Reprieve (Love's Second Chance Book 1)

by Scott,Scarlett

  “Trevor.” She tried, less than halfheartedly, to offer protest. But protest was really the last thing on her mind.

  His mouth found hers again, hot, demanding, fierce. She was helpless. Powerless to stop him. Her defenses were gone and the only thing governing her was the way Trevor made her feel. Nothing mattered but him.

  “I need you.” His words were low, drugging. “I have to be inside you.”

  “Yes.” Her voice was breathless, hardly recognizable.

  His hands skimmed up and down the outsides of her thighs, toying with the lacy strings of her underwear. It was making her crazy.

  He dropped a kiss on the corner of her mouth. “But not like this. Wrap your legs around my waist.” His hands moved up again, gripping her buttocks. Sophie obeyed, her legs going around him as he pulled her up and held her tightly. They were suddenly eye to eye, so close their noses brushed when he shifted her weight in his arms.

  They eyed each other for a moment, suspended in time. He was so handsome, so harshly beautiful. God, she loved this man. Loved him so much she almost blurted it out then and there. Almost.

  His eyes were dark, stormy with passion, filled with sensual promise. She cupped his face, his scruff scratchy against her palms. Bringing their lips together, she kissed him with all the emotions inside her she couldn’t reveal to him. She bared her soul in that kiss.

  Trevor backed up, taking them across his office as they kissed. Finally, he reached the big black leather chair facing his desk and sank down into it.

  “This will have to do,” he whispered the words against her lips.

  “Thank God there aren’t any armrests,” Sophie murmured distractedly. Even as she contemplated how awkward a position it would have proved, his hands were traveling back down over her thighs.

  “Yes,” he agreed with a small, unsteady laugh. “Thank God for that.”

  One of his hands left its exploration of her left thigh to pursue the zipper on the back of her dress. She heard a brief zing of the metal teeth. Cold air bathed her heated skin. Sophie aided Trevor in pulling the straps of her dress down over her arms. When the fabric fell to her waist, she heard his quick intake of breath.

  Then she became aware of his erection beneath her. She swallowed.

  Trevor did too, his eyes riveted on her breasts. “Christ, Sophie, where did you find a bra like that?”

  She was hesitant. “Don’t you like it?”

  The bra in question had been purchased on a shopping excursion with Claire. It was a creamy-pink lace affair that left little to the imagination.

  “Like it?” Trevor’s voice was hoarse. “I love it. It’s perfect.”

  In demonstration, he pressed a kiss to the swell of each breast. Impatient, she reached behind her to unclasp the bra, but Trevor stilled her movements.

  “Leave it, sweetheart.”

  With his free hand, he tugged the underwire of one cup down, dragging the lace across the peak of her breast. Pleasure coursed through her. When at last her breast was bared, Trevor lowered his head and blew lightly on her nipple.

  Unable to help herself, she moaned, arching into him. Trevor took pity on her and ended his torture, taking her nipple into his mouth. Heat spiked through her, pooling in her belly. Unconsciously, she shifted her body against his, seeking to be closer. He visited the same exquisite agony upon the opposite breast, finally unhooking her bra with a deft flick of his wrist. She watched it flutter to the floor like a butterfly.

  Sophie was more than ready for him but he took his time, savoring her body as if it were a rare and delicate treasure. With his mouth, he kissed and tasted her body. With his hands, he kneaded, caressed, and built a raging fire within her.

  Finally, the tension building up inside her became too much. She rocked her hips against his. “Trevor, please.”

  He kissed her, his tongue plunging into her mouth in a parody of what was to come. Pulling back, he nipped at the fullness of her lower lip.

  “Tell me what you want, Sophie.”

  There was no embarrassment, only need in her voice as she answered. “I want you.”

  He kissed her again. “Who do you want?”

  “You.” Frustrated, her fingers fumbled with the fastening of his trousers. Finally, she got them open.

  “Say my name.” His voice had a hard edge to it.

