by Avery, Joy
Sated, Emory smiled. “That was—”
“Delicious,” he said, finishing her thought with his own narrative. “And only the beginning. Kiss me,” he whispered close to her mouth.
Lifting her head, she welcomed his mouth against hers. His tongue snaked past her lips, and she sucked it gently. All of her focus had been on the kiss, until he slid his hardness inside her. A whimper escaped as she molded around him. He still fitted her perfectly.
“That’s a beautiful sound.” His mouth hovered at her ear. “I’ve missed you,” he whispered and nipped her lobe. “I’ve missed hearing you moan when I’m inside you.” He kissed her jaw. “I’ve missed the way your body responds to mine and mine to yours.” He pecked her gently on the lips. “I love you, woman. And I want to spend all night inside of you, making you come until your body begs for mercy. Is that all right with you?”
“Absolutely. But don’t be so sure it’ll be my body begging for the mercy.”
With that, Christian drove into her hard and deep. The sound she emitted would surely prompt the neighboring rooms to contact security. Obviously, he was determined to dominate her. One delicious stroke at the time.
It wasn’t long before the tingle of another orgasm gripped her. She dug her nails into Christian’s moistened flesh as fire raged through her. The intense release snatched her breath away.
Christian’s strokes slowed, grew clumsy. If she had to guess, he neared his breaking point. Two or three strokes later, he shattered, releasing a guttural noise that mimicked more a growl than a moan.
Collapsing down next to Emory, he pulled her into his arms. Winded, he said, “Don’t get too comfortable. We have a long night ahead of us.”
***
Emory had been awake for hours, simply watching Christian sleep. His partially opened lips allowed soft snores to escape. If someone would have told her a year ago—heck, a week ago—she’d be laying here with him, she would have called them a liar. Yet, here she was. Happier than she’d been in months.
With the tip of her index finger, she traced along the lips that’d given her hours of intense pleasure. Christian didn’t budge. He’d always been a hard sleeper. “I love you, Christian St. Claire,” she whispered into his ear. “You’re my Christmas wish come true. I’ll love you ’til the ocean runs dry.” It was something they used to say to one another.
She kissed his cheek, inched out the bed, and headed for the bathroom. Like the rest of the suite, it too defined luxury. Gold faucets, mosaic tile, glass, marble. She’d bet the cost of this room could make a nice dent in her debt.
After emptying her full bladder, she decided to take a shower. This time, she enjoyed the feel of the water caressing her body like heated fingers. After what seemed like an eternity, she stepped out and wrapped herself in one of the robes provided by the hotel. The supple fabric felt as if she’d been swaddled in a cloud. The only other thing that felt this good against her was Christian.
When she exited the bathroom, she’d half expected Christian to be awake, but he was still fast asleep. At four in the morning, she should have been, too. Instead of returning to the bed, she made her way into the ridiculously enormous living room.
Retrieving the iPad from the glass-top cocktail table, she adjusted the lighting and the temp. When her stomach growled, reminding her she hadn’t had dinner, she raided the in-room refreshment center, then prepared a cup of hot tea.
Moseying to one of the numerous windows, she glanced down at the bustling city. Even at this early hour, people moved about. This truly was the city that never sleeps. She rested her hand against the icy glass as if to feel the heartbeat of The Big Apple.
“There you are.”
Before Emory could turn, Christian wrapped her in his arms.
Nuzzling the side of her neck, he said, “Couldn’t sleep?”
She shook her head.
“What’s on your mind?” he asked, kissing the side of her neck. “Whenever there’s something eating at you, you can’t sleep.”
Clearly, he still knew her quite well. There was so much she needed to tell him. Things that could derail their happily ever after. Rotating in his arms, she said, “What do you think your grandmother will say about…about…us?”
He chuckled. “Is that what’s bothering you? What my grandmother thinks?”
Not really, but she nodded anyway.
