by Floyd, Jacie
“I thought you were going to the Emerson exhibit.” She was more pleased to think he’d changed his plans to accommodate her than she wanted to admit.
“They didn’t have what I wanted after all.” He came to a halt beside her. “Have you seen anything that might be suitable for Mother here?”
“No, but then it’s a porcelain exhibit.” Kara gave him a saccharin smile. “Not a display of medieval torture devices.”
“Now, now, be nice. She's your son’s grandmother.” He flicked back the wrist of his expensive designer suit coat to check the time on his even more ridiculously expensive Smartwatch. “How much longer will you be?”
“Not much. Why?”
“I have dinner reservations in forty minutes.” He raised his eyebrows and awaited her reaction.
His comment hadn’t exactly been an invitation. She refused to bite. “Don’t let me keep you.”
He put his hand on her elbow and pulled her close. “I hoped you’d join me.”
Just that casual touch from him started a flame coursing through her. She stepped back before it consumed her along with her better judgment. “I need to get home to Sean.”
“I talked to Maria a few minutes ago and she said everything was fine there.”
Stifling the need to fan her face with her iPad, his persistence warmed her further. “This isn’t a good idea.”
“Sure it is. Trust me, okay?”
Kara moved on to the next display, a fanciful herd of mythical beasts. She stared at them for a moment before she came to fully appreciate the grouping’s form and detail. “How do you like these?”
“Interesting.” He dragged his eyes from her face long enough to tilt his head and view the creatures from different angles. “Are you considering buying it?”
“No, I was thinking... for your mother.”
“Perfect. I’ll go make the purchase.” He put his hands on her shoulders and bent his knees until his eyes were on a level with hers. “Don’t leave.”
Against her better judgment, she waited. She didn’t take orders from him, or anyone, but the idea of having dinner in adult company—all right, in Wyatt’s company—kept her riveted to her spot.
At Dillon’s, the candle-lit restaurant everyone was raving about, she enjoyed the rarity of a meal that didn’t include applesauce or cutting up anyone’s entree but her own. The dinner conversation didn’t focus on such weighty topics as why tomatoes were red and green beans weren’t. They talked about his travels, books they’d read, and movies they liked.
And she wistfully recalled warm springtime nights under a moonlit sky.
Over dessert, she asked a direct question. “Why are you really doing this?”
He swirled the contents of his wineglass before answering. “I’m thinking of propositioning you.”
Expecting his ulterior motives to be based on a favor concerning Sean, she dropped her fork on her plate. “What makes you think I’ll accept?”
“Nothing at all. I’m just putting it out there for you to consider.” His smile said differently as his eyes examined each of her features with the warmth of a caress. “Are you going to refuse?”
“It would be a stupid mistake not to.”
“Why?”
Searching her mind for at least one plausible reason, she willed herself not to picture him naked under the stars. “Because of Sean.”
He dismissed the excuse with a shrug. “We can keep our parental relationship separate from our physical one. What else have you got?”
“I don’t understand what you’re proposition involves.”
He leaned forward, lowering his voice intimately. Seductively. “When we’re with Sean, you tend to think of me as an intruder. Since I’m unwilling to relinquish my claim to him, what I’m suggesting is that we set that relationship aside. When we’re alone together, away from Sean, it will be just you and me.”
“No past. No future. We’ve had this deal before.” She knew what came next and closed her eyes against his soft words, whispering them along with him.
“Just a man and a woman.”
“With no regrets?”
“I’ve never had any regrets about the time we’ve spent together. I don’t expect to start having any now.”
“It won’t work.” She was dying to give it a try, but feared the worst possible outcome. Pain, loss, abandonment.
“It will, I promise you.” Reaching across the table, he took her hand. “I’ll make sure of it.”
His certainty tantalized her, but her fear levied a far firmer grip. She shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Think again.” His words knocked the breath right out of her as he once more reminded her of their first weekend together. If he didn’t quit trying to manipulate her with romantic moments from the past she’d strangle him, right there in front of the waiter, the strolling violinist, and the nosy couple seated at the next table.
“Stop it.” She removed her hand from his. “We can’t recreate scenes from the past just because you have an itch and you want me to scratch it.”
“That isn’t—”
She cut him off before he could further persuade her. “Whatever it is you’re proposing, it’s not going to happen.”
Wyatt interpreted her refusal as a challenge. In Sean’s presence, he continued to be as impersonal as she could wish. Away from the house, he became her little lamb. Wherever Kara went, Wyatt was sure to follow.
It seemed as if he was willing to go to any extreme to elicit a response, any kind of response, from her. Sometimes he simply unnerved her by watching her with those topaz-colored eyes that contained such an indefinable power. Sometimes he ignored her completely. But sometimes, he made sure she noticed him. He sent her little notes or tokens to attract her attention. And then, most disconcerting and delicious of all, were the times when he appeared at her elbow and spent the entire evening by her side, like a willing courtier.
If their paths didn’t cross at some point during the day, he’d call her late at night, long after Sean’s bedtime. In his most seductive voice, he’d melt her into warm puddles of Jell-O talking about his hopes and dreams, his memories of her, and his desire to be with her again.