  “Trevor.” She kissed him again, unable to help herself. She was addicted to him. “Trevor.”

  He moaned, his restraint flying away. His hands went beneath her dress again and he growled in frustration to find her underwear an impediment to what he wanted.

  “Untie the bows,” she said, afraid he would rip them off her in his sudden hurry.

  His fingers brushed against her thighs before her underwear slid away to join her bra on the floor. His hands moved to adjust himself between their bodies, then clamped onto her waist. He dropped a hungry kiss on her mouth as he lifted her up, then lowered her onto his erection.

  White-hot sensation speared her as he slid inside her in one swift thrust. She lost her breath, gasped out his name. They built up a maddening rhythm together. For all that their foreplay had been slow and languorous, their coupling was frenzied and explosive. She rode him, her rhythm guided by his hands on her waist. He lunged against her, surging inside with his satisfying hardness. She arched her back, taking him all the way inside, then rising until he almost slipped from her body before thrusting again. Their mouths fused, tongues tangling. Out-of-control lust slammed through her. She clamped around him, orgasm rocking through her body.

  He groaned, pumping into her before he pulled back. “Shit. I don’t have a condom.”

  Did it matter at this point? Of course it did, her mind told her. Just then, a sound at the door distracted her attempts at sanity. “What was that noise?”

  He dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose. “I didn’t hear anything.”

  A fierce knocking on the office door punctuated his words.

  “Trevor?” The voice coming from the opposite side of the door belonged to Dominique.

  Sophie’s blood turned to ice. Reality returned like a slap in the face. She met Trevor’s gaze. Neither one of them spoke.

  The door handle, a long, slashing piece of buffed steel, jiggled twice, then stopped. Sophie had not known Trevor had bothered to lock the door, but she was instantly glad he had. A few tense seconds of silence passed before Dominique gave up and her footsteps could be heard receding down the hallway.

  When it was clear Dominique had gone, Sophie disengaged herself from Trevor. She stood, unsteady on her high heels as one hand shoved her hemline down and the other tugged her bodice up over her breasts. Oh God, she still had on her shoes. Her beautiful dress was hopelessly wrinkled and she was in love with a man who had a gorgeous French girlfriend.

  Sophie felt awkward and foolish as she turned away from Trevor to locate and snatch up her flung undergarments.

  “Sophie.”

  Trevor’s voice was insistent behind her but she ignored him.

  She heard him stand and adjust his clothing before his hand gripped her arm.

  “Look at me, Sophie.”

  She didn’t want to. There were so many things she wanted to say to him if she could only find the nerve. But what had once seemed so simple and perfect between them now seemed complex and frightening. Now there was his relationship with Dominique to consider. Sophie very desperately wanted to avoid making the wrong move.

  “Look at me,” he repeated.

  This time she did. His gaze was dark, unfathomable.

  “You know this isn’t over between us.” His voice was harsh. “You can’t deny that what we just did was between us and only us. There were no ghosts this time.”

  There had never been any ghosts, really, only guilt of her own making. She opened her mouth to tell him so, but another knock sounded at the door.

  Trevor jammed his hand into his hair. “Who the Christ is it now?”

  “Trev, it’s Marcus.
What the hell are you doing in there?”

  Trevor cursed. “I’ll go out and distract him. You stay in here,” he directed her in an undertone. “I’ll say you ran to the ladies’ room.”

  Sophie nodded, feeling unaccountably like the teenage girl who just got caught necking with her boyfriend. Trevor made to leave, then turned back to her.

  “We aren’t finished, Sophie.”

  She didn’t argue, didn’t say a word, just watched him slip out the door.

  “Thanks for seeing me back to my room, Marcus,” Sophie said several hours later as she fished through her purse for her room’s key card.

  The remainder of the party had been uneventful. Her stomach had been tied in triple knots the entire time. Trevor had been careful to avoid her for the rest of the evening. Finally, confused and tired, she had allowed Marcus to hail a cab.

  Marcus angled his head and studied her. “Can I come in, Sophie?”

