He’d been surprised when Meggy knocked on his door Saturday afternoon, dressed in her chef’s garb, ready for the night ahead. Her smile uncharacteristically shy, she stood shivering in the wind beyond the threshold. No time to come in, she insisted. She’d just dropped by to say she had tickets for Monday night’s Celtics game, and would he like to join her?
He should have declined. That would have been the smart thing to do, the honorable thing. The situation was already complicated enough without adding a romantic tangle to the mix, but he hadn’t wanted to say no, damn it.
The truth was he wanted the little fairy with her expressive face and trim little body, and he wasn’t accustomed to denying himself a woman he wanted. Besides, she’d used the perfect bait with those Celtics tickets. How was a man supposed to resist that kind of double temptation?
As if his musings had summoned her, he heard the tap on the door and rose to answer. She hadn’t dressed to dazzle him, yet the faded jeans and oversized, soft, green sweater were still sexy as hell as far as he was concerned. As was the fairy smile lighting her face like a ray of sunshine. There was no denying the sharp pull of desire in his loins, and with an inward shrug, he accepted it was going to be a long night.
“Hi,” she greeted softly.
“Hi, yourself.” He returned her smile.
“Are you ready for a night of fun and basketball?”
“Are the two mutually exclusive?” His remark was rewarded when she laughed.
“You’re a Celts fan?”
“I don’t quite qualify for rabid status, but it’s a close thing.”
“A man after my own heart.” She batted her eyes with an exaggerated sigh.
He couldn’t resist, didn’t want to. Cupping her chin in his hand, he lifted her face and bent until his mouth covered hers. Her lips were soft beneath his and accepting of his caress as he tasted her briefly before lifting his head and stepping back. Enormously pleased at the glazed look in her eyes, he left her standing at the door and crossed the room to grab his keys.
“Ready?” He stopped in front of her and could only grin when she blinked up at him, mumbled something about secret weapons, and spun on her heel to lead him out to the parking lot.
****
Meggy had made reservations at a little Italian place in the North End of Boston, within walking distance of the Boston Garden. Linking her arm through Trevor’s, they strolled the cobbled bricks of Boston’s oldest neighborhood.
The narrow streets were teaming with pedestrian traffic as the city's workforce called it a day, swarming the dining district for an early dinner before heading home or to the game. It amused her to see the many female glances aimed Trevor’s way because really, she couldn’t blame the women for looking.
His dark auburn hair gleamed like a thick pelt in the fading afternoon light, and his swarthy skin gave him a healthy glow. Understated wealth oozed from every pore of his lanky body, which showcased the natural-colored, Irish woolen sweater and faded jeans as perfectly as it had the expensive business-suit.
The man was a clotheshorse, she thought with a grin. Even his play clothes looked as if they’d been tailored to fit him to perfection. Not that she was complaining. When he’d opened the carriage house door at her knock, she’d had to fight back the urge to lick her lips and jump him. She’d settled for a sigh, a silent one, or so she’d thought. Had he heard the yearning in that breathy little huff? Had that been the reason he’d grabbed her and without a word, kissed her senseless?
The knowing humor in his pale eyes when he finally set her back on her feet told her he’d had a fairly good idea of the direction in which her mind had wandered. His cocky smile confirmed it. Oh, yeah, Trevor Bryce was dangerous.
They were seated immediately at a booth near the window, and when the waiter came for their orders, she suggested the manicotti. The busy, family-owned restaurant was one of her favorites and had the best manicotti west of Italy, she promised.
He bowed to her expertise, and when he groaned in appreciation at his first bite, her smile was smug. “You’re a regular here?” Trevor’s fork stilled before he dived into his dessert.
“I’m a regular wherever there’s delicious food I don’t have to cook.” She grinned. “I haunt several spots around the North End. I’ve stolen some of my favorite recipes within a half mile of here.”
“Meggy Calhoun, culinary crook.”
