by Cat Schield
Five
With Roark gone, the loft felt cold and cavernous. The man certainly filled a space with his charisma and sex appeal. She shivered.
What new information could the FBI have that would prompt them to drag Roark out of his apartment at nine o’clock at night? She regretted doubting him about the authenticity of the Gold Heart statue in his possession, but could he be protecting the true criminal out of a sense of loyalty to his old teacher? Had Darius stolen Rayas’s statue?
Turned to ice by her thoughts, Elizabeth scooped a throw off the back of one of the couches and wrapped herself in it. The fat snowflakes drifting past the floor-to-ceiling windows drew her to the view of Manhattan.
Rampant longing continued to pulse in her loins. It shocked her how much she wanted Roark’s hands on her, his mouth coasting over her skin. Her body ached with unfulfilled desires as she stared at the street seven stories below. If not for the FBI agent’s interruption, she would have slept with Roark. What a mistake that would have been.
But even as the thought formed, the sentiment behind it was hollow. Elizabeth floundered in confusion. Either she was as misguided as ever when it came to romance, or Roark wasn’t the bad boy he appeared to be.
Elizabeth turned away from the window. When had she stopped relying on logic and looked to her instincts for answers? His reputation, the trouble with the Gold Heart statue and the suspicions of the FBI should have given her more than enough reason to keep him at arm’s length.
Instead, here she was, basing her decision to trust him on gut reaction. Granted, unlike other men she’d dated, not once had Roark acted in a way that undermined her confidence or made her feel insecure. But was she right to believe that he’d been truthful with her when his business dealings were questionable?
Emotions churning, she prowled across the living room’s gleaming wood floors and trespassed into Roark’s private domain. The last time she’d been in the loft, she’d been too busy with preparations for their “engagement” party to investigate the home of the man she was supposed to know everything about.
In fact, except for what she’d read in the papers and the little Roark had told her about his childhood, she had no idea about his interests outside treasure hunting and rock climbing. She knew he spent his days at Waverly’s, meeting with Vance and Ann about the current crisis and the auction house’s future.
The loft had four bedrooms in total. Elizabeth skipped the room she’d used to change the night of their engagement party and headed straight for Roark’s master bedroom. No surprises here. White walls. A gorgeous oriental rug covering the hardwood floor. An enormous king-size bed. Dresser and nightstands in some dark wood. More floating shelves held vestiges of Roark’s travels.
The lack of personal items and photos confirmed Elizabeth’s concern that Roark was a man who wanted no ties, had no family celebrations to remember. He liked his freedom to take off whenever the next adventure called. And she was someone who had her days planned down to the minute months in advance.
Retreating back into the hall, she pushed open the door to the room opposite Roark’s and stared in dumbfounded surprise. Here was the heart of Roark’s house. A cozy, cluttered space filled with wall-to-wall bookshelves, a chunky wood desk piled high with books and papers. Opposite her, an overstuffed chair sat beside an ornate fireplace.
She located the light switch and the lamp behind the chair snapped on, illuminating the spill of photos covering the ottoman. Curiosity pulled her into the room. She glanced at the books on the shelves she passed and noticed a predominance of history tomes. Most of these were ancient European volumes, many not written in English, and as she circled, she began to notice more and more on the Middle East. Then she noticed an open cabinet behind the desk filled with scrolls.
Without touching anything on the desk, she tried to see what Roark had been working on. Two of the three books that lay open were written in Arabic. Considering the amount of time Roark spent hunting down artifacts in the Middle East, Elizabeth wasn’t surprised that he could read Arabic, but the fact that his notes were a mixture of English and Arabic intrigued her. It was almost as if he thought in both languages interchangeably.
Diagrams and doodles also filled the pages strewn across the desk. Roark was searching for another treasure. How long before his research ended and he was off on another adventure?
