‘I don’t mind taking a few risks.’ She looked him straight in the eye, as if she was trying to tell him something, though he wasn’t sure what. ‘But pasta sounds great. Do you need me to do anything, or can I take a nosey around your house instead?’
‘There’s nothing much to nosey, but help yourself.’
He had a full five minutes to fry the bacon and chop up the beans, tomatoes and garlic before she was back.
‘You’re very neat and tidy,’ she told him as she walked back into the kitchen, her voice slightly breathless, as if she’d dashed through his house in a rush. ‘Though thinking of your desk, and your obsession with coasters, I don’t know why I’m surprised.’
‘It’s not an obsession,’ he felt compelled to point out. ‘Merely a healthy regard for my furniture.’
‘If you say so.’ She twirled around, eyes scanning over the open plan sitting room behind them. ‘I do like your house, despite the tidiness.’
‘Despite?’
‘Of course, because being too tidy can make a place seem soulless. More of a show home than a real home.’ She jumped up onto one of the bar stools, grimacing as she nearly toppled over. ‘Oops, I’ve never been any good with tall stools, my legs are too short.’ He wanted to point out that actually her legs were exactly right, but she was still talking. ‘Anyway, where was I? I was saying you just about get away with being too tidy because your walls are messy.’ When he raised an eyebrow she sighed. ‘Okay, not messy exactly, but stuffed full of art. I don’t understand most of it, though I love the colours.’
‘And the messiness.’
‘Yes.’ She smiled and his heart lurched.
Sadly she wouldn’t be smiling when he’d finished talking to her. Reaching into the fridge he pulled out a bottle of wine. ‘Would you like a glass? It might help the pasta slip down.’ And the conversation afterwards, he thought grimly.
They ate in the kitchen at the breakfast bar, keeping to small talk: how the girls were doing at school, how lucky they’d been with the summer weather so far. All the while he stewed over what he was about to tell her.
After he’d cleared away the plates he offered his hand to help her down from the stool. ‘Let’s go and sit somewhere more comfortable.’
This time she put her hand in his, and as she slid off the stool she tumbled straight into him. His arms shot out to steady her and she wrapped hers round his shoulders. Then looked straight into his eyes. ‘I think I’m a bit tipsy.’ She frowned, wrinkling her nose. ‘Remind me again why I’m cross with you.’
His arms refused to let her go. How could they when the feel of her curves darted arrows of pleasure straight to his groin? ‘I lost you your job,’ he said roughly.
‘Oh, yes.’ Her lips were so, so close to his.
He groaned, the noise coming from deep inside him, a mixture of absolute pleasure and absolute fear. The pleasure was easy to figure. The fear came from his dread of hurting her.
Still, he couldn’t stop.
He bent his head and sank onto her waiting lips. Her sweetness hit him first, lip gloss perhaps, and a plush softness he remembered from before. But then she opened up for him and the sweetness was drowned out by a scorching heat that had him helpless to do anything but deepen the kiss, thrusting his tongue into her welcoming mouth. With one hand on the back of her neck, he slid the other over the round curves of her bottom.
And let out another groan.
‘Abby.’ God, his mind was melting with her heat. He could only whisper her name when what he should be shouting was stop, we can’t do this. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
‘If you push me away again, I’ll kill you.’ A fierce determination lit up her eyes even as her fingers danced across his face. ‘And after that I’ll never speak to you again.’
He let out a strangled laugh. ‘I don’t want to push you away. I want to pull you closer and wrap your body against mine, with no clothes between us.’ He used both hands to squeeze her hips, thrusting against her so she knew exactly what he wanted.
This time the moan came from Abby. ‘God, yes.’
He knew what he was about to do – making love to her first, telling her the truth about him later – was entirely wrong, but Doug was unable to stop.
The mind he’d spent so many years controlling was no longer functioning. His body had taken over and it knew exactly what it wanted.
