by Inara Scott
“Let’s not talk about Portia anymore,” Kaia said, her pulse beginning to race. Something in the room was changing. Garrett was studying her again, looking at her face as if he’d never seen her before, examining her eyes, her nose, the curve of her neck, and finally her breasts.
“You’re driving me insane,” he said.
His voice paralyzed her. “What do you mean?”
“You look so different,” he said, half-aloud, half-whisper. “I picture you in my mind and then I see you and it’s different. Makes me wonder what you look like underneath.”
“Underneath?” she repeated, her voice husky.
Before she could react his hands were at her waist, outlining her ribs through the thin material of her dress.
“Underneath,” he repeated, sliding his hand higher, to the top of the neckline, tracing with one long finger the skin hidden below. She froze, hypnotized by the touch of his hand and the intensity of his stare. He found the delicate skin at the base of her neck, lowered his head, and sucked gently. She closed her eyes and surrendered to the riot of sensations running through her body.
“Damn,” he murmured between kisses. “Damn you, Kaia. I hadn’t intended to do this.”
“Don’t stop,” she whispered. “Please don’t stop.”
Before she could catch her breath he had moved her onto her back and was covering her with his length, pressing deep, intimate kisses into her mouth and trailing them down her neck to the V at the top of her dress.
“I don’t think I can,” he said in wonder, moving higher to nibble on her earlobe. “You have no idea how hard I’ve been trying not to touch you.”
She cupped his jaw in her palms and pulled his mouth back to hers for another long, deep kiss. She wanted to dive into his mouth, to suck and lick and thrust against him. He was warm, his cheeks clean-shaven and smooth. She tugged off his jacket.
In an instant, she had forgotten everything she had ever known about Zafira, her punishment, and the impossible task of getting Garrett Jameson to fall in love. All that mattered was his skin, their bodies, and the burning need to bring them together in the most intimate way possible.
“This can’t go anywhere,” he said between breaths. “I don’t want to mislead you.”
She drew his hands along her hips. “The last thing I can handle right now is a relationship. I’ve had enough marriage to last a lifetime. Just touch me, Garrett. That’s all I want.”
“Thank God,” he exhaled. He slid his hand down her side, found the zipper in her dress, and tugged it.
She pushed him back and rolled to her feet, undid the zipper, and slid the thin material over her head.
He sucked in a breath and stared. She knew she was different now. Her waist was narrower, her breasts and hips smaller. A flush covered her cheeks as she wondered what he might be thinking. She was too thin. Not curvy enough. Her nipples were too prominent, her skin too pale. She wore a cotton bra that was slightly too small for her, something she’d found on sale at a discount store the week before. It was her first new piece of clothing, clean and white, but nothing compared to the lacy, silky confection she had worn on the night they met.
Silently, he stood and ran his hands over her shoulders, and cupped her breasts in his hand. She closed her eyes and let out her breath on a ragged sigh.
“Beautiful,” he said. “But different.”
“It’s been a long time since you saw me,” she managed to say, working to collect her thoughts as his fingers traced a lazy path back and forth over her nipples.
“Your body feels different.”
She paused, catching her breath with fear that he’d suddenly become suspicious. “I’ve lost weight.”
He nodded, and she hoped he would believe that was the reason she had changed. She lost all control of her ability to think or reason when he placed his mouth where his fingers had been a moment before. With a quick, indrawn breath, she clutched his shoulders and arched her back. His hands dropped lower, and he cupped her buttocks and pressed her lower body against his. He was hard, erect, and she widened her stance without thinking, wanting him against the source of her growing need.
“Hell, Kaia. How do you do this to me?”
How did she do this to him? Kaia wondered foggily. How did he do this to her? Why was it that when he touched her she lost all hope of control? He cut through hundreds of years of conditioning with a single touch, as if some ancient part of her had come alive that night in the Avalon and now refused to be silenced.
She grabbed his head and pulled it back to her mouth, her hands dipping lower to capture his narrow waist. Her hips thrust against his and she ground their bodies even closer together.
