by Noelle Adams
She tugged on him with all of her strength, but he was bigger and stronger. She couldn’t budge him. The momentum of her attempt backfired, and she flopped on top of him.
He chuckled and put his arms around her, settling her more comfortably on his lap.
She struggled, although not as forcefully as she could have. “I’m serious, Harry—Harrison. I’m not here to make out with you.”
“I know.” His voice was soft and his arms held her snugly, but he made no further advances.
She scrutinized his face, finding it so handsome, so dear, and so infuriating. “I don’t want you to work so hard.”
“This is who I am, Etta. That’s what it means to be a Damon. The job needs to be done.”
“But it doesn’t need to be done tonight. And it doesn’t all need to be done by you.” He started to object, but she didn’t let him. “I know being a Damon is different and that your uncle can’t do everything himself. But you can’t, either. Let Andrew do some of it. He’s just as smart as you.”
For a moment, Harrison looked offended, which almost made her laugh.
“I know you don’t want to admit it, but he’s capable. You can’t do everything. You can’t. It’s too much, even for you.”
He stared at her for a minute, his body tense and his expression unreadable. Then he looked out the window across the room.
“Do you think I don’t know what it’s like?” Her voice cracked.
His eyes met hers with a silent question.
Her heart beat wildly, since she knew this was a risk. He might close up like he had the other day. She continued anyway. “Do you think I don’t know what it’s like to watch your whole world fall apart? To see it all slip through your fingers, no matter how desperately you tighten your grip? Do you think I haven’t experienced it, too?”
His arms tightened around her suddenly in a hug. “I know you have,” he murmured into her hair.
She embraced him, feeling safe in his arms. And it was easier to say the rest when her eyes didn’t meet his. “But you’ll never be able to hold on tightly enough. You can work all night, every night. It still won’t be enough. And think of how much you’ll give up in the attempt.”
He was quiet for a long time, then said, “Let me get up, sweetheart.”
Marietta scooted off his lap, peering up at him with hope as he rose from his chair. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to walk you back to your room.”
Her heart sank. “Then you’re going to come back here and work.”
He nodded, put his palm on her back, and gently nudged her into the hall.
For a moment, she was afraid she might cry. She’d thought there might be a way she could get through to Harrison, a way to help him. The way he tried to help her.
Evidently not.
A big, warm hand cupped her cheek without warning. He stopped in the hall, gazing down at her. “Is it really that important to you?” he asked softly.
She swallowed, trying not to lean into his hand. “I just want you to get more sleep. What’s so wrong with that?”
He started to walk again. “I’ll go to bed for tonight.”
It was better than nothing—a victory, if only a small one. She smiled up at him warmly and hugged her arms to her belly.
He was so silent as he escorted her to her room, that she got worried. Outside her door, she asked, “Are you mad at me?”
“What could I possibly be mad about?” He had that whimsical look in his eyes she’d seen the first night they’d met and so many nights since. “For tripping over me in a nightclub and then initiating an elaborate seduction scheme to tempt me to lower my guard? For scheming your way into my home and maliciously charming my uncle and brother into believing you’re innocent?”
Marietta gasped, torn between anxiety and hope. “I never did any of—”
“Are you saying you didn’t vengefully give me a black eye? Or torture me through an endless shopping expedition for your wicked amusement? Or trick me into reading a smutty book just as a priest happened by? Or nag me incessantly about my private thoughts? Or invade my office and throw my coffee out the window?”
Laughter gurgled up in Marietta’s throat at this list of offenses offered with such a blandly aggrieved expression. Surely he didn’t hate her any longer. Not with such a warm light in his eyes. Not with such a tender smile on his lips.
Not when she loved him so much.
“Well,” she said, feigning tartness when all she wanted to do was pull him into her arms, “you seem to have collected quite a number of grievances. I’m surprised you don’t just toss me out of the house.”
“I’m considering it,” he murmured. His eyes drifted down her body, ignited by a hot hunger.
Her intimate muscles clenched in response. She knew what was going to happen now, and she knew it meant everything would change. But there was no fear. No panic. No paralysis.
She knew Harrison. Trusted him. He wouldn’t hurt her.
At the moment, he was still leering. “But I’ll hold back my righteous wrath if you’ll admit you flaunted your delicious body in that irresistible outfit just to tempt me into your bed tonight.”
Marietta glanced down at her pajamas, blinking in surprise. “But I’m not dressed sexy.”
Harrison threw back his head and laughed.
…
She honestly had no idea she looked absolutely delectable in the soft pajama pants that rode low on her hips and the simple white tank thin enough to reveal her full breasts and tight nipples. Her complete unconsciousness of her desirability with tumbled hair and bare feet made Harrison want her even more.
He’d been annoyed at her invasion of his office, then acutely uncomfortable when she’d hit close to home about the unspoken fears that drove him. Her concern about his work habits touched him, though, and he’d never felt so close to anyone except his brother.
Marietta understood him, yet still seemed to care about him.
