“If you think those old pajamas decrease your sex appeal, think again.” Court laughed as he followed her, snapping out the lights and plunging the suite into darkness but for the bedside lamp. “Damn, I think they might be sexier than a silk negligee.”
“Why am I not surprised?” she muttered. Where the covers were already pulled back, she turned to sit on the edge of the bed. Two heavy mugs sat on the bedside table, steam curling into the air, their murky depths softened with cream.
“Two sugars, right?”
“Not anymore, but it’ll do for now.” She kept her attention directed at pulling the socks on. When the first one proved difficult, Court took the sock from her and knelt, his big hand heating her skin before he slid the sock up over her foot. Before she could protest, he slipped the second one on, his hand lingering only a moment on her calf.
“You’re half frozen,” he said.
“I told you so. I’m quite capable of figuring out the inadequacies of my body temperature.” She tried to swing her feet up, but he stopped her.
“You’re cold enough that this calls for desperate measures.”
“What?”
Without answering, he plumped up the pillows, lifted her, then sat with his back supported by the headboard, and settled her between his bent knees, her back to his bare chest. “This would work faster without the flannel between us.” A deft twitch of his wrist flung the covers over them. With a few tugs, he had her perfectly cocooned.
“But—”
He picked up one mug and carefully pressed it into her hands. “Here, wrap your fingers around that until it cools enough to drink. It’s decaf.”
Stunned by his take charge attitude, she did as he said, offering no resistance when he wrapped himself around her from behind. Strong arms and muscular legs embraced her. A solid presence when she needed it most, instinctively she leaned against him, seeking his body heat. Sure, Court had always had a confident manner about him, but their first time in bed he’d been careful, almost hesitant, thereafter always treating her as if she were the finest porcelain. While no less careful now, he’d lost the traces of tentativeness, touching her and holding her like a man who knew his way around a woman. A man who handled them regularly. All the more reason to leave the past in the past.
“Now, what were you doing in the bathtub?”
“Trying to relax enough to go to sleep.” Like she’d be able to do that now with him around her like cling wrap.
His chuckle rumbled in his chest, the vibration a comfort at her back. “And yet, you fell asleep in the tub?”
“Yes.”
“How long were you in there?”
“An hour or so,” she said and shrugged. “Maybe closer to two.” Lifting the mug, she inhaled and recognized the English breakfast blend. A sense of relief slipped into her. Court had taken the neutral angle at the moment, saving the big guns for later.
“Why didn’t you just pour in more hot?”
She shrugged again. “Too tired. Too pruned.”
Gentle fingers slipped under her hair and touched her neck. More shivers rippled through her, but this time not from cold. In fact, waves of warmth were beginning to sink into her, melting the outer icy layer.
“Drink your tea. If you want more, the second mug is for you as well, if not, I’ll drink it.”
“One should do me.” She blew across the top of the steaming liquid and gingerly tested. “Perfect.” She sighed.
He’d always known how to brew it perfectly. Then again, he’d taught her to drink it the British way. The only way, he’d once haughtily informed her, sending her into gales of giggles. Which she’d paid for in kisses and tickles that had turned into something more. Another shiver traveled down her spine, this one making her body clench and the warmth settled right between her legs. A sip of tea chased more heat downward, straight to her stomach.
“Hm, yes, perfect,” he murmured a moment before his lips touched her neck.
“Stop,” she protested, admittedly in a very weak manner considering the ripple of raised goose bumps on her skin. Gasping out such words hardly indicated a serious frame of mind.
“Stop, what?”
Damn him for ignoring her. “Please, stop…that.” Oh Lord, his lips, right there…
Court kissed her, so softly she barely felt it, and yet, she felt nothing else, the small hairs on her neck stood up, reaching for him, stretching in erotic ecstasy. The little hussies. Didn’t they know any better than to encourage him?
“This? You want me to stop this?” His breath touched her like fairy wings.
“Yes.”
“Now I’m confused. Yes, this is the spot you like best? Or yes, this is what you want me to stop?”
His lips moved over her skin, skimming, tickling, sensuously torturing.
“Court, stop playing with me.”
“But darling, what I do best, and want most, is to play with you. Drink your tea. Besides, this will warm you faster than anything else known to man.”
“Court.” He’d surely stolen her brains. Damn the man. A huge yawn snuck in and consumed her. The aftermath left her eyes watering, her body more relaxed. She gave up resisting and cuddled closer to Court.
“Drink up, my Juliet. No poison in this brew. Only tea to reheat you from the inside out.”
Entranced by his voice, she tipped the cup at her lips and gulped down the contents. A little hotter than she liked for fast drinking, nonetheless he had a point. Heat, delicious melting heat, spread outward, racing along her veins and nerves.
“There you go, guzzling like an office worker on a five minute break.” Court took the mug from her weakening fingers. “More?”
She shook her head and leaned it against one powerful bicep. This felt so very, very nice. She folded her hands against her chest and drew her knees up close. When Court lifted the other mug and drank, she could hear him gulping it down, the aroma of the tea, sweet and creamy, comforting in a long ago familiar way. With a final shudder, her body thawed out, relaxing completely, soaking in the heat faster and faster, making her feel heavy and limp.