The depth of her disappointment drove Elizabeth away from the desk. So what if Roark left New York? She’d known from the first that it was bound to happen. No one could cage him for long, certainly not her, a woman playing at being his fiancée. But that she was sad at the thought of his leaving told her she was already in too deep.
Elizabeth found the switch that activated the gas fireplace and sat down in the chair, knocking the ottoman in the process and disturbing the stack of photos sitting there. Half a dozen slid to the floor. She picked them up, scrutinizing each. The last photo was of a statue of a woman, her heart rendered in gold. She stood on a base of more gold, stamped with some sort of seal. The statue Roark was accused of stealing. A hard knot developed in her stomach at the accusations lodged against him.
Restoring order to the photos, Elizabeth kicked off her shoes and curled up in the chair. She arranged the throw so it covered her chin to toes and let her head fall back. Gaze on the flames flickering a few feet away, she forced her mind still. In the weeks following the death of her sister, brother-in-law and niece, Elizabeth had perfected the technique of not thinking. If she hadn’t she might have gone mad dwelling on all the ways she was going to miss them.
With her mind quiet and her body warm and comfortable, it didn’t take long for Elizabeth’s eyes to close. Sleep tugged at her. The week had been physically exhausting and emotionally taxing.
In the last moment of wakefulness came the tiniest tug of excitement. Her demanding, eventful week had left her little time to ponder. Now, as her thoughts slowed, she remembered why she’d risked getting involved with Roark. Soon she could start her next round of fertility treatments. Visions of diapers and pacifiers danced in her head as she drifted off to sleep.
She was awakened by the gentlest of touches above her eyebrow. The soft caress drifted down to her cheek and slipped behind her ear. She opened her eyes and gazed at Roark’s face.
“What happened with the FBI?” she asked, her dreamy haze fading.
He toyed with her fingers. “They asked me the same questions as before.”
“Did Darius steal Rayas’s Gold Heart statue?” The question burst out of her, startling him.
“No.” The corner of his lips twitched.
“You’re sure?” She scanned his expression, unsure if she could read him well enough to determine if he was lying to her. “You said he needed money and he has motive to hurt the Sheikh.”
“He’s not a thief.” He lifted her right hand and brushed a kiss across her palm. “I’m glad you made yourself at home. But you would have been more comfortable in my bed.”
Firelight played across his strong bone structure, creating interesting shadows. Flames flickered in his eyes, causing parts of her to burn for him. Her breath grew shallow as a vise seemed to have clamped around her chest.
“And make things easy for you?” Despite the warmth of the room, she tugged the throw higher around her. “I thought you were a man who liked challenges.”
“Getting you into bed isn’t a challenge.”
“You sound awfully confident about that.”
As well he should be. He’d already proven how easily he breached her defenses. She might as well drop the drawbridge and wave the flag of surrender.
“I mean that I don’t perceive making love to you as something I’m doing because my ego demands it, but because if I don’t have you soon, I’m not sure how much longer I’ll survive.”
Elizabeth didn’t know whether to trust his earnest speech, but his words struck the final blow to her guards. They became dust.
“Roark.” She managed only hi
s name before her throat locked up. But she’d always believed that actions spoke louder than words.
Catching his face in her hands, she leaned forward and kissed him. Beneath hers, his lips curved. She felt the muscles of his face shift against her fingertips and knew he was smiling. Happiness bloomed in her chest, an emotion lacking since her family’s death.
She felt glorious. Rich and full. Awakening to the joy life used to hold for her.
Roark’s mouth opened over hers as the kiss deepened. Her head swam as sensation overwhelmed her. She burned. Warmed inside and out by her need for this man. She craved his strength, his weight covering her. The touch of his skin against hers.
As if her hunger communicated to Roark, he slipped his hands beneath her body and scooped her into his arms. She clung to his shoulders. The throw fell away as he carried her from the room.
“Wait.” She pushed at his chest as the cooler air from his bedroom struck her overheated skin. “Put me down. Please.”
