Shifting and turning to his left, Chris drew in a ragged breath, inhaling deeply. The soft crush of firm flesh against his bare chest reminded him of where he was and whom he was with, and he came awake immediately.
Emily lay curled against his body like a graceful feline, her full breasts grazing his chest, one hand cradled under her cheek; she had thrown a silken leg over his calf. A tender smile softened his features when he felt the soft whisper of her breathing feather over his throat. She had offered him her love, her virginal body and a passion that had left him trembling from its aftermath.
She had fallen asleep in his arms while he lay in the darkness, marveling at how her untutored body had elicited a raw lust within him that made him want to spend the entire night in her scented embrace.
He hadn’t come to Emily a virgin, but he also hadn’t come to her with a countless string of sexual conquests; he had forced himself to be very discriminating with women. Embarking on a career in politics had been a deciding factor, along with the fact that he did not want to become an Alejandro Delgado clone. His greatest fear was that he had inherited his biological father’s proclivity for infidelity.
Grant Carson’s revelation that Alejandro had returned to Mexico had given him the final piece he needed to complete the puzzle of his past. Even though he’d grown up thinking about the man who had fathered him, Alejandro Delgado-Quintero was not a man he had ever expected to meet again.
His mother had answered all his questions when he asked why his last name wasn’t Sterling, and why he didn’t look like her or the man he called dad. But it wasn’t until he entered adolescence and felt the seductive pull of sexual desire that he understood his mother’s explanation of why Alejandro could not be a faithful husband. It had taken a long time, but Chris had managed to successfully repress his strong sexual urges—until now.
Recalling the passion he had found in Emily’s fragrant embrace elicited an immediate involuntary hardness in his groin. Closing his eyes, he let out his breath in an audible sigh. He couldn’t make love to her again—not now. She was too newly opened. He would have to be patient until her tender flesh healed. Curving an arm around her waist, he pulled her closer and feasted on her fragility.
They had ten months to conceal their private passions; then he intended to introduce the woman he loved to the residents of New Mexico and the rest of the world.
* * *
Emily walked into the kitchen at the same time the phone chimed shrilly. Quickening her pace, she picked up the receiver of the wall phone.
“Hello.”
“Happy New Year.”
Her eyes shimmered with excitement when she recognized her mother’s voice. “Happy New Year, Mom. How are you?”
There was a slight chuckle from Vanessa Kirkland. “I should be asking how you are. I called because I want to know if it’s too early to begin listing names for invitations.”
Vertical lines appeared between Emily’s eyes. “Invitations for what?”
“Your wedding, of course.”
She felt her heart lurch. It was apparent that her mother also thought she was going to marry Keith Norris. “I’m sorry, Mom, but there’s not going to be a wedding.”
There was a momentary pause before Vanessa’s voice came through the wire again. “But…but it was announced on the news. Your father and I were very disappointed that you hadn’t told us first.”
Emily heard her mother’s annoyance. Since Eve Sterling had become a grandmother, Vanessa had begun subtly hinting that it was time her son or daughter married and presented her with a grandchild.
“Momma,” she drawled, “it’s not going to happen.”
It took her less than two minutes to explain Keith’s subterfuge, and her plan to rebut his announcement once she returned to the States.
Vanessa emitted an audible sigh. “Well, I can honestly admit that even though I believe you can do better than marrying an athlete, I was looking forward to becoming the mother of the bride.”
Emily laughed softly. “Maybe another time. Michael will probably marry before I do.” What she didn’t say was that she doubted if she would ever marry. If she did not marry Chris, she would remain single. She had slept with him, but their sharing a bed was not tantamount to a marriage proposal.
“Emily? Are you there?”
“Yes. I’m still here. How’s Grandpa?” she asked, smoothly changing the subject.
“His condition hasn’t changed much.”
“Give him and Grandma a kiss for me.”
“I will. Look, sweetheart, I’m going to let you go. I love you.”
“I love you, too. Tell Daddy I love him.”
“I will. Bye.”
“Goodbye, Mom.”
Hanging up, Emily stared at the telephone. There was no doubt she would have to do some serious damage control to alter her public image—now! She picked up the receiver again and dialed the area code for Denver, Colorado, then the number to Keith Norris’s residence.
There was a break in the connection after the second ring. “Keith Norris,” she said without preliminary after she heard his groggy greeting. “I want you to retract your announcement that we’re engaged. And you have exactly twenty-four hours to do it. If not, it’ll be my turn to make an announcement, and what I’ll say will be quite detrimental to your impeccable image. Don’t worry about your ring. I’ll return it as soon as I return to the States. By the way…”
Her words trailed off as Chris strolled into the kitchen, his dark eyebrows slanting into a frown. She did not know how she had missed it over so many years, but she silently admired Chris’s distinctive walk, with his straight spine and broad shoulders that swayed with each fluid stride.