“Sleepy, darling?”
“Yes.” Her eyelids drooped and another yawn invaded, stealing control of her body for a minute.
Court shifted behind her, but it didn’t matter, she had no energy to move. The light snapped off and darkness settled like another blanket. Only for a second did her logical brain scream out the dangers of this idea. The rest of her was too sleepy to listen.
“Warm now?”
“Umm-hmm.”
His chuckle rumbled against her back. “Great powers of seduction I have if the first time in twenty-two years I get you into bed you fall asleep on me.”
“But—”
His lips on her temple cut off her protest. “I know, darling. Long day on your feet, and your emotions trampled all over. Wonderful feast, by the way. Now rest.” His hand smoothed her hair as they sank down to the mattress. “Sleep, love. We’ll deal with seduction later,” he whispered into her ear as her eyes closed.
“Sleep,” she murmured. “Stay.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Chapter 11
Awake, his body still on London time, Court snuggled his Jeannie in his arms, the covers pulled up around them, but mostly around her. He wasn’t the cold one. In fact, a dousing of cold water would work rather well right now. Her sweet little bum wiggled into the bend where his hips fit behind her. If he grew any harder, her tushie was in danger. Worn and thin, her flannels didn’t offer much of a barrier. One firm tug and they’d be crotchless, which suited his frame of mind just fine.
Lord, he needed to get the mind off making love with her. The day’s events should have exhausted him as they had her, but his mind was alive, and his body awake in a way he barely remembered. The jolt had hit him the moment Birdie had pulled Randi from the kitchen and into the foyer.
The sight of her in such a way, flushed an
d startled, the shock to his system had been almost too much to recover from. But not quite. Too many years of polishing his sophisticated demeanor had made it possible to hand her the flowers, and even to flirt just a little. Ignoring the primitive impulse to grab her and take her against the wall had used all his will. Keeping himself from following through in the loo had tested the boundaries of his self control. And now, with her in his arms—he ruthlessly swallowed the growl of his primal beast along with the driving need to seize her, consume, and possess her.
So many thoughts to process. Now he’d found her, what next? Did he convince her to move to London or open an office in San Francisco? With Drew’s interest in China, that might not be a bad idea. But more important, what had Randi been doing with her life, and would she give it up or modify it to be with him? The questions built so fast they threatened to fry out the few remaining working cells in his brain. For now, he just needed to be in her presence, breathe in the essence of her, just be with her. Holding, touching, watching her, listening to the music of her voice, reveling in the magic of her. The time to rediscover the beauty of her heart. Just to be. With her. And Birdie.
His daughter. A near-perfect, smaller replica of her brother. He needed time with her. Time to talk. Time to fill in the blanks of the past two decades.
Now that they’d found each other, they’d have time. He’d make sure of it, because he sure as hell wasn’t letting go. Not for any reason.
Watching Randi sleep, as he had their final week in London, he relived every moment of their last night together. Dinner over lamb stew and wine. The shower of rose petals he’d dropped on her in bed. Their night lit by a single candle and the street lamps from outside her flat.
He’d made do with a bedsit, bathroom down the hall, in a crowded rooming house, but she’d had a tiny studio flat. The important thing, she’d once told him, being she had her own bathroom and micro kitchen. Yanks, he’d teased her, but secretly, he’d enjoyed the luxury of the bath after they’d discovered the delights of making love in a tub. Briefly he thought of the spa outside. Later, he’d find a way to make love to her there.
All his thoughts came back to the one theme. Making love to his Jean. Randi. Jean. Whatever name she used, one fact held true; she belonged with him.
Apparently, the reminders were still there for her as well. When he’d brought in the tea and set it on the table beside the bed, he’d seen the paperback and remembered. The one perfect rose she’d saved from the bouquet before he pulled the blooms apart to drop the petals on her. She’d tucked it between the pages, in the middle of the big love scene. Before finding her in the closet tonight, he’d lifted the book and carefully fanned the pages. There, right where she’d read to him, the dried bud, its faded fragrance a gentle perfume drawing out the sweetest memories. Eager to touch her, he’d called out and heard her muffled reply from somewhere deep inside the en suite.
She sighed in his arms, a tiny smile touching her lips. She shifted, pulling his arms closer about her as she turned her head. The Second Coming couldn’t have stopped him from kissing her cheek. That was so sweet he kissed her jaw. One kiss led to another until she turned enough he could kiss her lips.
“Court.” His name left her lips on a sigh so soft he almost didn’t hear it.
“Jeannie.” He nipped her lip, loving the way she parted for him, her breath a teasing whisper he breathed in. If it killed him, he’d hold back tonight. All her defenses were down, and she had every right to be angry with him. He also thought she might be talking in her sleep. Thank God it was his name on her lips. It gave him hope that forgiveness was already taking place.
She and Birdie were wrong about one thing, though. He had come looking for them. Randi, actually. Birdie had been a bonus. This warranted a call to the private investigator. Didn’t need the man’s services any longer. Should he insist on DNA testing? Probably not a politically correct move, as volatile as Birdie’s reaction had been to the discovery. Besides, in his heart he knew it wasn’t necessary.
