What made it worse was the fact that he wanted to talk to Christine tonight. He wanted reassurances that she was okay with what was happening. He wanted to know that...
Well, that she didn’t hate him. He was willing to accept that she didn’t like him, that she might not ever like him. But in some perverse way, he wanted to make sure he was making things better instead of worse.
He wanted to know he wasn’t failing her. That’s really what it came down to.
He wasn’t going to find out tonight—whether she liked him, whether she wanted him to kiss her again. He wanted to kiss her again, he had to admit to himself as he sat down on the couch and refilled his wineglass. She’d barely had a glass and he hated to see a good bottle go to waste.
She was a little right, he thought halfway through the glass. She wasn’t his type. Did he have a type? The few women he’d had affairs with had some things in common. They hadn’t been looking for a relationship any more than Daniel had. They had wanted certain needs fulfilled to their satisfaction—discreetly. There hadn’t been a common look, despite what Christine seemed to think. He’d simply wanted his affairs to be casual and easy.
There was nothing casual or easy about Christine Murray. Not only did she have more baggage than the average woman, she had more skin in the game. She had Marie.
It should have sent him running. The man he’d been when his grandfather had been alive would have put as much distance between himself and Christine as physically possible.
So why hadn’t he? She kept asking him that same question—why was he doing this?
He knew he hadn’t answered Christine’s questions. And the truth was, he didn’t have answers. He didn’t know why he was inserting himself into her life. He didn’t know why, for the first time in his life, he cared.
Except that he felt the pull to protect her. That was how it had started. He had wanted to make things right. And then he had seen her daughter and he’d wanted to protect the little girl. And through it all, no matter what curveball he threw at her, Christine kept herself together with grace and dignity. She might be the strongest woman he’d ever met.
His mother had suggested she could watch Marie while he and Christine went out and did something fun and he’d shot her down. But why couldn’t they? The odds of Christine being recognized in Chicago were slim and the odds of Marie being recognized were so small as to be laughable. There were two pictures of her on the internet, neither of them great.
With a few precautions, they should be able to go out. He found himself looking down to where Navy Pier was lit up. The whole front of the Pier was a gigantic children’s museum—the kind where kids could play and parents could watch or join in.
In the reflection of the glass, he saw the light in the hall flick on behind him, saw Christine silhouetted in the doorway. He turned, feeling ridiculously hopeful. She’d come back out and damned if she didn’t look like an angel, backlit by the hall light. The gold in her hair and the white robe, with the silhouette of her body just hinted at...
She simply took his breath away. That ache came back and it took everything he had not to stride over to her and pull her into his arms and pick up where that earlier kiss had left off. And this time, he didn’t want to stop.
He didn’t move.
“Oh,” she said, twisting her hands in the belt of the bathrobe. “I didn’t know you were still up.”
“I was just thinking.” Not strategizing, not working—just thinking. About her. “Is everything all right?”
She dropped her hands to her sides. “I wanted a cup of tea. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
He moved toward the kitchen and was gratified when she followed him. He filled the electric kettle. “Chamomile?”
He set the tea caddy before her and tried not to stare. He hadn’t specified what kind of clothing he’d wanted for her. He had merely called in her size, her coloring and what he thought she might need for an extended visit. The personal shoppers had done everything else—and they had done their job well. The nightgown was long, brushing the tops of her toes. It was awfully modest, a heavyweight cotton flannel, maybe. And a matching robe had come with it. She was, in essence, covered from head to toe. She shouldn’t have looked sensual. She should have looked like she was wrapped in a sheet.
But even that thought spiraled another set of images through his mind, ones of her wearing his sheet and nothing else. Nothing except a smile—that he’d put there.
He couldn’t read the look on her face—was it confusion or amusement? “Every time I think I have you figured out, you throw me for another loop.”
He frowned, leaning on the counter. “How so?”
She looked down at the gown and robe. “When a man buys a woman a nightgown, it rarely involves this much fabric.”
And he remembered her asking if he had planned on seducing her. “I wanted you to be warm.”
He thought she blushed. “I am.”
He might have had too much wine because suddenly he couldn’t fight it any longer. He had to hold her, feel the weight of her body against his. He pulled her into his arms. A miracle occurred—she let him. Her arms came around his waist and she nuzzled against him. She was soft and warm and he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.
“Christine...” he said softly, against her hair. He wanted to say so much but for once in his life, he didn’t know how.
She did this to him, turned him inside out and upside down. She made him ache for her, for a glimpse of a man that he’d be in another life. A man she trusted. A man she wanted. Because he wanted her. He couldn’t ignore it any longer.
“Don’t talk,” she said in a voice that he felt more than heard. “Just...don’t.”
So he didn’t. Instead, he held her as tightly as he could, letting his body take some of the weight off her shoulders. Her breasts were barely contained by the fabric and they pressed against his chest with each breath she took. And him? His blood was pounding in his veins and that physical ache had focused where she was touching him, making him hard.
But he was oddly happy anyway. There was an intimacy to this that he didn’t want to take for granted. He couldn’t remember the last time he had held a woman like this.