Her hand was steady as she hung up the phone. If Chris hadn’t come into the kitchen, she would’ve graced Keith with a few of the colorful expletives the Coles and Kirklands had become famous for.
Forcing a smile, she said, “Christopher Blackwell Delgado, this is your lucky day. I’m going to offer you your first cooking lesson.”
He ignored her offer. “What’s going on, Emily?”
Her false smile faded. “What are you talking about?”
“Did Norris call you?”
“No.”
“I heard—”
“You heard nothing,” she interrupted. “You were eavesdropping on a private telephone conversation. Let’s get something straight, Chris, before we take whatever we’ve shared with each other further. There are things in my private life I have to resolve for myself and by myself. And I’d appreciate you not interfering. I will not question you about the women you’ve slept with, and I don’t want you to question me about men from my past. What we have begins today—now. And if we can’t agree, then it will end now—today.”
Chris stared at Emily—completely stunned. He couldn’t believe she’d turn her back on him because he was concerned about her well-being—concerned because Keith Norris had used his celebrity status for his own selfish purposes.
He took several steps, bringing them less than three feet apart. “Do you love me, Emily? Do you really love me?”
Tilting her chin in a defiant gesture, she gave him a direct stare. “Yes.”
“I don’t believe you. Do you know why? I don’t believe you,” he continued without waiting for her reply, “because you’d walk away from me simply because I want to help and protect you.”
“I don’t want your help. And I don’t need your protection.”
What Chris hadn’t known was that she had spent years fighting for her independence—from both parents. They hadn’t wanted her to move out and get her own apartment. They had alienated her when she bought the motorcycle, and her father sought to monitor every man she dated.
She was secure in h
er chosen profession, she was financially solvent, and at thirty she refused to permit anyone to regulate, limit, or control her life.
Chris stared down at her, a lethal coldness filling his gaze. “Then what the hell do you want from me?”
Emily returned his direct stare. Her eyes had become a frosty light green, chilling him until he couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. She’s her father, a voice whispered in his head. At that moment the woman he loved reminded him of Joshua Kirkland—a man whose cold, dispassionate, penetrating look could destroy the nerve of the bravest man.
How had he missed that part of her personality? He had known her all his life and this was the first time she had ever withdrawn from him, shut him out with only a glance.
“I want you to let me be Emily,” she said softly.
“I don’t want to change you,” Chris countered.
“Then let me handle Keith Norris.”
Nodding, he decided it would serve no purpose to argue with her. He wanted to love her, not alienate her. “Okay, baby. I’ll let you take care him.”
He would let her have her way—this time.
The impasse ended when Emily moved forward and curved her arms around his neck. Lowering his head, Chris kissed her waiting lips, drinking in the passion he had come to crave.
Chapter 12
January 3
Unconsciously, smoothly, Emily and Chris slipped into the routine of a couple who were committed to spending their lives together when they shared a bed, each other’s bodies and cleaning and cooking duties.
They slept late, prepared monstrous breakfasts, strolled along the beach, swam in the Caribbean, toured the island and availed themselves of Jamaica’s festive nightlife. A few nights they returned home in time to greet the rising sun.
They lay side by side on the oversized hammock in the gazebo, holding hands. An ocean breeze cooled their moist flesh as the hammock swayed slightly in the waning sunlight.
Not opening his eyes, Chris announced quietly, “I’m leaving on Thursday.”
Emily felt her heart lurch in her chest. Two days—no, one day. They only had one full day together before he returned his rental car and boarded a flight in Kingston to Mexico City. She knew that Chris had only planned to stay in Jamaica a week, but she had hoped he would change his mind and stay longer.
“I’m going to miss you.” She could not disguise the anguish in her voice.
“Come with me, Emelia.”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Why?”
“I can’t.”
Releasing her hand, Chris turned and looked at her. He had thought she could not become more beautiful, but it was as if her newly awakened sensuality had intensified her seductive femininity.
“Why not? You’re still on vacation.”
Emily smiled at her lover, her infatuation for him radiating from the depths of her luminous eyes. She ran a forefinger down the length of his nose before her mouth replaced her finger.
“What you have to handle with your father is too personal for me to be tagging along.”
He arched a curving eyebrow. “Personal?”
“Yes, Chris, personal.”
“What do you call personal?” he questioned, visibly annoyed. “If putting my face between your legs and tasting your flesh isn’t personal, I don’t know what is.”
Heat and shame seared her face. “I’m not talking about that.”
“I am,” he countered. “I love you, Emily,” Chris continued, this time in a softer tone, “and I want Señor Alejandro Delgado-Quintero to meet the woman I love and respect. And I want him to know that I will never do to you what he did to my mother.”
Emily flinched at the ominous tone in his words. Why did he want to see his father? Was it to avenge his mother? Or did he want retaliation for his own abduction?
“I will not become a pawn for you because you want retribution for what happened to you and your mother more than thirty years ago.”