  His request took her by surprise but she nodded as her fingers retrieved the room key and she slid it home. The lock could be heard clicking, then a tiny green light appeared above the key slot. She opened the door and held it wide for Marcus to follow.

  Once they were inside, he sent her a small smile. “Sit down and take off your shoes. They’ve been killing your feet all night.”

  Sophie did as he suggested, sitting gingerly on the edge of her king-size bed, eager to shed the sexy but uncomfortable heels. She wiggled her bare toes and looked up at him. “You’re very observant.”

  “Too observant,” he said grimly, rubbing a hand across his strong jawline. “Sophie, this is probably none of my business. Actually, I know it’s none of my business, but I can tell there’s something between you and Trevor.”

  She eyed him warily. “And?”

  “And either you hate champagne and are too polite to say it, or something else is going on.”

  She looked away, catching her lower lip between her teeth. “You are too observant.”

  Marcus came to her, sank down beside her on the bed and took her hand. “I think you and I have become friends over the past few months.” He paused. “This is damn awkward. But Sophie, if there’s anything you need, anything at all, I’m here.”

  “Thank you,” Sophie said simply. “I’ve been rather emotional lately.”

  “It’s understandable,” Marcus said easily, giving her fingers a squeeze before releasing her hand. “I just want you to know that you can come to me.”

  She sent him a small smile. “Thank you.”

  He nodded, looking uncomfortable. “I’ll let you get some sleep.”

  Marcus rose and exited the room, leaving her alone.

  Alone again. She looked around the posh hotel room Marcus had booked for her. She had grown accustomed to being alone after Peter and Elizabeth died, but the solitude had begun eating away at her soul. Just when it had seemed she would finally escape it, the loneliness found her again. Worst of all was the knowledge it was her fault. She had pushed Trevor away when she should have held him close.

  She sank her head into her hands. What had happened between them tonight complicated matters even further. God, she needed time to think. First thing tomorrow morning, she was heading home.

  “Damn it, what do you mean she checked out?” Trevor barked at the concierge.

  The man, a dour-looking fifty-something with a bowtie and gelled gray hair, gave Trevor a fierce frown. “I must ask that you keep your voice down, sir. And please, refrain from using that sort of language. When I said that Ms. Olsen checked out, I clearly meant she checked out. I can’t make it any more black and white.”

  Trevor’s hands itched to reach out and give the bowtie a swift tug. He reminded himself that as self-important and annoying as the little man undeniably was, plowing his fist into his nose still wouldn’t be right. He sighed and inwardly counted to ten, deciding to take a new angle.

  “Could you be so kind as to tell me when Ms. Olsen checked out?”

  The concierge tilted his head to one side and gave Trevor a condescending smile. “I’m afraid I can’t. Will that be all, sir?”

  “Yes, that will be all,” Trevor all but growled the words and stalked from the hotel.

  In less than ten minutes, he was banging on Marcus’ door so hard his fist stung.

  Marcus threw open the door, looking bleary-eyed and tousled. Trevor’s narrowed gaze took in his friend dressed only in boxers.

  “What the hell’s the matter, Trevor?” Marcus asked. “I’ve got neighbors, you know.”

  A hideous thought occurred to Trevor. “Is she in there with you?”

  “What?” Marcus’ expression registered genuine confusion. “Who?”

  Trevor forced himself to calm down. His rage was getting the best of him, making him leap to ridiculous conclusions. He raked a hand through his hair.

  “Never mind,” he said, lowering his voice out of deference to the other residents. “Just let me in.”

  Marcus stepped back and held the door open. “Be my guest.”

  Trevor stepped into the apartment and turned back to Marcus. “Do you know when Sophie checked out of her hotel?”

  Marcus shook his head. “No. I’m hardly the woman’s keeper, Trev.”

  “Well, you sure as hell acted like you were last night,” he shot back. “Grilling me about what I said to her, then whisking her away from the party.”