He heaved an enormous sigh, but did as she asked. “If you’ve changed your mind, give me thirty seconds to change it back.”
“Thirty seconds?” She laughed, her head clearing with a little space between them. “Does your ego ever deflate?”
His smug grin bloomed. “Not until we’re both completely satisfied.”
He reached for her, but she backed away. “Stop.” She sucked in a couple unsteady breaths and told her heart to slow. “I want to do this.” She took stock of Roark, appraising his raw masculinity. A groan slipped free. “I really do, but you have to give me a second to clear my head. I took an oath, no more bad decisions about men. So, if I’m going to break my promise, I want to do so with my faculties fully engaged.”
Roark stopped looking like a hungry lion and crossed his arms over his chest. Eyes narrowed, he met her gaze. “What does that mean?”
“Just stand there and don’t move until I tell you to.” When his eyebrows rose at her edict, she huffed, “Can you do that?”
He let one brawny shoulder hit the doorjamb and leaned there, watching her in silence. Elizabeth released a breath. Was she really going to do this?
She turned her back on Roark and grasped the first button on her blouse. The room was so silent she could hear her heart pounding. The rhythmic throb soothed her. She was going to do this and it was the right decision. Slowly, moving with deliberate determination, she opened her blouse and let it slip to the floor.
* * *
Roark would have traded the Monet hanging in his mother’s bedroom to know what was running through Elizabeth’s mind as she shimmied out of her skirt. This striptease of hers lacked any hint of sensuality. She was merely a woman taking off her clothes. Each move deliberate, slow, burdened with meaning.
The fact that she couldn’t face him spoke volumes. Yet with each item she loosened and let slip to the floor a little of her tension fell away.
He was mesmerized.
And more than a little turned on.
Muscles played across her shoulders as she reached behind her to unfasten her bra. When had he last taken the time to just enjoy the curve of the female back? To admire a tiny waist. The flare of hips.
She wore lavender bikini panties. The bra that dangled from her fingers, the same matching silk. For the moment she remained immobile, her head down, studying the pool of fabric around her feet. Roark imagined she was torn between the need to neatly fold her clothes and whatever shyness kept her facing away from him.
The room seemed to hold its breath as he waited to see what she’d do next. The bra hit the floor, quickly followed by her silk panties.
Roark’s lungs forgot how to work as she raised her arms and removed a series of pins from her hair. The golden honey mass plummeted downward, obscuring her shoulders and the top of her back. She shook her head and the waves shimmered in the lamplight. Then she stepped toward his bed.
Never had a woman captivated him the way Elizabeth had. Beautiful and smart. Wounded and vulnerable. It was an intoxicating combination.
In the silent room, his breath rasped with the effort to hold completely still. As much as it was killing him, Roark was happy to wait for her to signal she was ready for him.
She fisted her hand in the comforter and inched it back to reveal his sheets. Where she’d been moving slowly and deliberately until now, she quickened her movements and slipped into bed. Seated in the middle of his mattress, the cream-colored sheet tucked beneath her chin, she gave a sharp nod.
“Your turn.”
Her dictatorial tone amused him, but he did as she asked. His fingers felt thick and clumsy as they worked his shirt buttons free. Beneath her steady regard, his already throbbing erection grew even more insistent. The frenzied passion of a few moments earlier had changed into something deeper, more dangerous. By approaching this moment with purpose, Elizabeth couldn’t claim later that she’d been overwhelmed by physical desire. There was more to it than that. And Roark was eager to explore exactly what that was.
Removing his shirt, pants and socks, he paused to gather up her clothes and fold them neatly onto a chair before advancing toward the bed. She looked startled that he’d taken the time when his body so obviously reflected his acute desire for her.
Stopping beside the bed, he slid his underwear down his thighs, enjoying the play of emotions on her face as she got her first glimpse of what he had in store for her. “Ready?” he asked, gathering a handful of the sheet.
