedly.

  He put a finger over her mouth. “It’s impossible to feel guilt after an experience like that,” he mused. “You were a virgin and you went off like a rocket. My head wouldn’t fit through any door in the house right now.”

  “Oh.” She laughed softly.

  “So no, it’s not guilt. Pride, maybe. Hunger. Delight.” He yawned. “And now I’m sleepy. Jet lag is lethal if you indulge it. We’ll get dressed and go tell Marie and Barnes. They’ll have to come with us. We’ll need witnesses.”

  “Where will we go?”

  “Las Vegas,” he said, grinning. “We’ll get married, then play the slot machines.”

  “Are you sure?” she worried, feeling even more guilty because she knew something that she didn’t dare tell him.

  “I don’t know why, but yes, I’m sure,” he replied. He touched her face gently. “I’m very sure.”

  * * *

  After they dozed a while in each other’s arms, they dressed, in between kisses, and he slipped his phone into his pocket.

  “I suppose we both look rumpled and guilty as sin,” he said with twinkling eyes.

  “I guess so.”

  “Might as well face the music.” He caught her hand in his and let her lead him to the door, which she unlocked as quietly as possible.

  Marie was in the kitchen, working on supper. She turned. Her eyes widened at the sight of them and she had to conceal a grin.

  “We’re going to Las Vegas to get married,” Connor announced. “All of us.” He grinned. “But nobody can know. Just us.”

  “Oh, sir, congratulations!” Marie said. She hugged Emma, fighting tears. “I’m so happy for both of you!”

  “Maybe we should wait,” Emma said worriedly.

  “Not on your life,” Connor said. “Barnes!”

  The older man, who’d been out back, came inside. “Yes, sir?”

  “We’re going to Las Vegas to get married. Everybody start packing.”

  “Mr. Sinclair, this is so sudden,” Barnes drawled. “And you haven’t even brought me flowers or taken me on a date...”

  “Throw something at him for me,” Connor told Emma with a chuckle.

  “I’ll just go get you packed, then. Congratulations, miss,” Barnes said with a broad grin at Emma.

  “Thanks! But he’ll probably come to his senses on the way and turn back,” Emma teased.

  Connor felt for her hand. “No. He won’t,” he said with affection in his tone. “Pack.”

  “Yes, boss,” she said at once and ran to do it, pushing her conscience and her guilt out of the way. She was going to marry the man she loved. It was going to be the happiest day of her life. Complications could wait, and if there was a cost later on, she’d pay it. For now, she was going to be happy, truly happy, for the first time in her life.

  Twelve

  Emma was amazed by all the beautiful neon lights in Las Vegas. The city looked like a jeweled nebula, all decked out in every color of the rainbow. She remarked on it to Connor, sitting beside her, holding her hand, in the back of the limo he’d hired.

  “It’s a gaudy jewel.” He chuckled. He was quiet for a minute. “Even though it’s a private civil ceremony, I’d like you to wear a wedding gown.”

  Her breath caught. “I have a white dress,” she said.

  From some thrift shop, he was certain, but he didn’t upset her by saying it. His big fingers contracted. “I’m fairly notorious, and one day people will find out about you. When they do, that wedding photograph is going to be our answer to any negative publicity, if they accuse me of treating you shabbily by marrying you here.”

  She wondered how and why, but she only smiled and said, “Okay.” Actually, she was touched that he wanted her in one, despite the reason.

  “There’s a high-end wedding dress shop in town. We’ll go there after we get the rings.”

  She gnawed her lower lip. She didn’t want him to buy her expensive things, but this was really a necessity, she rationalized.

  He leaned close to her ear. “Just don’t imagine that you’re going to keep me out of your bed, ever. I’m dying for you already.”

  “Oh, gosh.” She felt her heart running away. “Me, too,” she whispered.

  “Rings. Gown. Wedding. Bed. In that order,” he said.

  She drew in a breath. “All right.”

  * * *

  The rings Emma wanted were less expensive than the one the clerk, at Connor’s insistence, showed her.

  “But fourteen karat is still gold,” she began.

  Connor pulled Emma close. “Eighteen karat gold is more beautiful,” he said. “Look at the most decorative rings in that display case. Most of them will be eighteen karat. It’s softer than fourteen karat, yes, but far more lovely.” He kissed her forehead. “Humor me. You don’t want people to think your husband is cheap, do you?”

  She looked up at him with her heart in her eyes. “Okay, then. Whatever you want.”

  He pursed his lips. “Whatever I want?” he teased.

  She laughed and pressed close against his side, her face on his shoulder. “Whatever,” she whispered.

  “Then pick out what you want and stop worrying about the cost,” he instructed.

  “Well, I do see a set I like,” she confessed. “And the design is just incredible.”

  He hesitated. “Describe them to me.”

  “They’re rubies. The wedding ring has a tear-shaped ruby solitaire. The wedding band has scrolls on it and the rubies are tear-shaped in the band. They’re yellow gold. And they’re just beautiful!” She hesitated. “But I only see them in fourteen karat. And that’s the set I really want.”

  “Can you have those rubies reset in the same design in eighteen karat?” Connor asked the clerk, and pulled out a black credit card.

  “We can do better than that,” the man replied with a chuckle. “The artist who designed these rings lives locally. He tried to sell me the set in eighteen karat and I turned him down because it’s an unusual design and I wasn’t sure I could find a client who would want to buy them. I’ll give him a call. I’m sure he’ll be willing to bring the set in tomorrow. It will be expensive...”

  Connor handed him the credit card. The man’s lower jaw fell open.

  “Mr. Sinclair!” he said breathlessly. “Sir, it’s an honor...!”

  “It’s a very private honor,” Connor said at once. “My fiancée isn’t used to life in the public eye. I don’t want her hounded by the press. So keep this quiet. Okay?”

  The man smiled wistfully. “I’ll do that, sir. Let me make that phone call to the artist. I’ll see if he can bring the rings over today, in fact.”

  “Thank you,” Emma told Connor. “I really love the design. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “I’m a lucky man, Emma,” he said unexpectedly. He pulled her close to his side. “The luckiest man in the world.”

  She stood in his embrace and wished with all her heart that she could go back in time and stop herself from ever getting in that speedboat in the first place.

  * * *

  They ate in the finest restaurants in Las Vegas. They saw a Cirque du Soleil show at one of the casinos. Emma loved them because they were so musical and athletic and creative.

  “And you said you didn’t like casinos,” he chided. “Liar.”

  -->