Straining to listen, her breath held, she heard a thump-thump, then another thud, soft but audible, along with a loudly hissed curse. That was Charles’s voice.
Rising from the loveseat, she tightened her long midnight-blue silk robe around her knee-length nightgown and slid her feet into her slippers before venturing out to the hallway.
The spectacular mansion had long hallways and spacious rooms. Charles had gutted the older mansion a decade before and remade it into something just for him and his new bride. All the bedrooms were on the second floor. There were the children’s three rooms on one wing, the fourth bedroom that had been converted into a playroom for them, and a bathroom for them to share. Just around the corner, there were two large suites, bedrooms that had sitting rooms. One stayed empty for guests, and Lisette had been given the other. Along the third hall, there were three more guest rooms and another bathroom. The fourth corridor contained only one master suite, and that was Charles’s bedroom.
With a mix of determination and unease, she made her way through the long main corridor of the ground floor. Until she was sure everything was fine, she wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep.
Again a male voice uttered a curse somewhere down the hall, and she gathered it had definitely come from Charles’s study. She went to the door of the study and tiptoed inside. It was dark, but she felt someone’s presence there. “Hello?”
“Who’s there?” Charles’s voice came from the darkness. “Lisette, is that you?”
“Yes.” Apprehension hummed through her whole body, making her heart rate take off. “Charles? Are you all right?”
“Before you come in,” he said, “are you wearing shoes?”
What? Moonlight shone through the large windows, but her eyes hadn’t fully adjusted to the darkness yet, and she couldn’t see him. His voice had come from the far side of the spacious room. She peered harder and asked, “Excuse me?”
“Get shoes,” he repeated. “There’s broken glass on the floor. You’ll cut yourself.”
“I have slippers on; I’ll be fine. Are you all right?” she asked again, more demanding this time.
“I’m fine too,” he said. “Just a little drunk.”
Lisette stopped in her tracks. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness enough, and she could see him now. He was sitting on the wide leather couch, his arms crossed over his chest. Gesturing toward the floor by his desk with his chin, he explained, “I dropped the glass when I stood up.”
“I heard it. It woke me up.”
“You heard it upstairs?” he asked, confused.
“No, I fell asleep in the den. So . . .” She twisted the ends of her sash around her fingers, stalling, trying to process the scene. How drunk was he? “I’ll get a broom.”
“No. You’re off the clock.” He moved, sat, and patted the cushion beside him. “Come keep me company. Talk to me.”
Lisette couldn’t help but stare. What the hell was going on?
“Luckily, the glass was empty when I dropped it,” he said jauntily. “No scotch lost. Just crystal.” He patted the cushion again and slanted a grin at her. “Come on, sit down. We never really talk.”
Apparently, her boss was a friendly drunk. But she didn’t answer until she was sitting on the sofa, the leather creaking as she settled. “Should we turn on a light?”
“Nah. This darkness suits my mood.”
Oh, boy. She turned to him, pulling her sash a little tighter, and asked, “Did you come home from the party drunk?”
“Nope,” Charles said, shaking his head. “But I’m working on it.” He scrubbed his hands over his face. “Can I get you a drink?”
“No, thank you,” she said.
He grinned, making the corners of his eyes crinkle. “You’re always so polite.”
“Good manners were very important to my father,” she found herself saying. “Army and all. So he drummed them into me early on.”
Charles gave an approving nod. “Sounds like my kind of guy.”
She merely quirked a return grin and folded her hands in her lap. This whole scene was unusual, to say the least, and she wasn’t sure what to say or do just yet. So she let him lead, let him go on talking. Her father’s words echoed in her mind: Remember, honey. He who speaks first, loses. Always wait it out.
Charles scrubbed his hands over his face as his eyes wandered around the room. “I can’t be anything less than perfect, ya know. Perrrrrfect. Since I was a little boy. What a drag.”