When radiance transformed her face as she watched him laugh, there was no way he could hold back anymore.
He took her face in his hands and kissed her, deeply and urgently. She responded immediately; her body softened and her arms reached around his neck.
He slid his hands down to palm her ass and then lift her while she wrapped her legs around his waist. Unable to stop kissing her, he fumbled for the door until it swung open and he could carry her into the room.
Laying her gently on the bed, he stood and gazed down at her. She was flushed and breathless and tousled, and he wanted her so much his chest ached. His body had already tightened with arousal. She held out her arms in invitation.
He couldn’t believe she willingly offered herself to him. After the way he’d treated her. After the things he’d believed about her—things so counter to her sweet nature.
She frowned. “What are you waiting for? Have you changed your mind? Because, I’ve got to say, that’s a very mean trick.”
He made a choked sound—half laugh and half groan—and said, “We need protection. I’ll be right back.” He straightened up and took a few deep breaths, willing his body under control to make the long trek back to his room.
Marietta made a frustrated face, but then her expression cleared. “There are condoms in my bathroom.”
“What?”
“In the bathroom. They showed up there a couple of days ago. I have no idea why. I just thought it was part of the service here, or maybe Andrew playing a joke.”
Harrison went into the bathroom and found the condoms. Gordon must have put them there, assuming they might come in handy. The butler had always been prepared for any eventuality, and Harrison was grateful for not having to traipse through the mansion with a throbbing erection.
When he returned, he found Marietta still sprawled out waiting for him, her lips quivering in wry amusement—either at Gordon’s efficiency or Harrison’s uncomfortable condition. He yanked off his tie and unbuttoned his shirt, dropping them
to the floor and kicking off his shoes before he climbed into bed with her.
He claimed her lips once more as she ran her hands over his bare chest, her eagerness escalating his desire. Then he trailed kisses along her jaw, down her neck, and along her collarbone. She murmured breathless sounds of pleasure—sometimes in English and sometimes in French—all of them irresistible to Harrison.
Pushing up her tank top, he freed her soft breasts and took one into his mouth, loving the way she writhed in response. As his tongue teased the nipple, he became conscious of her fumbling attempt to pull off her top, but he was so absorbed it took time to notice her motions had become jerky. He lifted his head to see that she’d trapped herself in her tank, which twisted around her head and arms. With a chuckle, he asked, “Having some trouble there?”
She growled. “I can’t get this stupid thing off!”
Amusement mingling with his lust, he unwrapped the shirt and helped her slip it off.
She emerged from the tank with a victorious smile and flung it across the room.
Harrison was suddenly flooded by a wave of love. After everything she had been through in her life, after all the things that might have made her bitter, she had the most warm, resilient spirit he’d ever known.
He sank into another kiss, and then he resumed his fondling, stroking, and kissing her breasts and belly until she was flushed and moaning.
Wanting to please her despite the hot insistence of his own arousal, he pulled off her pajamas and underwear and then lowered himself down her body until he could fit his head between her legs. He breathed in the natural scent of her, cuing something fierce and primal inside of him. He teased and stroked her intimately with his fingers and tongue, causing her body to tense and her hands to fist in his hair.
“Harri—son!” she gasped.
Recognizing the stumble over his name, he lifted his head long enough to say thickly, “Etta, you can call me whatever you want.”
He lowered his mouth once more and intensified the urgency of his intimate massage. She climaxed, her hips riding out her wild pleasure. She might be inexperienced, but her body instinctively knew how to move. On an indrawn gasp, she cried out, “Harry!”
She was still breathless when he shed his remaining clothes, put on the condom, and moved over her to position himself between her legs.
She’d been a virgin two weeks ago. He was the only man who’d ever made love to her.
Despite the fact that he’d always considered himself a modern, enlightened man, that knowledge filled him with a surge of primal dominance, deepening the intensity of his arousal. She was soft and pliant as he entered her, pitching his hips and pulling them back in slow succession until her body made room for him. She gasped and hugged him against her as her hot, wet channel clasped him tightly.
Fighting for control, Harrison took a few long breaths and helped her wrap her legs around his hips. He sank into her even more deeply, heard her little whimper of pleasure and need.
“Harrison,” she said, her mouth just next to his ear, “I’m not like Grace. You believe me, don’t you?”
He had no idea how she’d learned about Grace, and at the moment he didn’t care. He told her the truth. “I believe you.”
His tongue stroked her lips and mouth, and then tangled with hers. She squirmed beneath him, compelling him to thrust. He didn’t stop kissing her as their steady motion built into an urgent rhythm. And when she broke with wanton abandon in another hard climax, causing her to claw his back and moan into his mouth, he kissed her again.
It wasn’t until his own coiled tension shattered in waves of deep pleasure that, breathless and overcome, he finally broke off the kiss.
She clung to him, her legs wound tightly around him and her body hot and shuddering in the aftermath of their passion. His face buried in the crook of her neck, he realized that tears were running down her cheeks.
He wasn’t worried. Knew it wasn’t grief.
