The Consequence He Must Claim

by Dani Collins

  “Tell me again what happened.”

  She did, stumbling slightly when she got to the part about him claiming not to subscribe to love, thinking about the moment yesterday over the necklace. Then she repeated his reasons for feeling duty-bound to marry Diega and blushed as she got to the bit where they had bantered about whether he would cancel his engagement if she withdrew her notice.

  If you let me have you, I might.

  “And then?” he prompted.

  “And then we made love,” she told him.

  “How?”

  “What do you mean, ‘how’?” She started to draw back. “The normal way.”

  His arm hardened, keeping her right where she was. “Missionary? Clothes pushed aside or completely naked? I can’t believe I leaped on you. I’d been thinking about it a lot. I must have taken my time? Start with the kiss and tell me exactly what happened.”

  “No. Cesar,” she chided, shoving at his hard, flat stomach, but he only shifted her so they were face-to-face, hips-to-hips. He was becoming aroused.

  So was she, not that she wanted to admit it, but she couldn’t talk about making love with him without thinking about how it felt and that just made her want to do it.

  “I’m serious,” he said. “I kissed you and then what? Where in the office were we?”

  “The sofa.”

  He backed them to the bed and sat her next to him.

  “How did I kiss you? Show me.”

  “We’re not doing this,” she said, face so hot it hurt.

  “We are,” he assured her, leaning forward to brush his mouth against hers. “Show me.”

  She was just annoyed enough to do it. She came up on a knee so she was taller than he was, put her hand behind his head the way he’d held hers and kissed him with firm purpose.

  A jolt went through him at her aggression, but he wasn’t the type to submit. He adjusted their position and took control of the kiss, as commanding as he’d been that day, consuming her as if it hadn’t been just this morning when they’d last made love.

  When she was pliant and leaning into him, he lifted his head. “Then what?”

  “You pulled me into your lap and we kept kissing.”

  He did, hand stroking her bare thigh where the skirt of her cocktail dress dropped away in loose pleats. “What were you wearing?”

  “Pants. We’d been on the bridge that morning and it was windy. I didn’t want to risk a skirt.”

  “The black pair that shows off your ass really well?”

  “Cesar!”

  “They do.” He shrugged. “On top?”

  “The sheer green over the light green cami.”

  “Nice. You never wore a bra with that.”

  “Because the cami had one built in.”

  “I could still see your nipples when they were hard. Did I tear it?”

  “No!”

  “Did I suck your nipples through it? I always wanted to.”

  Wicked, sexy flutters contracted her abdomen.

  “I did,” he said with a lusty narrowing of his gaze before he looked down at the lined bodice of her indigo dress. One strong arm went behind her back, arching her up as his head went down.

  “Cesar!” She grappled for his shoulders, bottom firmly imprinted with the thickness of his prodding erection as he opened his mouth on her breast and bit lightly at her nipple through the fabric.

  She writhed as he aroused her very deliberately, just aggressive enough to produce sharp sensations through the material.

  “Did you do that then?” he asked, looking at where she rubbed her thighs together in restless friction, trying to ease the ache between.

  She swallowed. “Maybe.”

  “Did I open your zipper and help you find relief?”

  She shook her head, wondering where she got the nerve to talk about this, but the weeks of lovemaking they’d already enjoyed had created this safe place between them, where they could be raw and brazen and intimate. She could see he was enjoying this in his own wicked, kinky way and she wanted him to. Being the only one with the memory of that day was hard for her, too.

  So she ignored the shyness that accosted her and guided his hand to her mound over her skirt. “You rubbed me through my pants and...” Her voice broke as he settled his palm into place with comfortable ownership while memory of what had happened reduced her voice to a whisper. “We kept kissing and I kind of...” She bit her lip, blushing hard, but she knew he would like it. “I had been thinking about making love with you for a long time, too.”

  “You came?”

  She nodded.

  His nostrils flared and his arms flexed, pressing her hard into his lap, as if he needed the pressure of her bottom against his straining flesh to keep from losing control just from hearing she’d lost hers.

  “I was really embarrassed, but you said it was hot.” She searched his expression. His cheekbones were flushed and carved into sharp relief, like his scalp was tight.

  “So hot,” he assured her, caressing her with purpose. “Can you do it again?”

  “You get so mad at me for the things I say to you, but look what you do to me.” He must have felt her trembling. “I don’t want to play games, Cesar. I want you to make love to me.” She kissed his neck.

  He bared his teeth. “I like your back talk as much as you like my teasing. When did I undress you? I must have been impatient. I am now.” He smoothed his hand down her leg, then back up her bare thigh under her skirt.

  “We did this...” She touched her foot to the floor long enough to press herself onto the bed and bring him over her.

  He rode her lightly through their clothes as she breathily confided, “You told me if I hadn’t reacted like that, you might have been able to stop at a kiss, but—” She kissed him. “We couldn’t seem to stop.”

  “I don’t want to,” he growled, kissing her passionately, hand under her skirt again so he could caress her hip and the back of her thigh as she hooked her leg around him. Curling his fingers in her underwear, he said, “These must have come off. That’s all I can think about.”

