Baby of His Revenge
Page 13
A lump rose in his throat. He didn’t like the rawness of telling this story. He’d never told it to anyone before.
“But she wasn’t alone,” Laney whispered. Her hand reached for his. “She had you.”
Kassius exhaled, almost shuddering with emotion. “When I was sixteen, as my mother lay dying, she wrote her parents and asked for help. She asked them to come see her, or at least to take me if she died. And they refused. They refused.”
He heard her gasp. He felt the warmth and softness of her hand as her fingers tightened protectively around his.
Turning away, he ground out, “This precious house meant everything to them. After they died, I bought it. Had it demolished.” He gave her a crooked smile. “You know this is the first time I’ve seen this street?”
She stared at him. Reaching up, she stroked his cheek. Her dark eyes were luminous with unshed tears. “Oh, Kassius.”
“That’s why I changed my name. I didn’t want my father’s name. Or my grandparents’. So I chose my own. I bought a new birth certificate, new papers. I started a new life.”
Standing on her tiptoes, Laney hugged him fiercely, and for a moment, he closed his eyes, accepting the comfort. He wasn’t accustomed to it.
She drew back, looking up at him in her wedding dress, moonlight frosting her dark hair beneath the long white veil. “I know what it feels like,” she said in a low voice. “To feel abandoned by family who is supposed to love you. That’s what left the hole in your heart.”
His voice was low and fierce. “Why don’t you have one, Laney? Why? How can you still love like you do?”
“Because...” She blinked fast, then shook her head. “Because I still love my mother. I miss her. I try to remember the good times. Doing otherwise would bring me only misery.”
Kassius stared at her, then shook his head.
“I feel differently,” he said slowly. He looked at the bare plot of land. “Destroying this house was very satisfying. Looking at it now, I’m almost tempted to spit on the ashes.”
“It won’t bring you joy,” she said in a small voice. “And it won’t bring her back.”
He looked at her sharply. For a moment, his heart was troubled. Then he steadied himself. Whatever Laney thought, he knew his plan for revenge against his father would make him happy. Very happy.
Crushing Boris Kuznetsov, taking his bankrupt business and the villa on the Cap Ferrat, would be the glory of Kassius’s life.
“I’m sorry,” Laney suddenly blurted out. Tears spilled over her lashes, and she wiped her eyes, trying to smile. “I was so angry with you. I ruined the most magical day of our lives.”
With a low laugh, he took her in his arms.
“You didn’t ruin it,” he said softly. He gently wiped a tear off her cheek. “And a wedding is just one day. We’ll have many magical days. A lifetime of them.”
She gave him a grateful, watery smile, then a weak laugh escaped her. “This explains why you love Southern food. And why I felt like home to you.” Her forehead furrowed. “So what was your name before? And how did you choose Kassius Black?”
He loved having her in his arms. He loved the way she was looking at him now. As if he were her hero again.
“When I was a child,” he said slowly, “I liked hearing stories of ancient Rome. Kassius was the name of a Roman senator who raised an army to fight tyranny.” He was also one of the conspirators who’d assassinated Julius Caesar, but he didn’t elaborate. “And Black was how I vowed my heart would be.”
Her eyes were shining. “Thank you for telling me.”
“And now I need something from you.” He looked down at her in his arms. “You know more about me now than anyone in the world. Promise you won’t ask for more.”
“But—”
His gaze held her. “Promise.”
She sighed, looking sad. “All right. I promise.”
He exhaled. He hadn’t realized until then how tense he was. He felt horribly vulnerable. Exposed. But he also hadn’t felt so close to anyone in a long time.
Laney was the one person he could trust. He suddenly knew she was the one person who would never betray him.
And he would always protect her, just as he would protect his child now growing inside her.