Chapter Twenty-Three
How had her clothes dissolved like that? One minute Abby had been kissing the life out of Doug with her dress most definitely on. The next she was still kissing him – or he was kissing her – with her clothes off. She’d intended to stay mad at him, she really had. That was until she’d fallen into his arms and all sanity had vanished. It didn’t seem to matter that she was coming across as a giddy virgin, happy to let the big alpha male walk all over her. Sod her job, sod her self-respect. She wanted this.
He gathered her in his arms, this tall, strong, quiet man walking her towards the sofa as if she was weightless.
‘It should be a bed,’ he announced gruffly as he carefully lowered her to her feet. ‘But there’s no way I can—’
‘Carry me up the stairs,’ she finished for him, clinging to his shoulders as her breath came out in short pants even though he’d been the one carrying her. ‘Of course you can’t. I’m an ample, if I breathe in, size ten. Okay, maybe I’m an eleven but they don’t really do that size so I guess that makes me a twelve.’
He continued to stare at her, eyes alight with pure, unbridled lust, as he slowly and methodically unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off.
‘Oh my God,’ she said breathlessly, her fingers desperate to trace the planes of his sculptured chest. ‘Can I touch?’ Immediately she realised how gauche she sounded and dropped her hand to her side.
‘Please. I wish you would.’ His hand clasped hers, bringing it to rest against his rock hard pectoral muscles. ‘And before you interrupted me I was going to say there’s no way I can wait to take you upstairs. I need to be inside you. Now.’
The saliva disappeared from her mouth. She could feel the steady thump of his heart beneath her hand; knew hers was pounding twice as fast. Faster still as she watched him open his belt, yank down his zip and pull off his trousers and boxers in one fluid, sexy, eighteen-rated movement.
When his hands were free he ran them restlessly up and down her arms, laughing softly. ‘Hell, I can’t believe I’m saying this now, when I’m seconds from exploding, but are you sure about this?’
In answer she reached up and threw her arms around his neck.
With a strangled groan he held onto her, pushing her back against the sofa. He didn’t join her straight away – spending a few frustrating seconds fishing a condom out of his wallet and covering himself – before finally, finally, his long, hard body moved over hers. And oh God, the feel of him. She ran her hands over and over the smooth skin of his back, feeling the movement of his muscles as he shifted to settle between her legs.
His left elbow bent as he rested above her, leaving his right hand free to stroke her breasts with almost reverent movements. Then, with no warning, no let’s start this gentle, he tilted his hips and thrust into her in one powerful, mind shattering movement.
His eyes remained locked on hers as her body adjusted to the incredible feel of him deep inside her. Sex before this had always happened in a dark bedroom but now she couldn’t take her eyes off his. Didn’t want to because then she’d miss seeing all that white-hot passion, the swirls of pleasure as he thrust deeply.
‘I can’t do gentle,’ he warned, his expression tight as his hips continued their pounding rhythm.
She wanted to tell him she didn’t need gentle. What she needed was for him to lose himself in her. To carry on doing exactly what he was doing now, only faster, but for once her mouth wasn’t working. Perhaps because her mind had turned to mush and the only thing she could concentrate on was the growing pleasure between her legs.
It seemed he didn’t nee
d her words because intuitively he picked up the pace and soon they were both racing to an explosive climax.
Doug’s body felt utterly boneless, as if his climax had sucked everything out of him. Sadly he couldn’t continue to lie on the deliciously soft pillow that was Abby. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said as he hauled his wrecked body upright.
She gasped, a hand flying to her face. ‘Oh my God, don’t tell me you’re going to apologise? Sorry for losing control for once in my life and having stupendous sex with you, Abby?’
He moved them both, lifting and twisting her body so she was sitting on his lap, her buttocks nestled over his naked crotch. ‘I’m not sorry I had stupendous sex with you. I am sorry I squashed you.’
She wriggled, causing the part of his anatomy he’d thought must be totally wiped out to stir again. ‘FYI, I enjoyed being squashed by you.’
He had to admit her beguiling dark eyes had the dazed glow of a happily content woman. ‘Still, I should have taken more time, been more gentle.’ He kissed the tip of her nose. ‘At least made it to the bed for our first time.’