  She pressed her lips together and nodded.

  He lifted to skim them away and glanced into her eyes. “Then?”

  She hesitated too long, not wanting to lie, but not wanting to say.

  A light of understanding dawned. He grinned wolfishly. “Isn’t that interesting? It’s exactly what I’m dying to do right now. Please don’t be modest, corazón. I want you to ask me for what you enjoy. Did you like it?” He was lifting her skirt to her waist, exposing her naked thighs to the cool air.

  “Yes,” she admitted, mortified. “But I didn’t— I was self-conscious and you were really turned on so you stopped before I— Oh!” The first dab of his tongue stole her voice.

  “I think we can do better this time,” he said, breath hot on her mound, and he did do better, making her gasp, then moan, then cry out his name.

  She was sweaty and wrung out when he stood and threw off his clothes. He dragged at her dress and bra, and said, “You could help,” as he stripped her.

  “I really can’t,” she murmured, practically purring as she smoothed her arms across the covers. It was all she could to do lift her knees to bracket his hips as he settled his nudity over her. “But we were completely naked except for this—”

  She touched his hard flesh covered by a condom and guided him.

  He entered her, sliding deep in one thrust.

  “And it was just like this. I love feeling you inside me,” she told him on a gasp, pushing her hands into his hair, arching to his thrust.

  “I love being here,” he said in a low rumble, opening his mouth on her shoulder as he began to withdraw and thrust. “I can’t get enough of you.”

  She ran her
hands down his damp back, enjoying the flex of his muscles as he moved slowly and deliberately, watching to ensure she liked it.

  “How many?” he asked.

  “We don’t have to break any records.” She grinned at his arrogance.

  “Tell me.”

  “Two.”

  “I can definitely do better than that.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE MINUTE CESAR arrived home, he sought out his wife, finding her in the sitting room talking to her mother on the tablet.

  She didn’t roll her eyes when he ruefully showed her the teething ring he’d found in his jacket midmorning, the one he’d obviously pocketed the last time he wore this suit and that she’d been searching for high and low ever since.

  In fact, she looked quite distressed, lifting a searching gaze as he entered. Her mother’s voice, so similar in tone to Sorcha’s, but with that heavier accent, was saying, “I didn’t want to tell your sisters until I’d spoken to you and found out if it’s true.”

  Cesar was pulled up short by Sorcha’s expression, heart taking an uncomfortable kick. He hated seeing her upset.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure. Mum says a lawyer from London wants to meet her to discuss her settlement proceedings against the Shelby estate for the house and other income she should have received as a beneficiary in Da’s will. Would that be your lawyer? Is it just a preliminary thing?”

  “That was weeks ago. Is he only calling you now, Angela? That’s not acceptable,” Cesar affirmed, moving into the screen so his mother-in-law could see him, hands instinctively going to Sorcha’s shoulders in a comforting caress.

  “Hello, Cesar,” Sorcha’s mum said with her dazzled smile. “No, he called ages ago and that was your Mr. Barrow again, on the telephone from London today. He said he would forward you a full report if I wanted him to. The Shelby family has admitted provisions were made for us and we’re in a position to sue for damages above what was owed in the first place. He wants to meet to discuss it and I... Well, when it seems too good to be true, it usually is.”

  “In this case, I expect you’re seeing justice at work,” Cesar assured her, pleased on her behalf. “I’ll check with Barrow, but my advice would be to hear what he has to say. I’d bring Sorcha so we could sit in, but I’m leaving first thing in the morning for Dubai. This presentation has been in the works for nearly a year and can’t be put off.”

  He had suggested Sorcha invite her mother or sisters to stay while he was gone, not liking to leave her alone. None had been able to get away and she hadn’t wanted to come with him. His schedule was full and the heat and local customs would keep her in the hotel most of the time so she hadn’t seen the point.

  “He said he’d come Monday, but I’ll see if he can wait until you can be here,” Angela said, hand to her forehead as though dizzied. “Oh, Sorcha, do you realize if you hadn’t fallen in love with your boss, none of this would be happening?”

  Beneath his light hands, her shoulders stiffened and a strangled noise was quickly muffled in her throat.

  Sorcha offered a brisk promise to be in touch about their travel arrangements and ended the call, ducking away from his touch. She would have walked out of the room if Cesar hadn’t caught her arm.

  A kind of shock held him. She loved him?

  Women had said the words to him in the past, but he’d always dismissed them. It wasn’t something he had ever wanted to hear or could say with conviction himself. Frankly, he’d never believed any of those women and told himself not to put much stock in it now.

  But there was something very compelling about being granted entry into the tight circle of people Sorcha held closest to her heart.

  “Sorcha?” he asked, gripped by anticipatory tension. “Do you?”

  She skimmed her gaze down, biceps tense in his light grip. “Do I what?”