“I want you,” she breathed into his ear. “I need you.”
They collapsed onto the bed. He grabbed her buttocks and tugged her tightly against him. She slowly undid the buttons of his shirt, one by one, luxuriating in the smooth muscles that bunched and flexed as he moved. Then she slid lower, her fingers grazing the top of his slacks.
He pushed her hand aside. “You’re a witch.”
She laughed. He had no idea how far that was from the truth. If she used her magic, the imp would be on her in a second. He was probably watching right now. She couldn’t think about that. Not when there was an urgent, throbbing need pulsing between her legs.
Zafira couldn’t blame her for losing control. She wasn’t a Handmaid anymore—she was banished from Faeria, confined to human form until her task was complete. And this was an important part of her task.
She opened the button and unzipped his fly, running her hands along his hard length as she did. He groaned and pressed his face against her neck.
“Not so fast. This time I want to remember you,” he said. “You won’t fool me again.”
His unknowing challenge left her chilled even as her hips pushed up for greater contact, her nipples begging for attention. Her entire body quivered and trembled like the string of a lute left to vibrate after the queen’s concert.
She could not hope to compete with his mastery tonight. Tonight, Garrett controlled her pleasure, taking her to the brink of release and back, leaving her aching for more and denying her until she was practically weeping for him to go deeper, to take her higher.
From slow, wet strokes of his tongue across her nipples to leisurely kisses on the back of her thighs, he discovered every line of her flesh, and every sinew and muscle. He caressed her naked bottom, tickled the delicate crevasse below the base of her ribs, and tested the weight of each breast.
When he did finally abandon himself to their wild, glorious mating, she wrapped her legs tightly around his waist and clung to him with all her might, urging him to go faster, harder. He exploded and she did, too. Together they left the earth behind and sailed away.
And even without wings, Kaia found she could fly.
Chapter Twenty
Intense sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the study, spilling in golden waves over the huge antique cherry desk Garrett always used when he was at the Manor. It was Monday morning, Memorial Day, so the office was closed and he was working remotely. Since he’d left Kaia’s bed two hours before he’d managed to go for a run and work through a pile of email before Portia appeared, Miami Herald in one hand, porcelain cup of tea in the other. One might think, in a house with over 20,000 square feet and two separate studies, that he might be able to find a little solitude in the morning. Of course, to think that, one must not know Portia.
“She’s not for you. You know that, don’t you?” She handed him the paper and sat down on the couch across from his desk.
Garrett accepted the paper and studied the headlines. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“You heard me.” Portia took a calm sip from her cup of tea. “The girl. She’s not for you.”
Not for him? Nothing could be further from the truth. Since Saturday night, Garrett had been able to think of little beside Kaia and the way her wild abandon brought him to a deeper, mo
re intense level of pleasure than he’d ever experienced before. If it hadn’t been so phenomenally enjoyable, it would have been vaguely discomforting.
“I can’t imagine what you mean,” he said, turning back to his paper and keeping his voice deliberately offhand. “I was worried for her safety. That’s the only reason she’s here.”
“Unless you’re finally ready to run for that Senate seat, stop trying to play politician, boy. You know full well what I’m talking about. You’ve been following her around all weekend like a lovesick puppy. Riding. Swimming. It’s sickening.”
“She’d never ridden before. I wanted to teach her.” He took a calm sip from his coffee, squirming for just a moment at Portia’s use of the word ‘lovesick.’ All he cared about was the sex. That was all.
“She’s never even gone to college,” Portia reminded him. “She’s homeless. She has no job skills. She is not for you.”
Garrett almost laughed at Portia’s vehemence. Of course, he had no intention of having any sort of serious relationship with Kaia. They’d both been clear about that Saturday night. That was what made everything after so sweet—passion, with no threat of complications to follow.
At least, he hoped that was still clear. Sometimes, women had a funny way of forgetting things they’d said just a few days before.