That gave her pause. He always held himself so carefully in check. Sympathy pinged through her, but concern flooded her. Something serious had to be going on. And the secret she swallowed every day—the feelings for him that were inappropriate for an employee to have for her boss—surfaced and took over. Because he was obviously not himself, and she cared about him. “Charles? What’s bothering you? Are you okay?”
He peered at her from beneath his lashes, his gaze holding hers in the moonlight. “Not really,” he murmured. “I . . . well . . . Can I confide in you, Lisette?”
“Of course,” she said, her heart rate rising with a curious thrill.
“That party tonight . . .” He shook his head and sighed. “What a pain in the ass. I love Tess to death, but I didn’t want a goddamn party. I don’t feel like celebrating anything. I feel about a hundred years old today. Like a grumpy old bastard.”
“You’re not,” she assured him in a gentle tone.
He shrugged, his gaze sliding back toward the window, and his shoulders slumped. “It’s no joyride being me sometimes, Lisette. It really isn’t.”
She’d never seen him look so sad. It pierced her heart. This man had the world at his fingertips. And at the moment, he looked only sorrowful and lost.
She leaned in and touched his knee, the lightest, faintest press of her fingers. “Did something happen tonight, Charles? You wanted to talk. I’m here. Talk to me.”
He shook his head no, but his eyes lingered on her hand that rested on his knee.
“You can trust me,” she said. “I’m a vault. And it seems as if you really need to talk to someone right now.”
“I do . . . But really, when it comes down to it, there’s nothing to talk about,” Charles murmured, his eyes lifting to her face. “My life is set in stone. Has been since before I was born. Nothing will change that, so no use in talking about it.”
* * *
Lisette remained silent, apparently not knowing how to respond to that. Her hand withdrew from his knee back to her own lap.
Charles gazed at her. “You look different,” he said, squinting as he tried to figure out why. Her hair. That was it. It was always up—in a French braid, or in other kinds of braids and ponytails, to keep it out of her face as she chased his kids around. Even at the party earlier, it’d been up in a sophisticated bun. But now, her shiny dark hair fell all around her face, tumbling over her shoulders and halfway down her back. “Your hair is down. You look so different this way . . .” He reached up to twirl a lock of it between his fingers. “I never knew it was so long,” he said, fascinated. “Or so soft . . .”
He’d always thought her attractive, of course. But with her hair loose and flowing like this, illuminated only by moonlight . . . she looked softer, even prettier, and God help him, downright sexy. He was mesmerized. Her gorgeous dark eyes, her high cheekbones, her smooth olive skin, her lips that looked like they’d be so soft and warm if he tasted them . . . She was beautiful. A jolt of desire zipped through him, hot and quick, and something deep inside him groaned to life. His blood started pulsing through his veins, and the air around them seemed to get thicker, warmer.
Dropping the lock of her hair, he reached out to graze her cheek with the backs of his fingers. She stiffened beneath his touch, but something in her eyes . . . they darkened, widened, and a hint of color bloomed on her cheeks. Her tongue darted out to lick her lips, and his breath stuck in his chest. He felt drawn to her, hypnotized, as if an invisible electric charge was holding him in her
power.
Heat and desire surged through his body as the feel of her soft skin woke dormant lusty demons. He hadn’t been with a woman in way too long. Over a year. The last few times he’d had sex, they’d been meaningless and brief encounters, leaving him feeling empty. But at that moment all he could think was that he wanted Lisette, and he hadn’t wanted any woman like this in a long, long time. Now, gazing at her, touching her, his body was betraying him with just how much he wanted her. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured thickly, trailing the backs of his fingers along her jaw. “You really are.”
She shivered beneath his touch, but didn’t back away from it. “You’ve been drinking. Your beer goggles are fogged up.”
He laughed, but he couldn’t stop staring at her mouth. Her full, soft, perfectly shaped lips. All he wanted, more than anything, was to taste that luscious mouth, just one time. He wanted to so badly . . . no, needed to. The urge was all consuming, and he gave in to it. His hand cupped around the back of her neck as he leaned in, pulling her to him as he pressed his lips to hers.