She wearied of refusing what her body wanted. Needed. Demanded. And maybe, she thought one night when she couldn’t sleep, he was right. If they could keep the physical aspect of their relationship totally separate from the time they spent with Sean, there was no reason to think any conflict existed. Her resolve weakened, and she was afraid he sensed it.
On the morning of February fourteenth, Kara discovered a small gift on her desk. Her heart ricocheted inside her chest when she unwrapped silver pins in the shape of a moon and stars that exactly matched the tattoos they had gotten one afternoon during their time together in L.A. A brief note in Wyatt’s strong hand accompanied them. “Meet me in the lobby of the Plaza at four. I’ll be waiting.”
She wouldn’t go. Of course, she wouldn’t.
It wouldn’t be right. It wouldn’t be smart.
It wouldn’t be easy to stay away.
She spritzed her throat with perfume, dressed in lace panties and a matching camisole then donned a plain wool dress of severe lines and somber colors. On her way out the door, she cursed and returned to her bedroom and changed into a more flattering wrap-around dress of aqua silk.
Going into town, she still refused to admit she intended to meet him. During her interview of a Sotheby’s auctioneer, she mentally wavered. By the time the interview concluded, she pictured Wyatt waiting for her. She decided to go to the hotel. Not because she wanted to see him, or wanted to be with him, but because she wanted to give him a piece of her mind—if she had one left by the time she got there.
Chapter Fifteen
Sweeping out of the drizzling rain into the hotel lobby, Kara spotted Wyatt talking on his phone in a quiet corner. A jolt of excitement flitted through her before she remembered why she had come.
Pocketing his phone, he
smiled as she approached him. “You’re here.”
“I’m not staying.”
“Of course not.” He stood and placed a bouquet of about a thousand long-stemmed red roses in her arms. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
“Thank you.” She sniffed the flowers and then chastised herself for being so easily distracted. “I came to tell you to quit following me, quit watching me, and quit inviting me places. There’s no way I’m going to sleep with you.”
If he’d looked the least bit outraged or repentant, she’d have felt justified in delivering her prissy little speech. But her tirade seemed to cause him nothing but amusement.
“Did I ask you to?” He took her arm and led her to a seat beside his in the quiet alcove. She opened her mouth to issue a scorching reminder, but he interrupted. “I mean, today?”
“Why else would you invite me here?”
“I thought we’d have tea.”
Was lying with a straight face a natural talent or had he needed a lot of practice to perfect the art?
“In the Palm Court?” She’d always wanted to have tea in the romantic garden-like dining room.
“If you like.” He rested his elbows on the arms of the chair and steepled his long fingers. “But first, let’s address your accusations. Now, what is this about me following you?”
“Every place I go, you turn up there.”
He flicked the comment away. “We have a lot of the same interests.”
“And you keep watching me.”
He burst out laughing. “I hope all my other sins are as easy to confess. You’re a beautiful woman. I can’t keep from looking at you any more than the door man who opened the door for you could keep from watching you as you crossed the lobby.”
She lowered the flowers she cradled in her arms like a baby. “Don’t make fun of me.”
He tipped her chin up and followed the line of her cheek with a fingertip. “Your facial expressions contain a thousand different nuances. Each one intrigues me more than the last. The shape of your mouth alone can fascinate me for hours.” The finger trailed along her bottom lip and stroked its way to rest at the corner of an eye. “And your eyes. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen any other eyes this exact color before.” He tilted her head toward the light. “I’m not even sure what color they are. Just when I think they’re violet, definitely violet, I decide—no, lavender describes them better, or maybe amethyst or periwinkle or maybe they’re some other color that hasn’t even been discovered or identified yet.”
A sorcerer couldn’t have woven a spell more potent than his words. “Wyatt?”
“Yes, love?” he whispered, his mouth descending to a mere breath away from hers.
Kara blinked the eyes he had described so eloquently, deliberately breaking the connection that pulled her to him. “You’re staring at me again.”
“I can’t stop.” His tongue licked out and touched the barest corner of her mouth before he pulled away.
All the uncertainty of the past few days… weeks… months coalesced into twin spears of emotion and desire. More than anything, she wanted to be somewhere far, far away. Far away from New York, and winter, and fear. She wanted to be on the deck of a hideaway in California with a man who wanted nothing more from life than to make love to her. Slow, sweet love. God, how she wanted that.
“Wyatt?”
“Yes, love?”
“I would like to have tea.”
He blinked and cleared his throat. “Okay.” Straightening his shoulders, he leaned away from her. “I’ll see if they’re still holding our table.”
She laid a hand on his arm to prevent him from leaving her. “It’ll probably be crowded in the restaurant.”
He sat perfectly still. “Yes.”
She opened her mouth then closed it. Gave it another shot. “Is it too late to get a room?”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a key card. “Come with me.”
They crossed the lobby in record time. Inside the elevator, Wyatt pulled Kara toward him. The roses came between them. He grazed the back of his fingers across her cheek.
“Are you sure?” More emotions flicked through his eyes than Kara had ever seen there.