“I thought you wanted me to get married,” he said. “You keep saying it’s time for me to settle down. Maybe she’s the one.”
Portia’s mouth dropped open with horror. “You’re joking.”
Garrett chuckled. “Of course. But I enjoyed seeing the look on your face when I suggested it.”
“Garret, be serious for once. You know this family needs you to settle down and start acting like a grown-up. I can’t run this business forever and Max is barely keeping his head above water. We can’t afford to have you play Peter Pan all your life, and we certainly can’t afford to have you fooling around with some floozy who happens to look good in a bikini.”
“You noticed that?” Garrett smirked. This was not the first time Portia had started on one of her Garrett-must-grow-up rants. Over time, he’d learned to ignore them. “Max does just fine in his job, and you’ve got a whole gaggle of vice presidents to do the rest of the work. You could retire any time you like.”
“Max is a mess and you know it,” Portia retorted. “His wife is a tramp and he’s trying to raise Lexi by himself.”
“Leave Lexi out of this,” he said, the barest hint of a threat in his voice.
“Max wasn’t meant for the CEO job, Garrett. You were. It’s time you stepped up.”
Garrett sighed and put down the paper. When Max had asked him for help six years ago, and Garrett had reluctantly accepted a job at Jameson Enterprises, he found to his chagrin that he actually enjoyed the business. Seemingly without trying, he’d built a thriving real estate practice and turned his sleepy department into a profit center for the company. Portia had been thrilled, but she’d been clear that she wasn’t stopping there. Again and again, she’d tried to lure him into the executive ranks. Garrett had to admit that even without a title, people had come to rely on him and sought his advice on decisions that he had no authority to make. Yet he refused to accept further promotions. On this one point, he was absolutely unmovable. Life might have forced him into the family business, but it would not force him into the role of CEO. Once there, he would never be able to walk away.
Never.
“I’m not taking over for Max. If you want a CEO, you’ll have to make do with him. Besides, I thought we were talking about Kaia. Remind me what Max has to do with any of this?”
She practically hissed through her teeth. “If you aren’t going to do your duty to me and to this family than at least you can give Max a little security. He needs to know you aren’t going to throw it all away because you’ve suddenly become bored, or found something more interesting, or decided to take up with some ragtag woman. He needs stability, Garrett. We all do. And we won’t get it if you insist on taking up with her.”
“I fail to see how my sleeping with Kaia is going to bring down the mighty Jameson empire,” Garrett said.
“Your ‘sleeping with Kaia,’ as you so elegantly put it, is simply the start, Garrett. She’s beneath you. She can’t accompany you anywhere. How do you expect people to take you seriously if they see you with her? You need someone like Elizabeth Lovell or Sara Gentry. Girls with breeding. That’s how you’ll succeed.”
Garrett tapped his chin, feigning an air of thoughtfulness. “The funny thing is I don’t have breeding,” he said. “My mother was knocked up when she was sixteen. I certainly never went to Harvard Law School like Sara Gentry. And you were cleaning toilets in a hotel until you met my grandfather. I’m nothing more than a mongrel with money, and you know it.”
Portia gasped. “That’s ridiculous. You’re a Jameson, son of one of the finest families in Miami. Not a mongrel.”
“Where’s my mother, then? If we’re such a fine family, why did I spend the first eight years of my life living on free school lunches and charities like Good Sam?”
Portia stiffened in her seat. “The past is over and done. You aren’t part of that anymore. You’re different. You and your mother are worlds apart.”
“Of course.” He snapped the paper open in front of his face.
“You didn’t want to see her any more than I did,” she reminded him.
“She abandoned her children. She disappeared from our lives for ten years without a word. What was I going to do, welcome her back with open arms?”
“Exactly my point,” Portia agreed. “She’s not worthy of you. She never was.”