His expression grew serious. “I’m my own man, Emory. My grandmother doesn’t dictate who I can and can’t love.”
“She’s never liked me.”
“But I love you. That’s all that matters. That’s all that has ever mattered. That’s all that will ever matter. My grandmother doesn’t have to love you because I do. She does, however, have to respect you.”
Respect from Amelia St. Clair. Not likely. But the notion brought a smile to her face. One that would have lasted longer had she not recalled the fact his grandmother still had the upper hand. “Christian, I need—”
“Shh.”
Christian removed the cup from her hand, took a sip, then placed it on a table. Grabbing one of the tails of fabric holding her rob together, he gave it a gentle tug. A second later, the robe fell open. For the first time since he’d been there, she realized he was buck-naked. The sight sent a jolt of excitement straight to the space between her legs. They desperately needed to talk, but her arousal took precedence.
“You were saying you needed something.” he said, kissing her neck.
Oh, he was tricky. Emory hummed a sound of satisfaction. “You,” she said in a heated breath. “I need you.”
“You got me,” he said, inching the robe off her shoulders and kissing her skin. “You’ve got me. ’Til the ocean runs dry.”
Chapter 11
Emory hated saying goodbye to New York but was happy when they touched down in North Carolina. There was truly no place like home. And though NYC was a fun place to visit, she wouldn’t want to live there. It moved entirely too fast for her.
“You ready?” Christian asked, extending his hand for her to take.
“Yeah, I guess.”
He wrapped her in his arms and nuzzled his face against her neck. “Say the word and we can jet anywhere you’d like.”
“Mmmm. As tempting as that sounds…”
What she’d miss most about New York wouldn’t be the delicious food or the extreme experience of Christmas. It would be the carefree feeling she’d had while there, wrapped for countless hours in Christian’s arms. In his arms, there were no overdue bills, no threat of losing her business, no constant worry about her mother. Most of all, there was no Mrs. St. Claire with her scowls and threats.
Mrs. St. Claire.
Thinking about the woman dampened her jovial mood. But the idea she’d spent the weekend making love to the bitter woman’s grandson restored her happiness. Unfortunately, the buoyant feeling only lasted a short time because there were still things she needed to share with Christian.
Emory groaned to herself. When Mrs. St. Claire found out about their excursion—and Emory was sure she would—would she go through with her threat and risk exposing her part in the whole thing? It only took Emory a second to answer. Yes, she would. Why had Emory even questioned that? And it was Amelia St. Claire, which meant she would find a way to come out of it squeaky clean. Why did the woman hate her so much? All Emory had ever done was love her grandson to the fullest.
Dispersing the dark cloud hovering over her head was the only way they could move forward. “Christian, I need to tell you something,” she said in a rush. Now seemed like as good a time as any to tell him everything. Plus, the details were best coming from her, because Mrs. St. Claire would surely put a twist on the facts.
“Can you tell me in the car? It’s so cold out here,” he said. “I need some of your warmth.”
Emory squealed when he pulled her into his arms. Rolling in laughter, she said, “You’re such a cold weather wimp.”
He squeezed her butt. “Wimp? I’ll show you
a wimp tonight.”
She looked forward to it, if they made it to that point. There was still the matter of the conversation they needed to have. The thought renewed her urgency. “Yes, we can talk inside the car.”
The driver stood by the waiting vehicle to open the door, but Christian dismissed him. She laughed as Christian playfully pinned her against the car, the icy cold penetrating the layers of her quilted primaloft coat. His mouth lingered inches from hers, thin plumes of fog escaping.
He rested his forehead against hers. “This is going to be the best Christmas of my life.”
“Why?”
“Because I have you.”
It was exactly what she’d hoped to hear.
He held her face between his hands. “And this time—”
“You two are going to catch your deaths out there.”
The familiar voice froze them both.
Christian thawed first, pulled away, and glanced toward the open window. “Gran? W…” He glanced at Emory, then back to his grandmother. “What are you doing here?”