  He touched her chin with his free hand, insisting she look at him. Her eyes were their darkest blue, the pupils large and deep, her mouth tremulous. Her vulnerability was hard to witness, but he had to know. With a gentle caress against her cheek that he meant as reassurance, he asked quietly, “Do you love me?”

  The word felt like a phrase in a foreign language he was trying for the first time.

  Her brow pulled in a flinch and her eyes grew shinier. Her mouth opened, then she closed it again, as if she couldn’t decide how to respond.

  He dropped his hands, startled by a deep stab of disappointment. “I didn’t think you’d lie to your mother about something like that.”

  “I didn’t,” she said quickly, folding her arms. “I mean. Yes, I do, um...” She cleared her throat. “Love you,” she said with a little thrust of her jaw, brow a line of determination as she dragged an air of confidence around her.

  He’d seen her don this look a thousand times when the pressure was high and now knew it was her defense mechanism, something she’d learned to wear against those who’d been hard on her after her father’s death.

  She shouldn’t feel a need for it with him. Laughter rose in him, the kind fueled by soaring joy. It was alien, yet powerful, like a ferocious storm he ought to fear, yet a primal part of him reveled in it.

  “Why haven’t you said?” he asked, bemused.

  She finally met his gaze, searching so deep, he went on guard. Angst crept into her expression.

  “Do you love me?” she asked.

  He mentally took a long step backward. Here was the issue with deep feelings. They turned quiet words into explosives that could go off if they weren’t handled very carefully.

  Love had never been on his radar. A psychologist would accuse him of taking all those lovers to counter the absence of affection in his youth, but he would argue that he had a healthy sex drive. He’d learned early to take pride in his accomplishments and let his self-esteem hinge on his opinion of himself, no one else’s. He didn’t yearn for acceptance or fulfillment. He was utterly secure.

  Even with his son, he didn’t nurture to earn the unconditional adoration Enrique showed him. He met his son’s needs because it filled him with deep, personal satisfaction to see the boy content. Did he love his son? He suspected that yes, he did, but he hadn’t framed it in so many words to himself.

  What he felt toward Enrique was simple and instinctive, but his regard for Sorcha was more complex. He was in the most intimate relationship he’d ever had, but was this love? He was too honest a man to blurt out such a statement without being absolutely sure.

  How could he be sure, though? His scientific mind wanted points on a graph. A series of tests and results. Hard data.

  “You know I’m not wired for it,” he said cautiously.

  * * *

  Sorcha told herself he wasn’t saying that to be cruel, that she had always known this about him, but his deflection still felt like a knife to the chest.

  She was facing down his lost memory of Valencia all over again, but in a higher, more acute octave. She loved him. She had begun to believe he had feelings for her, but he didn’t. Not on the level she was at. Everything she thought they shared was actually only in her mind, her heart. There was nothing on his side but sexual attraction, respect perhaps and a strong sense of responsibility.

  “That’s why I haven’t said.” She hated that her voice wavered. “I should check Enrique.”

  He didn’t let her go. “It doesn’t mean we can’t be happy. You’re happy, aren’t you?”

  She wanted to claim she was and walk away, just to end this painful moment, but she shook her head.

  “I’ve been telling myself I should be,” she said, staring blindly toward the hall. “You’re the one who told me I shouldn’t take on another dependent just to feel loved. When I married you, I told myself it was better to have a husband who provided for me, than one who loved me and
left me to fend for myself, like Da did to Mum. I thought it was unrealistic to expect both love and material support, but it’s not. Da did make provisions for us. He loved us and wanted to take care of us.”

  She swallowed, still taking this news in. All her mixed, resentful feelings toward her father fell away and love, wistful love, was left. It was freeing, yet painful, making her ashamed that she’d doubted him.

  And it cast her marriage in a dark light. She had settled for support, which wasn’t a bad thing, especially when she’d had hope for love.

  But her husband wasn’t wired that way.

  Hope was gone.

  The walls of their gorgeous house came into focus. The furniture she’d chosen with such care, wanting to create a home for them, suddenly seemed very superficial. A placebo for the environment of love she’d really been seeking.

  “I’m going to check flights,” she said. “I’d like to see Mum.”

  “Not wait for me?” He tightened his hand on her arm, not hurting, but she could feel his tension.

  “I need to be with the people who do love me.”

  “Sorcha...” The way he said her name was a jagged score against her heart, making her want to seek comfort from the very man who was destroying her.

  “If you loved me, you’d understand how painful this is,” she said, shaking off his touch.

  He flinched. “You’re not taking a commercial flight,” he said stiffly. “The jet can take you this evening and come back for me and Rico. I’ll make some calls.”

  * * *

  Cesar was still brooding days later, standing in the suite he was sharing with Rico, staring out at the green-blue expanse of the Persian Gulf.

  He hated that Sorcha wasn’t in their home, but told himself it was good that she was with her family. She had looked so miserable, he hadn’t known what else to do but give her what she wanted and send her to the people who always made her smile.

  He hadn’t made her smile.

  Damn it, that was the problem with emotions. They left you susceptible. He didn’t want to hurt her. She’s the one who’d allowed him to.