The kettle clicked, jarring them out of the moment. Reluctantly—at least, Daniel hoped it was reluctantly—Christine pulled away from him. But she stayed within the space between his legs and his hands settled on her hips. He’d slid down against the counter so far that he could almost look her in the eye. Her face was nearly lost in the shadows, but she was staring at him. He could feel it.
“My bedroom’s on the far side of the condo,” he said in a quiet voice. “If you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to come get me.”
He meant it sincerely. But it was only after her eyes widened slightly that he realized there was an additional meaning to his words. Damn it.
But then she said, “I won’t.”
He wanted to kiss her—he wanted so much from her. But he didn’t want to put her in a position where she felt trapped.
Yet he couldn’t not touch her. So instead, he cupped her face and kissed her forehead. Heat flooded his body, a raw physical reaction that wasn’t something he’d planned for.
He made himself break the contact. He’d had wine and she’d had a terrible day and the fastest way to make sure she didn’t trust him would be to seduce her.
So he was shocked when, after he pulled away, she leaned up on her toes and pressed her lips against his.
If he’d ached before, the lust that roared through his body now was just shy of sheer pain. Desire hit him low and hard. There was a hunger to her mouth that set his blood humming and made him dizzy. The kiss was far sweeter than the one he had taken earlier because Christine gave it to him. She’d come to his arms. She’d kissed him.
He didn’t want to be noble. He wanted to take and give—especially give. He wanted to peel Christine out of this nightgown and lay her out on his bed and kiss every single inc
h of her luscious body. He slid his hands down her waist, cupping her bottom and pulling her against his erection.
Which was a mistake. Too much, too fast. She rocked back on her heels, her chest heaving. He caught her around the waist. “We...we can’t.”
He didn’t let go of her. He wasn’t sure he could even if he wanted to. Instead, he dug his fingertips into her skin. “We can’t?”
“I...” she took a deep breath—but she hadn’t stepped clear of him yet. “I can’t make another mistake,” she told him in a whisper, her voice shaking. “I can’t be hurt again.”
It damn near broke his heart to hear that, to know he was the reason for that pain. “I won’t hurt you. Not ever again.”
“How can I believe you?” Her voice was stronger, suddenly—an edge to it.
“Let me show you, babe.” He pulled her into another kiss, rougher this time. She melted into him, a small sound of need coming from high in her throat. “Let me take care of you.”
He could do that for her. Put her first. Let her call the shots while he took care of everything else.
“Daniel,” she whispered against his mouth as her arms went around his neck.
Yes. Her body was flush against his, the delicious weight of her breasts pressing against his chest. He ran his hands up and down her back, squeezing her bottom again, harder this time. “Tell me what you want, babe,” he asked as he brushed kisses over her cheeks, her forehead, her lips.
Because what he wanted was to pick her up and carry her back to his bed. Or the couch. Hell, he’d settle for laying her out on the damned dining room table—anywhere was fine, as long as he could make her cry out with pleasure. But he wouldn’t do anything without her permission. He wanted her to trust that, deep down, he wanted her. This wasn’t because she was convenient and available.
Nothing about her was convenient, was it?
She gripped his head between her hands. In the dim light, she looked like an avenging angel, come down to earth to mete out the punishment for his sins. “I don’t want to regret this.” Oh, yeah—she was definitely angry now.
He deserved that anger. He honestly didn’t even know how she could want him. But she did because even as she said it, she hitched one of her legs up as high as the nightgown would allow and wrapped it around his leg. He could feel the tantalizing heat of her, so close to his throbbing erection. “I don’t want to regret you, Daniel.” It was an order.
One he’d follow if it killed him. “God help me, you won’t.” He lifted her against him, his hips already moving against her. She gasped as he thrust against her, so close but yet so far away. “I promise, Christine—you won’t.” He pushed himself away from the counter, lifting her as he stood. “Yes?”
She hesitated, but only for a second. “Yes.”
He wanted to shout with an excitement he hadn’t felt in a long time. Holding her up, her legs around his hips and her mouth against his, he kissed her with a passion so intense he barely recognized it.
She pulled away. “I shouldn’t like you, damn it. Start walking.”
Had he ever heard her curse before? “But you do, anyway.”
“You ruined everything,” she whispered, and then her lips fastened on to his neck, moving down until she was below the collar of his shirt. “Everything,” she repeated. Then she bit him.
A spike of pain and pleasure jerked his dick to attention. He groaned as she sucked at his neck, punishing him and rewarding him all at the same time.
“Are you going to make me pay for it?” He couldn’t walk with this hard-on, couldn’t carry her while she was taking all of her frustrations out on him. He collapsed onto the couch.
She straddled him and he hiked her nightgown up to her hips. “Yes,” she hissed before crushing her mouth down onto his. He tried to pull the nightgown up even farther—off would be great—but she grabbed his hands and pinned them against the back of the couch.
She was fierce, his Christine, holding him down and taking what she wanted. He could have pulled free, rolled her onto her back and taken her—but this wasn’t about him. This was about her—her life, her taking control.
So he let her exact her revenge one bruising kiss at a time. He’d never had angry sex before. His affairs had always been detached, almost, focused on the physical with as little emotion as possible.