His expression hardened, and a muscle throbbed noticeably in his jaw. “It has nothing to do with retribution. What I want to do is close a chapter on my life, never to reopen it again. I have to be prepared to answer any questions about Alejandro Delgado if they surface during the campaign. Answers I can’t get from my parents. They have to come from Alejandro himself. And I intend to stay in Mexico until I get the truth from him.”
This was the determination that made Christopher Delgado the dynamic, confident man who took charge of everything in his life with quiet assurance, that made him so sure of who he was. But for a second his confidence slipped, vulnerability filling his obsidian gaze.
“Please come with me,” he pleaded in a broken whisper. Pulling her closer, he buried his face in her curly hair.
It was the first time she had known Chris to beg for anything. Why now? Did he fear coming face-to-face with his father? Was he not as confident as he appeared?
“Let me think about it,” she whispered, unable and unwilling to commit to his request.
* * *
Later that evening, Chris stood under the cool spray of the shower in the bath in Emily’s bedroom, singing loudly as he shampooed and rinsed the salt and sand from his hair. Opening the door to the stall, he reached for a towel on the bar over the door. His fingers groped in vain. He was certain he had left the towel on the bar.
“Looking for this, handsome?”
Emily stood off to his left, holding out the towel. She wore an ivory-colored robe. The silken garment clung to her slim curves and flowed out around her slender feet. His heated gaze inched up from her bare feet to the damp hair drying in wayward curls over her forehead.
He extended his left hand. “Give me the towel, Emily.”
She pressed the terry-cloth fabric to her chest. “Come and let me dry your back.”
Chris stared down at his dripping body. “That’s all right. I can dry it.”
Taking a step toward him, Emily crooned, “Don’t be shy, Chris. You dried my back. It’s my turn to spoil you a little.” She had taken a leisurely bath and he had come into the bathroom to wash her body, rinse it, then spend an inordinate amount of time drying and moisturizing her skin with her favorite perfumed body cream.
He stared, complete surprise freezing his features. Of all the women he had known, Emily was the first to offer to do something for him. The others always wanted something from him: attention, sex or expensive gifts.
“Come,” she urged, moving closer to him.
He stepped out of the shower stall, presenting her with his back. Closing his eyes, he luxuriated in her gentle touch as she drew the towel down his spine, over his hips and down the back of his thighs and legs.
“Turn around,” she ordered quietly.
Chris obeyed. Staring down at her, he suffered in silence as she blotted the moisture from his chest, shoulders, arms and belly, then drew the towel between his thighs, stopping short of his stirring sex. Her touch was soft, gentle and sensual.
Tilting her chin, Emily smiled up at him. “I think that just about does it.”
He took the towel from her loose grip and dropped it to the worn, brick-lined floor. “I beg to differ. It’s just beginning, baby.”
She couldn’t see the banked fires smoldering in his dark eyes. “What is?”
“This.”
His fingers grasped her shoulders, pulling her to his chest. She opened her mouth, but whatever she was going to say was cut off when his mouth covered hers, stopping her words and her breath.
Chris lifted Emily effortlessly, carrying her out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. The dimmed light from a bedside lamp highlighted the four-poster bed draped in mosquito netting.
“Chris.” Her voice was low,
seductive.
“Hush, baby. It’s my turn to spoil you.”
Parting the netting, he placed her on the bed, lay down beside her, and closed the drapery around them. The dim glow from the lamp cast an eerie, shadowy light through the gauzy fabric.
Emily lay still, unmoving, as he untied the silken sash around her waist and parted the robe. Chills, then heat swept over her naked limbs as Chris drew the back of his hand over her breasts.
Her breath quickened. His hand traveled down her body until it cradled her womanhood before his fingers splayed and parted the folds hiding her femininity.
“Love me, please,” she pleaded.
Leaning over, Chris kissed her deeply, his tongue searching the moist sweetness of her mouth. Emily repeated her litany, then more, shocking Chris with her passionate pleas. She was begging him to do things to her she had balked and blushed at when he’d first initiated them into their repertoire of lovemaking. She arched as his mouth followed the path of his fingers, drawing a moist path over her silken belly and still lower.
Chris smothered a savage curse because he thought it was going to be over before it began as Emily’s hand closed on him in a swift stroking motion.
“No!” he cried hoarsely. Reversing his position, he reached for the latex protection in the small square package under his pillow. The momentary diversion gave him enough time to regain control of his runaway passions.
“Bruja!” he whispered, smiling as he placed his hardness at the entrance to her tight body.
Emily felt her flesh close around him and moaned softly. “Warlock,” she countered through clenched teeth.
Chris began to push slowly, preparing her body to open and accept all of him. The hot, moist tightness of her sex sheathing his maleness had become akin to an erotic torture, but he did not want to take his pleasure before making certain Emily had achieved hers. Her legs curved around his waist and he pulled back, plunging deeply into her womb.
Private Passions Page 11