Well, look at him. He’s even sexy when he teases. Delighted at the description, she laughed. “You could call it that, but I only keep the recipes for my personal use. I work too hard on my own to take credit for someone else’s.”
“You love being a chef.” It was a statement more than a question.
“It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
“You never wanted to do anything else?”
“Not for as long as I can remember.” She cocked her head. “Unless you count the few minutes I considered joining the circus when I was nine. I was dazzled by a lady juggler in a sequined body-suit.” Crinkles appeared at the corners of his pale eyes when he grinned, and she thought the laugh lines only made him more appealing. “It took me less than five minutes to decide that getting to wear one of those fantastic, sparkly costumes wouldn’t be worth putting up with the smell of the elephants.”
“I don’t know,” his voice dropped to a rumbling drawl. “I think it would be worth holding my breath for a while for the chance to see you in a sequined body-costume.”
A tiny shiver of pleasure raced through her system at his words and tone. “Well, you’re out of luck,” she said cheekily. “Turns out I can’t juggle.”
“Isn’t that always the way?” He shook his head with mock disappointment.
“What about you?” She propped her elbows on the table, studying him. “What did you want to be when you were growing up?”
“I always knew I would go into the family business. Finance, real estate, but I did have a secret dream of being a pirate for a while.”
“A pirate?” She laughed. “What century were you born in?”
The grin he shot her was wide. “Hey, I was six, and my father had just taken me to see the tall ships.”
“Well, then, that’s okay. Cara and I came into town a couple of years ago when the tall ships were in the harbor. They’re pretty impressive.”
“They’re even more impressive from on board.” He stopped eating for a minute, his eyes taking on a dreamy quality. “I had the opportunity to sail on one a couple of years later during the parade of ships around New York Harbor.” Dark brows waggled, and leaning in, he curved his lips in a buccaneer’s leer. “A pirate’s dream come true.”
“Wow.” She blinked with exaggerated innocence. “Or should I say, ‘Aaargh’?” That warm and mushy sensation returned to her belly when he threw back his head on a laugh. “So, what happened to the dream? Why didn’t you go to sea and become the scourge of the Atlantic?”
He sat back, his smile wry. “Seasickness.”
Her eyes widened. “You got seasick on a tall ship?”
“No, I did fine there. A deep sea fishing adventure with twenty foot swells killed my desire for a seafaring life. I love to sail, though. In fact, I have my own cruiser. I just don’t get out on the water as much as I’d like these days.”
Their waiter stopped at the table to ask if they needed anything else. Alone once again, he touched the tip of her finger with his, sending her hormonal system into overload. “Have you always lived in Palmerton?”
She nodded. “Except for the year and a half I studied in Paris. My parents were both born in Palmerton. They moved to Maine when they retired.” She smiled happily. “My dad was a teacher, and my mom worked at the nursery on the edge of town. You should talk to them. They could help you with your research.”
****
He planned to. There were a number of questions he’d like to put to Bob and Carol Calhoun, not the least of which being whether or not Meggy was their natural child. “You’re close to t
hem?”
She looked at him strangely, as if the question made no sense.
“Of course. They’re my parents.”
“Not everyone is close to their family.”
She nodded, cocking her head as she considered him. “Were you? I know your father passed away when you were young. What about your mother?”
“She died when I was five.”
A stricken expression flashed in her eyes, and she reached across the table to cover his hand with hers. “Oh, God.”
He stared at her hand. With its tapered fingers and clear-polished nails, it looked incredibly delicate over his much larger one. Automatically, he turned his own hand over until hers rested in his grasp, palm to palm. Meeting her gaze, he shook his head at the compassionate empathy in her crystal blue eyes. “It’s not quite the tragedy it sounds. I miss them, but I had a good childhood.”
“But you were an orphan. Who raised you?”
Her voice was sad, which touched something deep in his soul. “My grandmother.”
“You were close?”
“We still are. She’s a tough old girl, but she has a heart as big as they come.”