His child. The thought filled him with awe. He rested his hand against her gently curved belly. He would never make the mistakes of his father. He would be a good husband, a good father. Once his revenge was finished, he would leave the pain of his past in the rearview mirror. He’d spend the rest of his life focused on the future, on the present, always making sure that his wife and children were comfortable and warm and safe. They’d never have a single worry or fear. Those would be his jobs alone.
He looked down at Laney, pushing back a dark tendril of her hair. “You’re my wife now. The mother of my coming child. The past is past. It’s as your grandmother said. We are family. The future is what matters now.”
“You’re right,” she whispered, and as he held her in the cooling night, she in her white dress, he in his tuxedo, their eyes met, and the air between them electrified.
“Mrs. Black,” he said huskily. Lowering his head, he kissed her, tenderly at first, then with building need. In response, she wrapped her arms around him, drawing him down tighter against her.
Suddenly, all he could think about was ripping off her wedding dress. He wanted to forget. To be reborn in her. Inside her.
“Honeymoon,” he growled, and pulled her toward the gleaming black Cadillac.
* * *
Laney felt the heat and weight of her husband’s hard muscular body, barely restrained by the civilized tuxedo, as he pushed her into the car’s backseat. The skirts of her white wedding dress plumped out like pillows as he savagely kissed her, pushing her against the smooth leather.
His fingers stroked through her chignon, causing long dark tendrils of hair to fall beneath her veil. His lips pressed against hers, causing her body to sizzle and ache from her fingertips to her toes and everywhere in between.
This was their true wedding, she thought as she kissed him. This. Where body met soul...
They barely made it to their luxury hotel, deep in the French Quarter, on famous Bourbon Street. It was lucky it wasn’t far, and traffic had abated, or they might not have made it. They might have had their wedding night in the back of the vintage car with their driver in the front seat, fiddling with the radio and pretending not to notice.
When the car stopped, Kassius pulled her through the elegant lobby of the hotel, barely responding to the cheerful greetings of the employees and manager.
She breathed, “Don’t we need to check in—”
“Everything is done.”
Not everything, she thought hungrily.
As soon as they were in the elevator, he pressed the button for the third floor then pushed her back against the mirror and kissed her hard and hot. She barely heard the ding of the elevator door. He pulled her down the elegant, dimly lit hallway, then stopped in front of the door at the end. Pulling the key from his pocket, he opened the door and turned to her. Laney gasped as he lifted her up into his arms, her full white skirts and long white veil trailing behind them.
“You’re mine now,” he whispered. “Legally mine.”
“Then you’re mine,” she murmured, twining her hands in his hair. “And I intend to use you exactly as I choose...”
Never taking his eyes from her, he carried her over the threshold. Kicking the door closed behind them, he set her down. She had only a brief glimpse of the large, elegant hotel suite and the gleaming neon lights of Bourbon Street visible through the French doors, which led to a covered wrought-iron balcony. He walked around her, staring at her wedding gown.
She blushed under his scrutiny. “Do you like it?” she said shyly. “It took forty-five minutes to get dressed, with all the buttons in back.”
“If you think I’m going to wait forty-five minutes...” Reaching out, he ripped the back of her
She whirled around. “What are you—”
He spread the lace neckline wide, causing the seams to part, and pulled the dress straight down her body, leaving her standing in front of him wearing only a strapless white bra, a tiny lace G-string, a white garter belt holding up white fishnet stockings—and her long white veil.
“It was my grandmother’s dress!” Laney cried indignantly.
“It was hers. Now it’s yours. And what’s yours—” Kassius’s eyes were dark and smoldering as he roughly pulled her closer “—is mine.”
A deep shiver went through her. Staring at his lips, she breathed, “You shouldn’t have done it...”
“Like you said. The past is past. She had a long, happy marriage. And, starting tonight, so will we.” He ran his fingers along the edge of her long white lace veil. “But you can keep this on,” he said huskily. “I like it.”