Her eyes were the deep blue of twilight as she stared at him. Her throat worked, lips parting, but nothing came out.
“Yes,” she whispered at last.
Before the word was half out, he snapped his arm and tore the sheet from her grasp. A startled noise escaped her as he prowled onto the bed and bore her backward onto the waiting mattress.
“Oh, Roark.” The cry broke from her lips as he gathered her hips in his hands and pulled her snug against him.
He sank into her mouth before she could speak again and ravaged her with long, sensual kisses. Teeth, tongue, lips all came into play as he learned exactly what pleased her. She gave him everything, held nothing in reserve. And her complete surrender unleashed something in him. Before he knew what had happened, he was devouring her in reckless, wild abandon, feeling her match his passion.
Panting, he released her mouth and drew his tongue down her neck. Her large round breasts filled his hands, tight nipples burning his palms. She moaned in breathless delight when his tongue flicked across one sensitive bud. The sound heated the blood speeding through Roark’s veins.
Filling his nostrils with her scent, he savored the taste of her skin and let his fingers skim down her body. Her thighs parted as he skimmed over her mound and gently dipped into her hot flesh. Moisture spilled over his fingers. She was ready for him.
“I need you, Roark,” she said, her fingers clutching his bare shoulders. Her eyes burned with fever as she bent her knees and opened still farther for him. “Don’t make me wait any longer.”
“Patience.”
Stroking with more purpose, he circled her sensitive nub and watched her pupils dilate. Her breath seized, body jerking as he grazed her lightly before moving on. He wanted to know every inch of her before claiming her.
“Roark.” Her desperation echoed his own driving need, but he continued to let his senses take her in.
“You are beautiful,” he murmured, spanning her waist with his hands to hold her still while he deposited kisses on her abdomen. As he dipped his tongue into her navel and registered her startled gasp, he paused to reflect how one day soon she would have a baby growing inside her. With surprise he realized he’d like to see her belly swell with her pregnancy.
“Stop stalling and make love to me,” she growled, squirming beneath him until he lay between her parted thighs. “I can’t take much more of this. I need you.”
“And I need you.” Never one to deny a willing woman her pleasure, Roark kissed his way back up her body, pausing to drag his teeth acro
ss her nipples and further inflame her impatience.
Only when her hand closed around his erection did he appreciate the serious nature of her frustration. Fireworks exploded in his mind as her clever fingers stroked him. He shuddered at the enormous pleasure of her touch and shifted until he was poised at her entrance.
“Wait.” He gasped as she shifted her hips upward and took him partway inside her. Sliding into her moist heat was the most incredible thing he’d ever experienced. She was so tight. It was acute torture to have to stop himself from driving all the way in. “You’re not protected,” he gasped, his lungs malfunctioning.
“I haven’t been able to get pregnant with a doctor’s help.” Sorrow shadowed her expression for a moment. “There’s no need for you to worry.” And with that she lifted her hips and took him in fully.
As they merged he kissed her with something close to desperation. Breaking free of her lips, he buried his face in her neck and began to move inside her.
She matched his rhythm as if they’d been intimate for years. As her body shifted to take him still deeper, he struggled to slow the building pressure. He’d never expected her to be like this. Unrestrained. Demanding. Her hunger a match for his. Nothing had ever felt so perfect before. He wanted to hold on to the moment, but already his body was racing toward its completion.
“I’m sorry,” he said, refusing to finish until he’d satisfied her. “I wanted this to take longer, but you feel so amazing.” He slid his hand between them and touched her most sensitive spot.
Immediately she cried out. Her body bowed. She scored his back with her nails, the small pain pushing him over the edge. As her orgasm claimed her, Roark surrendered to his own climax. It hit him harder than he’d expected, searing his nerve endings, knocking him off balance.
He lowered his weight onto her, becoming aware that she’d wrapped her thighs around his hips and appeared to have no intention of letting go. He cradled her cheek in his hand and kissed her tenderly.