Her eyes smiled at him. ‘That would seem to imply this will happen more than once.’
He glanced down at her naked body, the luscious breasts pressed against his chest. ‘It will happen again right now if you don’t keep still.’ Very deliberately she moved up and down on him and he let out a half-laugh, half-groan. ‘Abby, no. Much as I’d love a repeat, we need to talk.’
Her eyes dimmed a little and she eased off his lap. ‘That’s supposed to be my line.’
Reluctantly he walked over to the kitchen, picking up the clothes he’d unceremoniously dumped in the rush of desire. ‘Here.’ He handed her some wispy underwear – how had he not remembered her wearing that? – and her dress. ‘For what I’m about to say, I need you dressed.’
He left her changing while he hunted down his own clothes. When he was dressed he turned to find her sitting primly on the edge of the sofa. It was so at odds with her flushed face and messy just-had-sex hair that he had trouble keeping a straight face.
‘What’s so funny?’
He shook his head. ‘Nothing. It’s just you look so … sweet sitting neatly on the sofa.’
‘I have to sit neatly in this dress. If I don’t it rides right up, though really it doesn’t matter now as you’ve already seen everything I have to offer.’
‘Seen, but not sampled nearly enough.’
Her eyes went all soft and dewy eyed. ‘Please don’t be sweet to me. I’ve just remembered I should be mad at you and I can’t do that if you’re sweet.’
Slowly he lowered himself into the armchair, leaning forward and resting his forearms on his knees. ‘I’m very afraid, when you hear what I’ve got to say, you’ll find it all too easy to stay mad at me.’
She huffed. ‘Then flipping just tell me and get it over and done with.’
‘I’m not Charles Faulkner’s real son,’ he blurted.
‘Oh.’
For once he couldn’t read her expression. Was she shocked? Disappointed? ‘Please say more than oh.’
Her eyes slid over his face. ‘I guess I’m not all that surprised. For starters you don’t even look alike. He’s short and dumpy and pretty ugh looking. You’re tall, athletic and pretty wow looking.’
He felt a flush creep up his neck. ‘Thank you.’
‘Plus he’s not a very nice man whereas you’re very nice. When you’re not getting me fired.’
He drew in a breath and let it out slowly, watching as she tried and failed to tuck her legs up under her because her dress was too tight. In the end she yanked the hem up so it barely skirted her thighs. Reluctantly he dragged his eyes away. ‘You being fired had nothing to do with you, or what you were doing for that matter, and everything to do with me.’
Her eyes remained on his. ‘That’s hardly an explanation.’
‘No.’ He’d never found words easy to come by. Even harder when what he had to say was so shaming. ‘Apparently Charles long suspected I wasn’t his son. I wanted to paint, not indulge in what he considered manly pursuits like rugby and hunting. But mainly it was my eyes. He comes from a long line of brown eyes, so does my mother. When I was thirteen, following the birth of a second brown eyed daughter, he had a DNA test done. I remember the expression when he told me; the vindication along with the disgust. He’s never liked me and now he had a reason not to.’
‘So that’s what I saw in the boardroom when he was telling everyone you were his puppet. Him not liking you.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘If you’re going to talk to me, Doug, you need to tell me the truth. He hates you, doesn’t he? He blames you for what happened, even though it was your mum who deceived him, not you.’
Doug sat back and ran a hand over his face. Shit, she was right. It was time he manned up for once. ‘Yes. Charles Faulkner, the man I call my father, hates my guts.’ It was the first time he’d said the words out loud to anyone, even Luke, and he wasn’t sure if he felt better or worse for admitting them. His father hated him. Had always hated him. ‘He fired you to get at me, to punish me.’
Abby drew in a sharp breath and scrambled to her feet, coming to sit on the arm of his chair. Gently she ran her fingers across his arm. ‘I’m so sorry.’
He stared up at her in surprise. ‘What for? It’s you who got fired.’
‘Yes, but it’s you who had the crappy childhood.’ Her hand clasped his and the tenderness of the gesture did funny things to his heart. ‘I’m guessing that with a father who hated you and a mum who doesn’t strike me as being the least bit maternal, it can’t have been much fun growing up in Faulkner Towers.’