Picking her up, he tossed her onto the enormous bed, as if she were some kind of harem girl created exclusively for his pleasure. Two could play that game, she thought. Propping herself up on one arm, she reached out and grabbed the sleeve of his jacket.
“Take it off,” she ordered.
He looked down at her in the shadowy bedroom of the hotel suite. Then he did as she bade.
“Now the tie,” she said.
He undid the tie, dropping it the floor.
“Shirt.”
He slowly unbuttoned his white shirt, then undid the cuffs. She had a vision of his hard-muscled chest, laced with dark hair, and the taut six-pack beneath. Her gaze lowered, her heart beating fast. She licked her lips.
“Trousers.”
A sensual smile traced his lips as he looked at her with heavy-lidded eyes, then pulled off his black trousers and his boxers and socks in the bargain.
Her husband stood naked before her.
A deep shiver went through her as she saw his hard, naked body. His chest and shoulders were huge and muscular, tracing down to his trim, taut waist, and below that...
Holding her breath, mesmerized, she started to reach for him, wanting to wrap her hand around his huge, hard length, to cup and stroke and maybe even, if she dared, taste...
“Oh, no, you don’t.” His voice was low. “I followed your orders. Now you will follow mine.” Leaning forward on the bed, he ran his fingertips up her leg, from the pale fishnet stocking to the garter on her bare thigh. “Take this off,” he said huskily. “Take it all off.”
Laney gave him a sensual smile. “As you wish.”
Pulling the pins out of her chignon, she leaned back on her elbows and shook out her long, dark hair beneath the white bridal veil. She propped up one knee, exposing her bare inner thigh and the white garter, above the stocking.
His dark eyes widened as he looked her over. Her head was tilted back, her dark hair curling over her shoulders, her breasts—swollen from pregnancy—thrust forward, barely contained beneath the sliver of strapless white silk bra.
He licked his lips. His gaze slowly traveled down her body, to the soft curve of her belly, to the spread of her hips. Her leg was propped up, revealing an expanse of bare thigh. His eyes traced down the white garters and tiny lace G-string to the see-through fishnets that started halfway down her thigh, all the way to her scarlet-painted toenails.
“Take it off,” he repeated hoarsely.
She saw the hunger in his dark eyes, the way he took shallow breaths through parted lips. A thrill went through her.
“That’s what I’m doing,” she said innocently. “Taking it off.”
And she was. Very, very slowly. Like a striptease to torture him. She wasn’t sure what made her do it. Maybe it was the sudden realization of her power. Maybe she liked feeling his desire for her. Or maybe, just maybe, the fact of their marriage, of being his legal wife, gave her a confidence she’d never had before.
Still propped on her elbow on the bed, she stretched up her arm, fluffing up her long dark hair beneath the long white veil. She moved her hand slowly down, brushing her cheek, her neck, her clavicle. She moved it slowly over her full breasts, overflowing the flimsy white strapless bra, cupping one breast, pressing it against the other.
His eyes were nearly popping out of his head as he leaned against the bed, naked, not touching her. He said hoarsely, “What are you doing?”
“Oh.” She looked up at him with big eyes, feigning surprise. “I guess I need to roll over to reach the clasp...”
And she did so, turning over on the bed, rolling on her tummy. Reaching back, she slowly undid her bra, causing it to fall off. Her full, swollen breasts spilled out in all their naked glory.
Tilting her head, she pretended to consider, placing one fingertip against her wet lips. “Hmm...” Kicking up her heels behind her, she twisted her head and looked back at her own backside, completely naked except for the straps of the white garter and the slender ribbon of the G-string. “Now what should I take off next?”
It was too much for her husband. With a low growl, he fell on her, turning her over so she was on her back. Without a word, he ripped off the white garter belt with two violent hands and did the same with the flimsy G-string. All she wore now was her veil, twisted behind her on the mattress, and her fishnet stockings, which now hung loosely on her legs, sliding down her thighs.
He pushed her back against the soft pillows and stroked his hand possessively down her body, between her breasts. “Tease me, will you?”