Garrett stopped. There was a fleeting, almost nervous look in her eyes that puzzled him. They never talked about his mother. Once, as a child, he’d asked if she was ever coming back for him, and Portia had simply stared at him with a cold, dark look and said no. He’d never asked again. But something in her was off today. She was trying to act as if everything was business as usual, but something had upset her. Kaia, perhaps. Portia wouldn’t like having been set back a few notches.
Garrett lowered the newspaper. “I have no intention of getting married to anyone at all and certainly not to our dear Ms. Verde. That, at least, should ease some of your fears. I am also not going to take over as CEO of your precious Jameson Enterprises. Now, unless you’d like me to provide some very intimate details about exactly what I do plan to do with Ms. Verde, I suggest you drop this conversation immediately. Agreed?”
Portia huffed. “Agreed.”
“I thought so.”
§
Rachel hit the gas on her 1995 Toyota Corolla and pulled onto the entrance ramp to the highway, painfully aware that her little blue car’s ‘get up and go’ got up and went a few years back. Despite the fact that it was early afternoon on a Tuesday, an endless line of traffic stretched out in front and behind her. Miami didn’t wait until rush hour to get crowded, and Rachel knew she was relying, as she always did, on the kindness of strangers for someone to let her onto the highway. She would get up to speed eventually, but it would take a while. Right now, the best she could do was forty, and that was pushing it.
She had a load of gardenias in the back for a dinner party out in Horse Country, and the heady fragrance exacerbated the headache she’d had ever since her conversation with Ted Friday night.
To marry, or not to marry. That was the question.
A question she had no idea how to answer. If she married Ted, she would destroy their relationship. If she didn’t marry him, she would lose him forever.
“Stupid car.” She slammed her fist down on the steering wheel as the speedometer refused to creep above forty-five. Horns blared as she attempted to merge from the entrance ramp into a lane of traffic, and she winced as cars zipped past, swerving to avoid her.
“Learn how to drive!” A man swore at her, passing by with his windows down and middle finger raised over the top of his car.
“Go f- yoursel
f!” Rachel yelled back, not caring that her windows weren’t automatic and there was no way she could roll them down fast enough to yell out. The only thing to hear her swear was the box of gardenias.
Basically, her car sucked and her love life sucked more. On the positive side, she had air conditioning. With the weather hovering around ninety-five degrees and counting, that was nothing to sneeze at.
And she had Kaia. Her new assistant had shown up for work that morning in Garrett’s car, looking far less disheveled and sweaty than she usually did after her hour-long bus commute. Rachel was, of course, dying to know why Garrett had driven Kaia to work. She was far too polite to ask, but the private little smile and the lilt to Kaia’s voice said volumes. Something was going on.
Rachel allowed herself a smug grin. She liked to believe she had something to do with that, but she could hardly take all the credit. Most of the credit, perhaps, but not all.
She glanced into the rearview mirror and steeled herself to take a full lane of traffic, even though her car was bucking and sputtering at forty-nine miles per hour. In the corner of her eye, a half a mile or so behind her, she saw a red sports car zooming between lanes. As the car got closer, she saw that the driver was also talking on a cell phone, and there was a woman in the seat next to him, gesturing with her hands as if the two were having a fight.
Rachel sighed. She hated sports car drivers almost as much as she hated weddings where they asked her to decorate with wildflowers because they thought it would be cheap and natural, and then got irritated when they discovered real flowers wilted if they weren’t in vases and dropped pollen on bridal gowns.
Ted would never drive a sports car. Ted was gentle and kind. Ted understood that women didn’t need to be bullied to be loved. He understood that you could buy groceries, cook dinner, do laundry, and still be a man.
Though there were times when she wished he wasn’t quite so sweet. His sweetness was going to kill their relationship, in the end.
“I hope you get a ticket, you bastard,” Rachel muttered. She looked in the rearview again. The red sports car had to have been going at least ninety, and it was swerving wildly between lanes. In one quick motion, the driver darted across three lanes of traffic, from the far left lane to right behind her, and started to merge back into the middle lane to duck around a slower-moving SUV.