He found himself smiling at her irreverent name for the Faulkner family home. ‘Your guess would be right.’
‘Have you talked to your mum about your real dad?’
He laughed, because it was such an Abby thing to say. ‘We’re not like your family. We don’t do talking. The heated arguments I’ve overheard suggest my mother had a brief affair.’ He sighed, leaning in to her. ‘I can’t condone that, but Charles is a bully. I can’t imagine being his wife is easy.’
Doug was acutely aware of the warmth of Abby’s body next to him. The cushion of her breast against his shoulder. One quick movement and he’d have her on his lap, and oh God, he ached to do that. There was nothing sexual in his need, not this time. Just an urge to hold onto something special. An antidote to all this dark. Yet despite the sex they’d just had, he didn’t feel he had the right to ask it of her.
‘That’s why Gwen is so special to you.’
‘Yes.’ He took comfort from pressing more heavily against her. ‘Thanks to her, and painting, I didn’t turn into a total basket case. I’m just insecure, introverted, cynical and closed off.’
Her arm reached around his shoulders, giving them a light squeeze, and he felt a shudder of longing ripple right through him. ‘You weren’t closed off half an hour ago.’
‘Sex isn’t an emotion, Abby.’
‘It is when it happens between the right people.’
The slight catch in her voice, together with the liquid brown of her eyes, at last gave him the confidence to draw her onto his lap.
‘Are we the right people?’ he asked, his voice tight with an emotion he couldn’t place.
‘I don’t know,’ she whispered, her hands on his face, her mouth only inches from his. ‘But if we don’t try, we’ll never find out.’
Abby felt her heart go into free fall as Doug lowered his head and kissed her. It was gentler this time, as if he was trying to make good on his promise earlier. Softly his lips captured hers, his tongue playing lightly around her mouth, drawing away before it became too heavy.
‘Before you decide whether trying is something you want to do, there’s more you need to know.’ His arms tightened around her, hugging her against the solid wall of his chest. ‘My father – and I say that through habit – couldn’t abide the thought of people knowing he’d been cuckolded so he continued to call me his s
on. When his longed for true male heir didn’t arrive he gave me an ultimatum on my eighteenth birthday. Continue to play my role in his archaic fantasy, which included joining the family business after university, or he’d expose me as a bastard, throw my mother and sisters out and disinherit them.’
Horrified, she wriggled away a little so she could see his face. ‘He’s been blackmailing you to work at Crumbs?’
‘Yes.’ His lids lowered over his eyes, as if he was ashamed of what he’d just admitted. ‘I’ve been on the verge of telling him to go ahead, do his worst, so many times but at the last minute I stop myself.’ Suddenly his eyes blinked open, his expression fierce as he looked directly at her. ‘I don’t give a toss about the world and its dog knowing I’m not his son – it will embarrass him far more than me. It’s the shame it will bring to my mother that makes me pause.’ He sighed then, his expression turning sad, hopeless. ‘And even if I was willing to do that, how can I risk her financial future, and that of my sisters?’
Abby swore under her breath. It was all becoming so much clearer now. ‘So that’s why you don’t stand up to him at work. You’re stuck in an impossible situation.’
‘If by that you mean I’ve allowed him to tie me up in knots and treat me exactly like the puppet he says I am, then yes.’
He was so tense beneath her. She could feel the muscles in his legs and arms become more and more rigid the longer he spoke. ‘You’ve done what he’s asked so you can protect your family,’ she told him softly. ‘It’s the action of an honourable man, not a weak one.’ He didn’t reply, merely squeezed her tighter. ‘Have you told your mum about this?’
She felt his chest expand and contract as he sighed. ‘No. I told you before, we don’t have that type of relationship. It’s an understatement to say my family is very different to yours.’
‘I wish you could have met my mum.’ Out of nowhere Abby’s eyes began to prick.
‘Hey.’ Doug trailed his thumb over her cheek, mopping up the stray tears. ‘I didn’t mean to make you sad.’
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