“You love her.” Her pixy face beamed a soft smile. “That’s nice.”
The irony of the situation didn’t escape him. If Meggy was who Elizabeth believed her to be, he was sitting here becoming more and more intrigued by a woman who had more right to his grandmother’s love and protection than he ever had. Despite warning himself against letting it happen, he had become fascinated by a woman he’d set out to destroy. A woman he found himself wanting until he couldn’t think straight. What a mess. “She’s my family,” he said finally.
And possibly yours. He hoped she’d take his love for Elizabeth into consideration once she learned the truth.
Chapter Eight
The corridors of Boston Garden were crowded with fans, waiting in long lines at the many concession stands or moving toward the tunneled openings to find their seats. Trevor stopped to purchase a beer for each of them while Meggy propped herself against the wall close by to people watch. When he rejoined her, and handed her a large cup full of golden brew, she could only shake her head. “We just finished eating.” She eyed the hot dog and large popcorn he carried. “Are you still hungry?”
“I’m always hungry.” He shook his head in resignation. “Quick metabolism. But, the hot dog isn’t strictly for my stomach.”
“Excuse me?”
His shoulders moved in an accepting shrug. “It’s tradition. The last time I caught a game and didn’t have one, the Celts were blown out by the Magic.” He frowned. “I won’t make that mistake again.”
She stared wide-eyed. “I’d say you’re a bit closer to rabid than you want to admit.”
His pale eyes sparkled. “Did I mention I bleed green?”
That made her laugh. She jerked her head in a follow me motion. “Come on, Roger Rabid. I promised you a treat.”
He flipped over the floor seats, and they spent the next three hours cheering on the boys in green to a home town victory. Driving home through the night, they discussed the current roster and argued over possible off-season trades and the draft. They agreed on, and hoped for, the possibility of another title this season.
“I had fun tonight,” she said as he pulled to a stop in the Palmer House parking lot. Quiet descended on the interior of the vehicle when he switched off the ignition.
“So did I.” He brushed the curve of her cheek with the tip of one long finger. “It’s early yet. Would you like to come over to the carriage house? I’ve got a nice bottle of wine in the fridge.”
Pleasure coursed through her at the idea of continuing the evening and at the unspoken question in his eyes. It seemed too fast to be feeling what she was for this man, and yet she’d expected this was where they were heading from the moment she’d first placed her hand in his.
Jumping into bed with every man she shared an evening with wasn’t her habit, but she wasn’t exactly a blushing virgin either. Her experience wasn’t vast, and she’d dated both men for weeks before she’d finally gone to bed with them. Still, what she’d felt for those other men held no resemblance to what she’d been feeling from the moment she’d clapped eyes on Trevor Bryce.
She sighed. Ultimately, whether it happened tonight, or in a week, or even a month, she knew they’d eventually become intimate. The pull between them was too strong to resist. With Trevor, she found she didn’t want to resist what he made her feel. She wanted to experience the act of making love, when love was actually part of the act.
Her heart did a fast, spiraling roll in her chest. No, that wasn’t right. She didn’t fool herself into believing she was in love with him. She wasn’t. But she could be with a little time. The possibility should scare the crap out of her, but she found she didn't want to pass up the opportunity to take the next step and see where it led.
You’ve lost your mind, Calhoun, the voice in her head warned, and she couldn’t help but agree. With a mental shrug for the loss of her sanity, she looked him straight in the eye, and embraced her own madness. “Are you inviting me to your bed, Trevor?”
His fingertip grazed over her bottom lip. His pale gaze burned. “I believe that’s exactly what I’m doing.”
In the close darkness of the car, she nodded and leaned across the console to press her lips to his before opening the door to climb out. She waited while he skirted the hood, and when he held out his hand, she folded her fingers with his.
He led her to the carriage house door, flipping the switch just inside and flooding the apartment with light. “Are you sure about this, Meggy?” His gaze bore into hers. “Because once I close this door, there won’t be any going back, for either of us.”