Randi made the last quarter turn, which brought her front flush with his.
Sweet mercy, the quake that shot through him when her thigh gently connected with his groin made him see stars. He grabbed her leg and moved it away, trapping it firmly between his knees. The little she-devil moaned, frustrated at his diversion. Right, she felt frustrated. He’d made a gentleman’s vow to keep his hands to himself, but here she was, teasing, pushing, cuddling up to him as if they’d never been apart.
“Sleep, darling. You need sleep.”
“Mmm,” she mumbled something he didn’t quite understand. Agreement or denial? Sounded like denial to him, but maybe it was her hand resting on his pecs that made it seem that way. She snuggled into him, nestling her nose against his throat. “Warm.”
“Yes, darling, I’m glad you’re warm. I’m toasty myself. Sleep, Jeannie.”
She settled, seemingly drifting deeper, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Should she choose to turn her wicked lips loose on him, he’d be lost. A poor excuse for a gentleman trying to not take advantage of a lady. A lady he wanted for more than just one night.
What were those scores from the game last week? Manchester United versus Everton. Then again, forget football, being in the middle of a good rugby scrum would work about now.
Randi’s hair drifted, teasing his forearm with the sleek silkiness of it. Satin smooth and smelling of sunshine, turkey, vanilla, and just the barest hint of roses, he wanted to feast on her.
Now that she’d warmed up, he should slip from the bed and get his phone. Yesterday may have been an American holiday, but the rest of the world had kept moving. There were surely messages and e-mails he needed to deal with. The quiet of the sleeping household would make this the ideal time to get some business done. But with her in his arms, he didn’t want to let go for anything. No business deal was worth the pain of leaving her at this very moment. It could all wait.
Leaving. The very thought sent a chill through him. Sunday, just two short days away, he was due to climb on a plane and return to England. Not an attractive prospect on his part. A rapid mental review of his upcoming schedule didn’t allow hope for staying longer. The contract with Attenborough had already been set back a week and to put it off longer would hurt both sides. Could the meeting be held in New York? Would Randi like to take a trip? Could he bribe her with shopping?
The flexing of her little hand over his pecs made him think of bribing her another way. Her palm slid until her fingers framed one of his nipples and he suppressed a groan. In an effort to forestall further explorations, he pulled her close, redirecting her arm around his waist.
It was a hell of a thing to be in bed, embracing the woman who’d been in his dreams for half his life and not be able to make love to her. She trusted—trusted! the silly chit—that he would hold her and keep her safe. Safe from what, now there was the question of the century. Safe from himself? Was that the insult or the injury?
Finally, she drifted into a deep sleep, and half aroused, he relaxed enough to join her, pulled under by the dregs of jet lag.
* * * *
In her dream, warmth invaded everything. The soft blanket around her became a living, breathing entity, there solely for the purpose of keeping her warm. Slowly, she drifted out of the soft layers of sleep only to wonder at the arms around her. Court’s scent soothed her, forestalling any panic she might have felt. This felt right in a way she barely remembered. One arm pillowed her head, the other rested across her waist, his hand inside her pajama bottoms, cupping one rounded cheek. Her vow to leave their past behind them seemed silly now. It had been so long, surely she deserved some comfort. A woman needed to touch and be touched. Oh how she longed to touch all that glorious, warm skin.
Moving slowly, she pressed her lips to his neck. One night, one chance to share the best part of what they’d had, just one more time. They could do this without dredging up all those messy emotions, couldn’t they? One n
ight, one weekend, catch up, share some loving for old times’ sake, then say goodbye, this time knowing their paths would most likely cross again someday. They could be sometimes lovers. Maybe.
But now, just for now, she needed this. Needed him. Only he could fill the yawning emptiness consuming her.
Unless she was mistaken and the thing poking her in the stomach didn’t indicate his need for her, well then, she’d been out of the game far too long.
* * * *
As far as erotic dreams went, this one beat anything he’d ever previously dreamed. In his arms, his own sweet Jeannie moved her body against his. At some point, she’d grown lush curves. Nothing outrageous, just a little more padding filled out her breasts and added sassy curves to her hips, making them easier to hold. But it was Jeannie, just as he’d dreamed of her so many times, in so many ways. No one had ever touched him the way she had, in person and in every dream since their short time together so long ago.
But this dream topped them all. This dream came so close to real he could almost swear…
Soft lips closed around the head of his cock and wet heat wrapped him in an ecstasy that popped his eyes open.
Good Lord. Every prayer answered, Court groaned his thanks to his maker as his hand gripped her by the hair. “Jeannie-mine, my love…”
The wonderful sensation stopped as she lifted her head just enough to speak. “Oh good, you’re awake.” Warm breath bathed him. Soft lips brushed his skin.
“You don’t have to stop on my account.”
“Don’t worry,” she said with a truly evil chuckle. “Though I’m a little out of practice.” She spoke so that her lips moved over the very tip. “But after counseling teens once they started to attract boys, I have to ask, how bad have you been? Girlfriends? One night stands? Women of convenience?”
Her Foreign Affair Page 14