He murmured the only word he could shape. “Etta.”
Chapter Ten
Marietta woke up a little sore from their lovemaking, and rolled toward the other side of her bed. When she saw it was empty, she felt a sharp pang of disappointment.
Harrison must have gotten up early to work. She’d hoped he would relax and spend the morning with her.
She sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes. When she’d gotten up last night to go to the bathroom, she’d pulled her pajamas back on, so she was no longer naked. She still felt vulnerable, lonely, and confused.
Harrison hadn’t said anything about his feelings, but he’d admitted he believed her, trusted her again. And their lovemaking had certainly not felt like another one-night stand.
Her cheeks burned with both embarrassment and rising excitement as she remembered the eagerness with which she’d let Harrison take her last night, the way she’d taken pleasure in him with shameless abandon.
He must know how she felt about him. It hadn’t just been lust that had led her to such heights of ecstasy. Her love for him must have been obvious.
Her breath caught when the door to her bedroom swung open. Harrison entered carrying two mugs, wearing his trousers and nothing else. His dark hair was rumpled and his jaw shadowed with a day’s growth of beard. He smiled when he saw her.
She nearly clapped her hands, she was so happy to see him. “I thought you’d gotten up to go to work.”
“Unfairly judged and found wanting again,” he teased, handing her one of the mugs. “I thought you might want some coffee.”
She took it gratefully and nearly giggled with delight when he got back into bed and draped one of his arms around her as they propped themselves up on the pillows.
Nestling against him, she sipped the coffee. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. How do you feel this morning?”
“Good,” she admitted.
“Shall I call the masseur for you again?” Harrison asked.
“I knew it was you!”
Harrison’s brows drew together. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing,” she said, hiding her smile. She should have known it was Harrison, and not Andrew, who was so thoughtful of her. “Why do you think I need the masseur? Think you’re so good in bed I can’t walk today?”
His waggled his eyebrows suggestively but admitted, “I thought you might still be sore from the ride.” At her amused expression, he clarified, “The horseback ride.”
“I’m fully recovered from the ride. Both of them.”
They drank their coffee in drowsy comfort. Then Harrison put down his mug and shifted onto his side, propping himself on his elbow to look at her. His sober expression made her wary.
“Etta, I hate to do this to you—but I’m wondering if you’ll tell me more about your reaction to beer.”
It was the last thing she’d expected him to ask, and she stared at him, speechless.
“Can you describe exactly what you feel?” he added.
She scooted farther down the bed, leaving just her head on the pillow. She stared up at the ceiling. “You saw me the other night.”
“I know. I want to hear it from you.”
The topic made her uncomfortable, but she forced herself to answer honestly. “It makes me feel sick and scared.”
“How? Why?”
“I don’t know why. But if I smell it or see it, I start to get panicky. And really, really nauseated.”
“Does the nausea come first or the panic?”
She considered. “I’m not sure. It’s kind of at the same time—just two symptoms of the same reaction.”
“When did it start happening?”
“I told you, I’ve always been that way.” She darted a quick look at his face. He seemed thoughtful and grave, not patronizing or pitying, as she’d feared.
“Have you ever had counseling about it?”
A sharp pang cut through her chest. “You think something’s really wrong with me?”
“It seems to be a seriou
s psychological reaction, like PTSD or something. I’m just surprised your grandfather and friends haven’t encouraged you to—”
“I’m not sure they know how serious it is. They know I can’t stand to be around beer. But they’ve never seen me have a severe attack. I always leave as soon as I get a whiff of it.”
“Why haven’t you told them?”
She cringed. “It’s humiliating. You saw me.”
“I’m not about to lecture you about that.” He stroked her cheek with his knuckle.
“It’s stupid to hide it, I know. Although the other night is probably the worst attack I’ve had. Only one other time…”
“What happened?”
“About four years ago, I was in the alley behind our restaurant. I was in my chair then, and I was in a hurry. Someone had broken a bottle of beer, and I wheeled over it before I realized.” She shuddered. “I was so sick, I nearly passed out.”
Harrison remained silent for a minute. “When was the first time you remember having this reaction? Before the accident?”
He asked the question almost diffidently, but Marietta’s pulse started to throb. “What are you getting at?”
“Did you have this reaction to beer before the car accident?”
“I…I think so.”
“You don’t remember a specific incident before you were ten?”
“I guess not. But I’ve always assumed…” So much of her life before the accident was a blur. “I see what you’re getting at. But I’d remember if Michael was drinking.”
“Probably. But maybe he’d been drinking before—”
“I’d remember if he smelled like beer in the car.”
“Would you?” Harrison’s tone was matter-of-fact.
Marietta had to wonder how much this conversation hurt him. Michael Damon had been his cousin.
“Would you have recognized the smell of beer when you were ten?”
“Of course. I mean, I must have.”
“Did your family drink beer?”
“No, we’ve always drunk wine. But, I mean, by ten years old… It can’t be. They ran a toxicology report on him. It came back negative for drugs or alcohol.”