Her answer was to step into his arms.
His head lowered until their lips meshed, and she felt him reach out blindly to push the door closed behind her. The blast of heat that ripped through her at that first touch of mouth on mouth seared away any shyness she expected to experience with this, their first time together. Though they were new, the sensations and textures of the pleasures assailing her were somehow familiar, as though he’d touched her just there, pressed against her that way, and kissed her like that, a thousand times before.
She rose on her toes, pressing closer, and her moan matched his at the full body contact. One large hand dropped to her bottom. Her feet left the floor. Her head spun. She clung to him, burying her hands in his hair and wrapping her legs around his trim waist.
“From the first time you turned your fairy smile on me,” his deep voice rumbled, “I’ve wanted to bite this spot. Here.” He bit down gently on her full lower lip. “Right, here.” With his tongue, he soothed the nip.
Her laugh was throaty and ended on a dizzy squeak when he moved suddenly, spinning with her clamped to him by a muscled arm below her bottom. With long strides, he crossed the room and lowered her to the bed.
“I don’t have a fairy smile.” Humor was full in her denial as he followed her down to cover her body with his own.
Braced on one arm, he leaned over her and traced her lips with a callused fingertip. “Baby, I half expected you to start casting fae spells the first time you smiled at me.”
Delighted laughter escaped her at his whimsy, and he covered her mouth with his, capturing it. “You taste like sunshine,” he murmured.
He was the one casting spells. What else would explain this sudden leaping of every nerve ending in her body? She felt as though she were floating, even as she shimmered with pleasure at the weight of his big body pressing her into the coverlet beneath her.
The brush of his fingers left gooseflesh behind as his fingertips skimmed the tender flesh of her throat, continuing down over the soft material of her sweater. They paused at the tightened peak of one breast, those talented fingers circling the hardened nub through the layers of cloth. And then he was cupping her, his large hand measuring the generous mound. She was helpless against the shock of sensation
and arched her back to increase the contact.
Her mind was already dazed with pleasure when his mouth left hers.
He pulled back to look down into her half-closed eyes. “I want to look at you.” He slipped his hand beneath the hem of her sweater. She nodded and his hand moved upward, baring her belly to his view.
She caught a flash of molten silver as his desire-darkened eyes followed the movement of his hand.
Then he leaned down to nibble at her bare middle.
The delicate skin at her navel quivered at the contact with his testing tongue. His laugh was dark at her involuntary response.
Brushing his cheek against her sensitive skin, he turned his head to look up at her. A stormy gray-eyed gaze met hers. “Let me see you, Meggy.”
In silent consent, she reached for the hem of her sweater. His hands joined hers to help strip it away. She shifted her shoulders to aide in its removal, laughing at the sight of the green wool sailing through the air when he tossed it aside. A smile remained on her face, even as she reveled at the sight of his gaze growing even darker as they roamed over her.
“For such a tiny little thing…” He brushed his fingertips along the swell above her lacy bra, “you’re well blessed here. So soft,” he whispered, caressing the quivering mounds.
“Trevor,” she breathed.
“What is it you want, little fairy?” He curled the tip of a finger under the lace. “This?” He rubbed at the straining tip.
The word she spoke was both plea and moan. “Please.”
He tugged at the strip of sheer lace until a turgid nipple popped free. The stab of his tongue against the tightened bud made her back arch up off the bed, her arms coming down to capture his head. She moaned at the pull of his mouth on her as though he meant to swallow her whole.
The front clasp of her bra snapped free without her notice, and his mouth moved to her other breast, treating it to the same loving attention. With mouth and fingers, he worshiped the bountifulness of her until she felt her own blood thicken within her like warmed honey. A whimper escaped her lips at the loss of sensation when he lifted his head, even as her frantic fingers jerked at the sweater covering his chest, desperate for the feel of heated flesh.
The Billionaire's Con Page 5