  Marcus clenched his jaw. “She was tired and she wanted to get back to her hotel. And as to grilling you Trevor, you did seem angry when you dragged her up to your office. I don’t think it was out of line for me to be worried about what went on.”

  The familiar anger went zinging through his veins. “You’re wrong. It sure as hell was out of line.”

  “Fine. Was there something else you wanted?”

  “Yes, damn it.” Trevor paced across the hardwood floor of Marcus’ living room. The place was done completely in black and white, with white walls and black furniture. Black and white prints dotted the walls. One of Marcus’ old girlfriends had been an interior designer and had decorated the apartment. Marcus had been too lazy to change it.

  “Did I ever tell you how boring black and white is?” he asked.

  “Need I remind you that your office is black and white?” Marcus countered dryly.

  “True,” Trevor agreed, “but never mind that. What I really want to know is why Sophie left. I thought you told me you booked her room through tonight and that she would be meeting us in the office for a rundown of how her paintings have been selling.”

  “I did and I did,” Marcus answered. “I guess she had some important business to attend to. I don’t know. Why do you even care?”

  “Because there are some things I need to discuss with her. Important things. Things that can’t wait.”

  Marcus eyed him solemnly. “Then you might want to go find her and when you do, you might want to ask her why she didn’t touch her champagne last night.”

  Trevor frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean, Marcus?”

  Marcus shrugged. “Whatever you want it to, Trevor.”

  Trevor thought about it for a moment, turned it around in his mind. His breath caught and his heart froze. “What the hell are you telling me? Are you saying Sophie’s pregnant?”

  “You have to ask Sophie,” Marcus said.

  Emotion washed over him like a flood tide. Awe, amazement, happiness, anger that Sophie had kept the news from him. He couldn’t move. His feet were rooted to the spot. If Sophie was having a baby, his baby, their baby, it was incredible. Scary as all hell. Amazing.

  “Holy shit.” Trevor was more stunned than he had ever been in his life.

  “Exactly,” Marcus seconded.

  “I have to find her.” He strode toward the door, feeling like a sleepwalker. And when he did find her, she had a hell of a lot of explaining to do. He pulled the door open, looking back at his friend over his shoulder. “Thanks, Marcus.”

  He didn’t even wait for Marcus to r
eply, but made his way down the hallway, toward the stairwell. He didn’t bother waiting for the elevator. It was too slow.

  When he was halfway across town, Trevor realized he had a death grip on the steering wheel. Damn the woman. Why would she confide something as important as a baby to Marcus, but not to the baby’s father? Was she planning to keep her pregnancy a secret forever?

  Just the thought of it made his blood boil. Sophie owed him some explanations and fast.

  Sophie was painting when Trevor burst through her studio door. She jumped, the brush in her hand sending a slash of red paint across the canvas. Her portrait of Trevor walking along the beach at sunset was obliterated by the offensive streak.

  “Damn it,” she muttered, tossing down her brush and looking back up at him.

  He stalked across the room looking like a wild man. His eyes were bright with anger, his jaw clenched and the stubble on his cheeks was even more pronounced than it had been last night.

  He stopped before her stool, towering over her. “Apparently you didn’t hear me yesterday when I said we weren’t finished.”

  Sophie blinked at him, stunned by both his anger and his sudden appearance. She hadn’t heard his car or the doorbell. “How did you get in?”

  “Your sister.” He glowered down at her.

  “Trevor, what’s going on?”

  “Why would you be here?” He was growling the words, ignoring her question. “Why would you have run back here first thing this morning? Why would you have slipped away from the party with Marcus before I could even talk to you again?”

  Sophie slid from the stool and stood, hating how he loomed over her. “Trevor,” she tried again.

  But he was having none of it. “Do you have anything to say to me?”

  He was furious, that much was clear to her. Even more so than he’d been last night. Rage emanated from his every pore. She had known he wouldn’t be happy about her leaving the party early and her leaving this morning. But she had done it anyway, knowing too she needed time away from him. Time to think.

  “Well? Don’t you have anything to tell me, Sophie?”