She jolted in surprise. He pulled back, but not much, still so close to her mouth that he was breathing her air. She didn’t move. With a prick of embarrassment, he realized that the kiss likely wasn’t something she wanted. That he was imposing. Obviously she didn’t feel the same pull he did.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, moving back. “You just looked so beautiful, and I—”
Her hands flew up to hold his face, and she crushed her lips to his.
He gave a lusty groan, and his hands threaded through her long, thick hair, holding her close as his mouth consumed hers. Pure lust overtook his senses. Her mouth was as warm and soft as it looked and tasted sweet, like the spiced tea she often made at night.
Charles lost himself in that kiss. In how damn good she felt, and what kissing her awakened in him. In letting go for once, in living in the moment . . . in being like someone other than himself. The fire raged through him in a merciless flash, leveling him, leaving him mindless, but strangely galvanized. His tongue slipped into her mouth and found hers, sending a new rush through him, heady and intoxicating.
Their tongues tangled as the kisses intensified and his greedy hands began roaming over her, learning the feel and shape of her tempting body. Her soft sighs and moans, the way she moved to get closer, only sharpened his desire. Her fingers ran through his hair, dropping to his shoulders and gripping tightly as his teeth scraped along her neck.
He shifted to pull her even tighter against him, but the sudden move put them off balance, bringing them both down. They fell back with a graceless thud and surprised grunts, still locked in an embrace.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” he said, rearing up on his elbows to look at her. “Are you okay?”
Her eyes were wide and round as she stared back up at him, trying to catch her breath. “I’m fine,” she gasped, “but you’re . . . well . . .”
Charles realized the full length of his body was aligned with hers. The feel of her lush body beneath his sent a new surge of desire rushing through him. And then she wiggled beneath him, and every nerve ending in his body flamed. His pelvis was pressed against hers, and if she kept that up . . . sweet Jesus. “Don’t do that,” he warned.
“Don’t do what?” She blinked, confused, then moved again to try to relieve the pressure of his weight. Her breasts pressed against his chest, and her hips rolled under his. Blood surged to his groin; he was hard now, and his breath hitched.
“That,” he half groaned. Holy hell, she felt so good. His eyes fell to her mouth. Want and need swamped him, his head dipped, and he took her mouth in a hungry, almost desperate kiss.
Her lips parted to welcome him. Moaning into her mouth, the taste of her warm, soft mouth and the feel of her warm, soft body made his mind reel, then go blank. A tiny whimper of surrender floated out of her, and her arms snaked around his neck. His tongue swept deeper into her mouth, tasting, savoring . . . and she kissed him back hard, her body melting against his.
Sweet Mother of God, she wanted him too. Threading his hands in her hair, cradling her head, he kissed her hungrily, devouring her. All that mattered at that moment was having her. Everything else in him fell away.
Chapter Three
This can’t be happening.
That was the thought that kept going through Lisette’s mind over and over . . . even as her hands swept over Charles’s broad shoulders and strong back, even as he kissed her so passionately and commandingly that it stole her breath away, even as she kissed him back with just as much hunger and demand. It was as if she were drowning, and he was a lifeline. He’d brought her back to life in a bright, split second flash.
There were no words—only intense, consuming kisses; carnal, almost desperate groping; and the sound of their gasps, moans, and heavy breathing as they went at each other with unrestrained, reckless abandon.
She knew she should stop, but dammit, she just didn’t want to. How could any woman resist him? He was movie-star handsome, smart and assured, sexy and sweet . . . but Charles Harrison III was an incredibly wealthy and powerful man. Someone like her wouldn’t ever appear on his radar. The fantasies she’d entertained on long, dark nights were just that: fantasies. She knew they could never actually come true.