She fluttered her eyelashes coyly. “Must you keep ripping my clothes?”
“Not if you stay naked,” he whispered, stroking her hair. Cupping her face, he kissed her.
His lips were rough at first, then gentled, became tender. The bristles of his chin were like sandpaper against her skin, but even that felt good to her. His hardness and roughness made her feel soft and feminine. His tongue teased hers as he deepened the kiss. Her naked breasts were crushed against his hard chest, and as her sensitive nipples rubbed against his muscled body, she nearly gasped with the sensation.
Moving, he slowly kissed down her body. Cupping her breasts, he lifted them in amazement. He could no longer fit a breast in his hand. He said in wonder, “You’re so big.”
“That’s what you get for knocking me up.”
He looked at her huge breasts and her belly, now with just the slightest hint of a curve, and his expression changed. A low hiss escaped through his teeth. He gently squeezed a nipple, lowering his head to the other. She felt the heat of his wet mouth on her, the stroke of his tongue, the nibble of his teeth, and this time she did gasp.
As he suckled her, he slowly moved his other hand down her body, to the gentle curve of her belly and farther still. He reached between her legs and she shuddered beneath him, swaying her hips. She could feel his hard shaft against her thigh. She wanted him inside her. Her nails tightened against his shoulder as she whispered, “Take me.”
Pulling back, he looked down at her, and smiled. She realized he intended to refuse, to tease her and torture her with wanting, as she’d done to him. No way. Reaching between them, she stroked his length, and felt how rigid he was, straining hard against her. She felt him pulse in her hand. His dark eyes widened, then narrowed as he looked down at her.
“Now,” she breathed, challenging him with her eyes.
A low growl from deep in his throat. Pulling back, he positioned himself between her legs. He pushed himself inside her with a single thrust, rough and deep.
Her lips parted in a joyful gasp as she felt him inside her, so hard and thick, filling her. Gripping her hips, he pulled back and thrust again. Her legs curled around his muscular backside, pulling him tighter into her. She moaned softly, and he increased the pace, riding her hard and fast, until the headboard was banging against the wall, increasing desperately in noise and rhythm. Beneath the impact and shake, the wedding veil that had been on the pillow suddenly flew up in the air, lifting on a puff of breeze. She felt pleasure build inside her, and she held her breath as it went higher...and higher...and higher still... She started to explode and heard herself scream. His low, triumphant shout joined with hers, and as he exploded inside her, the last thing she saw before she closed her eyes was the white lace veil, falling softly onto his back.
Moments passed before he opened his eyes. Rolling off her, he pulled her back against his chest, cuddling her into his arms. She nestled her cheek against his shoulder. He kissed the top of her head. “Wife.”
“Husband,” she whispered shyly. Her cheeks burned a little at the memory of how brazen she’d been. But he seemed to approve. He looked at her lazily beneath heavy-lidded eyes.
“It’s just the start.”
And so it was. If the wedding had been disappointing, because she’d been too mad at him to enjoy it, then their honeymoon, she would reflect later, was the most perfect, most romantic week of her life.
After they slept in each other’s arms, they made love again, then slept some more. When morning light came through the windows, they ordered breakfast in bed from room service, trays of waffles with powdered sugar and maple syrup, grits, fresh fruit, fried eggs with eye-watering red-hot pepper sauce, fresh-squeezed orange juice, and smooth chicory coffee with cream and sugar.
When Kassius accidentally got some powdered sugar on his cheek, she reached out and traced it lightly with her fingertips. “How did you get this scar, Kassius?”
His eyes darkened, then he gave a casual shrug. “It was a long time ago. Why?”
“You have powdered sugar on it. Kind of a mess.”
“Ah.” Touching his cheek, he looked at the sugar, then back at her. He lifted a dark eyebrow. “Don’t mock. You have maple syrup on your chin.”
-->