“About letting you see me naked after three years, ten extra pounds, and a baby? No.” She put a hand to her stomach to calm its nervous fluttering. “About making love with you? I’m sure there’s nothing I want more.”
Outside the mahogany door of their room, Wyatt instructed, “Close your eyes.”
“Why?”
“Just do what I say for once.” He led her inside. “Now open them.”
Dozens of red-and-white roses overshadowed the sumptuous decor of the luxury suite. Displayed on every possible surface, they vied for space with clusters of silver and red balloons. Delicate sheers across the windows filtered the light and softened the scene like an impressionist painting.
“Oh my.” Kara pressed her hand to her heart, astonished as always by his attention to detail.
“Too much?” He leaned his shoulders against the door.
“No, it’s wonderful. I admire your confidence, but what were you going to do on the off-chance I didn’t come up here?” She wandered from one arrangement to another, breathing in the flowers’ soft scent. “Don’t answer that. I’d like to keep some of my illusions intact.”
“I wasn’t confident at all. As we speak, there’s an NPD truck waiting to pack it up and deliver it to your house.” He pushed away from the door and stepped toward her.
Kara skittered across the room to the window overlooking Central Park. The view didn’t offer the serenity of the ocean from a cabin deck, but its vastness helped calm her.
Wyatt stopped behind her, but she needed several deep breaths to steady herself before turning to him. Waiting for his touch, her pulse slowed to a sluggish throb. Instead of pulling her close, he took the flowers from her.
“Can we put them in water?” she asked.
“Of course.” Removing the ice bucket from a credenza, he took it into the bathroom where he filled it and stuffed the flowers inside. Returning, he looked around at the overloaded tables, shrugged and placed the makeshift vase on the floor by the window. Then, he removed one single rose.
He pulled the blossom from the stem, folded back the bed covers, and tossed the petals across the crisp white sheets. “‘And I will make thee beds of roses...’”
He turned and opened his arms to her in an invitation she could no longer refuse. No longer wished to refuse. Wrapped in his arms, she closed her eyes. Home, after three years of exile. He smelled divine. Delicious and male. Sexy.
His embrace enveloped her in comfort, excitement, and warmth. So much warmth. She wanted to curl up inside it. Heat radiated from his skin and from some deeper place within. Absorbing his strength, savoring the feel of him, a small gurgle of pleasure erupted from the back of her throat, then a moan of protest when he pulled back.
With almost languorous grace, he helped Kara remove her coat. She quickly moved to undo the tie that fastened her dress at the waist, but he stilled her hands. “There’s no hurry.”
In slow motion, they disrobed. He insisted on taking his time, his leisurely actions in direct contrast to the passionate fire that lit his eyes.
When she stood, awkward and uncertain, before him in the lacy peach lingerie, his fingertips trailed over the silk, stroking the soft material. Cupping her breasts, he held them for a moment as they conformed to the shape of his palms. His fingers stirred slowly, circling gradually, caressing gently, taking their time before grazing the pebbled edges and peaks of her nipples.
Aching to love and be loved by him, body and soul, Kara wanted to shout with impatience, to move with purpose, to feel his body pressing against hers. But still he lingered. Moved beyond patience into frustration, she wrapped her arms around him and pressed her body to his before she stood on tiptoe and caught his earlobe between her teeth. She bit down. Hard.
A chuckle turned into a groan of pa
ssion. He clasped her around the waist and lifted. Her spine met the comfort of the mattress. His wicked, beautiful hands moved over her, removed her camisole, and skimmed gently across her bare breasts. She swallowed another demand for him to hurry.
After tracing the fine web of lines on her breasts and stomach, he caught her head in his hands and pulled her gaze to meet his.
“More stretch marks.” She shook her head. “Don’t look.”
“I want to look. I’ve never seen the body of a woman who’s had my child before.” He swept his hand from her breasts to her tummy. “You’re even more beautiful than before.”
“No.” Pulling a pillow to her chest, she covered herself, but he pushed it away.
With his mouth nibbling her lips, his little finger strayed beneath the waistband of her panties. He tucked his face against her neck and inhaled as he slid his middle finger through the damp cleft between her legs, parting the folds of her most intimate flesh. When Kara raised her hips to push against him, he removed her lacy thong. Just like the first time, he knew how and when and where to touch her. She gasped and gave herself over to the pleasure, marveling at how good, how right it felt to be with him again.
Before his weight came down on hers, he grabbed a foil packet off the nightstand. “Condom, right?”
“Yes, please,” she said, grateful he’d remembered something so basic when her mind had been solely on the upcoming pleasure.
She raised her knees and cradled him between her thighs. Hard and ready, he poised at the entrance to her body.
“Just like old times.” Wyatt paused to meet her eyes with his own. “I want you. Need you. Have to have you.”
“I want you, too.” She shut her eyes and adjusted herself to the glorious feelings as he filled her.
“Yes.” The word emerged as a sigh. “God, yes.”
Kara tingled and ached, arching herself into his hands and mouth. He moved slowly at first, then swiftly, each thrust more forceful than the last. The tension, the tautness, the repetition of the rhythm pulled her along with him.