But now Charles groaned from deep in his throat as his fingers dug into her hips, his pelvis grinding into hers, shocking her with the power of his obvious desire. His hot mouth, eager and wicked, kissed and bit and licked along her neck as his thick erection rubbed against her core, the delicious friction sending jolts of electricity through her. It had been so long since a man had touched her, much less like this. She’d forgotten what it was like to be desired—it was intoxicating, mind-erasing. Her body had taken over, working on pure instinct. She couldn’t stop kissing him back, or letting her greedy hands roam over the smooth, masculine hardness of his body.
Between sumptuous kisses, his hands moved over her too, leaving trails of burning need in their wake. God, the way he kissed and touched her . . . Her whole body was tingling. One of his hands moved through her hair, again cradling her head, while the other reached for her sash, undid it, and pushed aside her robe. It was all happening so fast. She knew she should stop this, but she just didn’t want to.
“Charles.” Her voice was raspy, and she barely recognized it. He fondled her hip, then moved to her waist. Heat shimmered across her skin wherever his hands caressed her. “This is crazy . . .”
“I know,” he whispered, his breath feathering her skin. “But God help me, I want you so much right now.”
Her stomach flipped as a new rush of heady passion engulfed her. She wanted him too. She couldn’t deny it. “I want you too.”
His hand ran up along her ribcage to her breast, caressing it through her nightgown, giving it a gentle squeeze before he brushed his thumb across her nipple. She moaned into his mouth, and he kissed her even harder.
We shouldn’t be doing this . . . for a million different reasons . . . but dammit he felt so good, and she hadn’t been touched like this in years. Years. She felt like a starving woman who’d been given a long-awaited meal, delicious and forbidden, and she couldn’t devour it—him—fast enough. Charles was gorgeous and sexy, and she’d never known he had this kind of passion in him, and he obviously wanted this too, and, ohhhh God, his mouth and hands were everywhere . . .
His hands fondling her breasts, Charles’s head lowered, and his teeth gently scraped her nipples through her nightgown. She moaned and arched into him, seeking more of that dark, wicked pleasure. He was kissing her everywhere as his warm, sure hands slid down her body to push up the fabric of her nightgown, up past her thighs, and she let him. Her heart pounding, the throbbing between her legs filled her with desperate need, and something between a gasp and a moan ripped from her as she fisted her fingers in his wavy hair. His hot mouth trailed kisses along her belly as his fingers feathered up her thigh, making her tremble with lust and anticipation. She’d
never been swept away by desire like this, never in her life.
And she was right there with him, panting and groping like he was, moaning and writhing beneath him like some porn star. His passion and need were mesmerizing and completely consumed her.
She was spiraling out of control, and, for once in her life, she didn’t care about consequences, right or wrong, or anything but how she felt. About her own needs and her own desires, which she never considered, much less put first. He wanted her right then? Okay, fine. Yes, now, since he’d started it, she wanted him to take her, have his way with her, and she’d give back as good as he gave. Just this once, she wanted to feel like a sexy, desirable woman. And, more than anything, after years of feeling numb, she wanted to feel alive again, even if only for a few stolen minutes. And there was no one on earth she wanted to do this with—would have let herself do this with—other than Charles.
* * *
Charles was panting. Panting and clawing like an animal. He didn’t care. He didn’t recognize himself right then, and that was fantastic. He wanted to consume this sexy, gorgeous woman, to take her and to lose himself in her at the same time. To just throw himself over the cliff and let this sudden blaze of mindless, aching need and overwhelming desire burn through him, through both of them.
The fire was mutual. She grabbed at him and kissed him with the same ferocious lust that was turning him into some kind of senseless beast. Her wild passion was a shock to him, but made him want her that much more. She was so beautiful, all soft curves and velvety skin and warmth; he wanted to sink into her lush, enticing body, and nothing else mattered.
His fingers slid up her thigh to find the edge of her panties. “Jesus,” he whispered roughly, blown away by the heat there, the dampness he could feel through the cotton. He pressed harder, rubbing her, and she cried out as her back arched, as she twisted beneath him.
'Tis the Season Page 3