Emory realized she’d been holding her breath and released it in a long, steady stream. Unable to blink, the bitter wind burned her eyes. Mrs. St. Claire’s presence put her in a state of utter shock and confusion.
Mrs. St. Claire’s probing eyes settled on Emory. “I thought I’d welcome you two love birds back to town.”
Even with the frigid December air, Emory felt the burn of her heated glare. The confident expression on her face told Emory there would not be a pleasant end to the beautiful weekend she’d shared with Christian.
“Emory, you remember my grandmother?” Christian asked.
“Yes,” she said, barely audible. Oh, but how she wanted to forget her. Pull it together, Emory. The worst thing you can do now is show weakness. Stiff chin.
Stone-faced, Mrs. St. Claire said, “Please, get inside.”
Emory wondered how difficult it’d been for her to say please. Even with its use, the request felt more like an order than an invitation. But if, in fact, it were an invitation, it was more than apt for Emory to decline. Walking had to be better than what would surely go down inside the vehicle.
Christian placed his hand on the small of her back and urged her forward. Her hesitant steps dragged across the asphalt. The temperature inside the vehicle was comfortable but seemed to increase the second Emory settled against the leather next to Mrs. St. Claire—making herself easy prey for the lioness.
“Comfy?” Mrs. St. Claire asked.
Not even close, but Emory nodded anyway. She wanted to peel out of the suffocating coat. Maybe no one would notice the barrier of sweat she felt around her hairline.
What was Mrs. St. Claire up to? The not knowing was killing Emory—slow and uncomfortably. Just the fact that the woman was being cordial was enough to keep Emory on high alert. CONTENTS UNDER PRESSURE flashed in her head. This situation was bound to explode at any minute.
Emory toyed with a few scenarios in her head, none of them good. Maybe she should just confess everything right now, foil whatever cruel plot Mrs. St. Claire had conspired.
“I take it the two of you had a grand time in the city. It is lovely this time of year. Wouldn’t you agree, Emory?”
Christian touched Emory’s hand and she flinched. What’d happen to all of the courage she’d processed when Mrs. St. Claire had visited her shop? Her words were caught in her throat, but thankfully, Christian answered for her.
“We had a great time. I think we’ll make it an annual tradition.”
He squeezed her hand and she smiled nervously.
“That sounds like a grand idea,” said Mrs. St. Claire.
Emory knew the comment had to infuriate her, but the woman did a great job of concealing her distaste. Any minute now, Emory kept repeating to herself. Any minute the top on this boiling pot would blow off.
What kind of game was being played? Obviously, Mrs. St. Claire knew the wedding had been called off, because she hadn’t voiced her objection about the two of them being in New York together. Who’d dropped the bomb on her? Yasmin or Christian? Shamelessly, Emory would have loved to have seen the look on her face.
Emory nonchalantly checked her watch. Would she ever make it home? The sooner she removed herself from the scornful woman’s space, the better. When they finally pulled into the driveway, Emory breathed a sigh of relief. When Christian stepped out of the vehicle, Emory turned to Mrs. St. Claire. “Please don’t,” she pleaded in a hushed tone.
Mrs. St. Claire turned away and stared straight ahead as if Emory hadn’t spoken a word. How could anyone be so heartless? Especially at Christmas.
Outside the vehicle, Emory pushed the door closed behind her and rested her hands on Christian’s chest. “Are you coming inside?”
He kissed her gloved fingers. “In a second. I need to speak with my grandmother a moment.”
Emory’s stomach knotted and churned. “O…okay.” She stared up at him, wanting, needing to say more, but the words escaped her.
A look of concern spread across Christian’s face. “Are you okay?”
“I…” She shook out of her stupor. “Yeah, everything’s fine. I’ll see you inside, okay?”
He smiled. “Yes, you will.”
She tried to move away, but he captured her by the waist.
“When I get inside, I intend to debunk that wimp comment. Be ready.”