But this? Christine grinding down on his erection, holding him by the wrists and nipping at his lower lip while her breasts rubbed against his chest?
This was all about the emotion.
“I don’t like you,” she whispered fiercely as she pushed herself up and let go of his wrists. “I don’t.”
He heard the lie in her voice and felt it in her hands as she jerked the fly of his pants open. He wouldn’t have thought he could get any harder—but this thing between them—it wasn’t like anything he’d ever felt before.
The fact that she made him feel at all—it was something. Did she even realize that? “I want you so bad,” he groaned again as her fingertips stroked over him through his boxer briefs.
“Stop talking.” She yanked his pants down a little and shoved his briefs aside. “Just stop talking, Daniel. I had to change who I was because of you—” she stroked him once, “and move to a new place.” She rose over him again and positioned him at her entrance. “I had to leave behind my friends and my job and—” She bore down on him and he slid up into her in one hard thrust. “Oh, God,” she moaned.
“Christine,” he got out through gritted teeth. She was hot and wet and tight around him, gripping him with such urgency that he almost came right then and there.
He cupped her breasts in his hands, trying to figure out how to get to her skin. Her body and the way she was surrounding him was all he could see and feel and think. But it wasn’t enough. He needed more. God, he’d never needed more in his life.
“No.” For a split second, he thought she’d changed her mind and a part of him nearly died. But instead of throwing herself off him, she grabbed his hands and held them against the back of the couch. “I’m doing this, Daniel.” With that, she began to rise and fall.
“You’re in charge,” he managed to say before his mind quit trying to think. “That’s it. Ride me. Ride me hard.”
“Shut up.” Her mouth crushed down onto his again with such savage fury that he knew he was going to be bruised and he didn’t care.
He took it all—all of her rage, her lust, her burdens. He took everything she had to give him. He thrust up into her and, when her head fell back with a low moan, he leaned forward and dragged his teeth over the layers of flannel, biting and sucking until he had one of her nipples hard and pointed. He nipped at her again until she released one wrist and, threading her fingers through his hair, shoved his head back. “You do that again and I’ll stop.”
That noise—needy, almost a whimper—that wasn’t him, was it? It was. She’d reduced him to this—and God help him, he liked it.
He did what he could—thrusting up into her with a steady rhythm, rolling with her when she shifted from side to side. He let her chase her orgasm at her own speed. It was hers to take.
Still, his control started to fray as she rode him. She felt so good that, although he needed to come, he didn’t want to. He didn’t want this to end.
“Daniel,” she moaned, falling and rising faster and faster. “Oh—Daniel.”
“Yeah,” he said, encouraging her. “You feel so good.”
“Shh,” she hissed before grinding down on him.
Daniel felt her body tighten, heard the noises of desire from high in the back of her throat. “Take it, Christine,” he said as her grip on his hands tightened.
And then he couldn’t hold back. As her body held his in the throes of her climax, his control slipped and he came with her.
She collapsed onto his shoulder, panting heavily. Her arms went around his neck and his went around her waist and they were right back to where they’d started in the kitchen—except it was more intimate now
because he was still inside of her.
His head began to clear from the fog of lust—and that wasn’t necessarily a good thing.
He’d just had sex with Christine.
On the couch. Without a condom.
In his condo.
Where he’d never even brought a woman home before.
And then it only got worse because Christine pushed off him and then completely off the couch. She stood while the hem of her nightgown floated back down to her feet and then, before Daniel could do anything, say anything, she whispered, “Good night,” and moved away from him.
He hadn’t even been able to come up with a reasonable compliment, for God’s sake.
She had taken everything he had.
Turnabout was fair play, it seemed.
Eleven
After tossing and turning most of the night—plus getting up with Marie at two—Christine wasn’t feeling as fresh as a daisy when she dragged herself out of bed.
Last night, she had kissed Daniel. And slept with him.
Well, there hadn’t been a lot of actual sleeping. That was a dodge on the truth and the truth was...
She’d had sex with Daniel. Raw, hard, desperate, angry sex. Because she’d been furious with him for putting her in the spotlight two years ago, angry that she was back in the spotlight. But under that anger, the sparks of attraction were too hot to ignore.
Lord, it’d been amazing. It’d been two years since she’d had sex—but she didn’t remember it being that electric—or intense. She shivered thinking about the climax that had ripped through her.
However, once again, that physical act hadn’t brought clarity. If anything, she was more confused now than ever.
Because she’d had sex with Daniel. It was exactly the same kind of impulsive, careless act that had gotten her here. Except now, the potential for blowback was even more dangerous because of Marie.
Christine’s baby girl was still asleep in her crib and Christine needed a shower. There was no way she was going to face Daniel with yesterday’s deodorant under her armpits.
The bathroom was outfitted with all the luxuries she never got to enjoy. The shampoo was the finest. The soap was the finest. The conditioner was the finest. The lotion was the finest. The towels—good Lord, she could write poetry about the towels. They were heated.
Billionaire's Baby Promise (Mills & Boon Desire) (Billionaires and Babies, Book 79) Page 11