Under normal circumstances, his words would have turned her on and made her giddy with anticipation. Not this time.
Each step away from the idling vehicle filled Emory with more and more dread. Her stomach did back flips and her temple felt as if she were being drilled in the head with a dull bit.
Inside, she paced back and forth, then moved to the blinds and attempted to peep through the tiny slits where the cord strung through. Unable to get a clear view, she parted the slats ever so slightly, and just in time to see Christian moving toward the house.
She couldn’t get a read on his expression from this distance. Two taps sounded at the door. Taking a deep breath, she trudged across the floor. The second she pulled the door open, the broken look in his eyes told her he knew everything—or at least the version his grandmother had wanted him to hear.
When her eyes lowered to the paper he held, Christian offered it to her. Emory’s chest tightened the second her eyes settled on the image of the cancelled check his grandmother had written her two years ago.
“I wanted to tell you, Christian. And it’s not what you think.”
Christian ran a hand over his head and glanced around in a confused manner. The pain she witnessed in his eyes when they finally narrowed on her ripped her heart to shreds.
“Every time my grandmother told me you were only after my money… I defended you. I defended you because I believed that what we had was real. That you loved me for me and not for what I could do for you.”
“And I did, Christian. And I do. I never—”
In a raised tone, he said, “You never what, Emory? Cared about my money? Meant to hurt me? What?”
“Both.”
“Yeah, well, that check tells a different story.”
That check told lies. Emory fought to remain levelheaded, convincing herself that his cold tone was a result of his hurt. In his shoes, she’d probably react in a similar manner. Plus, the evidence did support what he clearly believed to be the truth. “It’s not how it looks.”
“Is that your signature?”
He already knew it was. “Yes.”
“You cashed the check?”
Again, he already knew the answer, but she played along. “Yes.”
“So, it’s exactly how it looks.”
“Christian, look me in the eyes and tell me you truly believe I was with you for your money. Do you truly believe—?”
“You know what I truly believe, Emory? I truly believe you should have asked for more. You damn sure deserved it.”
He made a move to turn, but stopped when she grabbed
his arm. When he snatched away, she didn’t believe her heart could break any more. But it did. “Can’t you see what this is all about, Christian? It’s about your grandmother working any angle she can to keep us apart. You can’t be that blind to her motives.”
Christian scoffed, turned, and descended the stairs. When he stopped at the bottom, she thought maybe, just maybe, he’d considered what she’d said about his manipulative grandmother.
Facing her, he said, “Your mother wasn’t recalling a scene from any movie. I had asked for your hand. The night you ended things, I’d planned to propose.” He paused. “I guess I should consider myself lucky that you never gave me the opportunity. I would have given you anything, Emory. Anything. All you ever had to do was ask.”
With that, he crossed the yard, entered the waiting vehicle and was gone.
***
The second the vehicle backed out of Emory’s driveway, Christian felt as if a part of his heart had been snatched away…again. His focus remained out the window. So many emotions battered him: Anger. Hurt. Confusion.
Yeah, he was confused as hell because it made no sense that Emory would take money from his grandmother. But she’d stood right in front of him and admitted it, so what was there to be confused about?
A vision of Emory’s sad eyes played in his head and, for a brief moment, guilt flooded him. Shaking the feeling off, he pressed his lids together tightly and massaged the pain in his neck.
“Grandson—?”
Christian held up his hand, and his grandmother stopped mid-thought. He’d heard enough from her to last him a lifetime. “I can’t. Not now.” She touched his arm, and he pulled away.
“I understand,” she said softly.
Did she? Could she? How could anyone understand the pain he felt without being inside of him? He allowed his head to fall back against the headrest. Fifty thousand dollars. That was all he’d meant to her? A lousy fifty thousand dollars.
Had she lied about how she’d gotten the money to open her shop? Small business loan my ass. Clearly, she hadn’t considered the fact that it would take more than a mere fifty thousand dollars to run a successful business.