by Lynda Chance
But he had to go slow. There was something soft and gentle about her, something almost innocent and naive that was telling him that seduction was in order. He knew her age—knew it would be almost impossible for her to still be a virgin. But the girl shaking in his arms—this young woman who had been retreating from him since the first day they’d met—there was no way she could be very experienced.
She was like a fine wine, delicate and silky, going to his head at once and making his brain spin. He desperately wanted to touch her breasts, wanted to feel their soft weight in the palms of his hands. He wanted to taste them, lick them and suck them—until she begged him for more. And then he wanted to give her more. He wanted to give her more until the ache he felt all the way to his soul went away. It had slowly been building since the day he’d met her. He’d wanted her then—and it had only grown worse with each passing day. Seeing her, smelling her, watching her.
It didn’t escape his notice that in all his thirty-two years, he’d never wanted another woman living in his home. He’d never wanted anyone to get close to him. Since he’d been a teenager, growing up in his grandfather’s home, with his grandfather’s name and money, he’d been a mark for grasping women. He’d lost his virginity at fifteen—to a woman fifteen years his senior who had walked into his bedroom on a night his grandfather had been hosting a party. She’d been beautiful and worldly and he’d fallen under her spell that night—for a few hours.
He’d found out later that she hadn’t come alone to the party—she’d left her escort downstairs when she’d wandered off to find him. The experience had left a sour taste in his mouth—made him feel naive and stupid, but it had taught him a lesson. Sex was sex. It was a bodily function—a need that had to be quenched. The women he’d dated in college had been grasping as well—every one of them out for the money. He’d made the mistake once, in his senior year, of thinking someone wanted him—just for him. But then he’d overheard a conversation that had hardened his heart forever. It was the same old song and dance again. Rich boy—grasping woman. And since then, he’d never let anyone come even remotely close to changing his mind. He’d learned a long time ago never to let a woman get close to him.
He wasn’t proud to say that he’d walked on the dark side when it came to his sex life since then. He’d done things that, if he let himself think about them, he’d be ashamed of. But he’d learned a long time ago, not to think of sex when it was over. He always tried to find partners who were as—hungry—as he was. Nothing was off-limits to him—except for other men. He’d even been so disillusioned from the cheating he’d seen all around him that even matrimony wasn’t an institution he respected anymore. He only allowed himself to go after experienced women; women who knew the score and were happy to play the game—in fact—were usually the ones who instigated the game.
He didn’t have girlfriends; he had sexual partners, and sometimes, more than one. There had been women in the past, women like Tanya, who had wanted to label themselves as his girlfriend, even though he’d told them bluntly at the beginning what his requirements were.
He’d never thought of any of them as his. Not Tanya, not any of them. He’d never had a woman of his own. How could Tanya have thought for even half a second that if she’d belonged to him, that he would share her? Soon after they’d met, she’d taken him to a party that had managed to shock him—cold and cynical as he was. It had become obvious to him immediately that the event was an excuse to switch sexual partners. He’d known right away what his choices were. He could leave—or he could stay and go with the flow. If he stayed his heart would become even blacker. But by that time, he’d already damned himself in his own mind and he couldn’t come up with a compelling reason to leave. He cared nothing for Tanya, and after that night and all the nights like that since then, saw her and the myriad of women he’d slept with, as nothing more than sexual relief.
He’d always protected himself against pregnancy and disease as well as he could. He used a condom religiously. He had regular blood work done—had himself tested several times a year. In fact, he’d just gotten a clean bill of health in the last few weeks.
And now Natalie had entered his life and he was feeling things for her that he’d never thought possible. Had he ever wanted a woman this badly? He couldn’t remember a time in his life when he’d ever wanted anything as much. It was taking over his brain, infiltrating every waking moment of his life. Having her in his house and not being able to touch her—God.
Natalie began to tremble in earnest; his hand delved into her hair while his arm snaked around her waist and pulled her up and into his torso. He heard the air leave her lungs and her breathing stagger as she stood in the radius of his arms. He lowered his head and his lips came to the corner of her mouth. “You’re trembling.”
“No—No, I’m not.” She reached up and grabbed hold of his biceps, as if needing something solid to hold onto.
“Oh, baby, you are. Do I make you tremble?” At her silence, he moved his lips to hers and kissed her gently. “Are you ready now? I’m going to kiss you.” Just as he said it, he tugged her lower lip between his teeth and she let out a tiny, uncontrollable moan.
He ran his lips over hers, taking in her scent, the feel of her, as he slid his fingers to her chin and pulled it down, demanding access to the interior of her sweet mouth. He slipped his tongue inside, steeled his guts against his instantaneous response to her, and tried like hell to be gentle.
He would let himself kiss her now, but that’s all he’d allow himself. He absolutely couldn’t risk her running from him—the thought of her leaving—of her being scared of him, not wanting to stay here with him, just didn’t sit right with him. He wanted her to be comfortable with him, wanted her to be happy so she’d stay here and continue to live in his home—and eventually—sleep in his bed.
With that thought in mind, he ruthlessly pulled himself back from the brink. Removing his arm from around her waist as he continued to kiss her, he lifted the shirt and covered her again. He ended the kiss slowly, only allowing himself a few more seconds of heated bliss, and then moved away from her, putting her at arm’s length from him.
He watched her as she slowly opened her eyes. What he saw there almost decimated him. There was desire—but there was fear as well. Fear and confusion. He tried to care—to put himself in a place where he could think about letting her go. But he couldn’t. It was out of his power. He could do a lot of things to make things easier for her. He could go slowly with her, seduce her softly and gently. But let her go?
There was absolutely no fucking way. It couldn’t be done. It was out of his control.
****
Natalie heard the sound of the door shutting behind Marco and she stood trembling uncontrollably in front of her dresser. Oh, she was in trouble. Never before had she been kissed the way he’d kissed her. Never in her life had she ever felt anything that even remotely compared to the way he’d just made her feel. Her stomach hadn’t stopped doing somersaults yet; she imagined it would take awhile to come down again.
Confusion lacerated her insides. Nothing in her past had ever given her any reason to think she could trust a man. Her father—the pain was so intense from what he had done she couldn’t even go there in her brain. What he’d done to her mother—no, she wouldn’t think about it. And it had taken her mother a few years to let go and trust another man. And that wasn’t turning out very pretty. Even Natalie’s boyfriend in high school, the one she’d given her virginity to, had broken her heart so deeply and thoroughly, she hadn’t dated much since.
And now here was Marco. A man she knew to be eight years her senior, the CEO of a bank, and the most intensely ruthless man she’d ever encountered. He wanted her—there was no getting around that fact. And she’d bet the four-hundred-and-sixty-eight dollars in her checking account that he always got what he wanted.
So how did she feel about him? Well, for one, she’d never met a sexier man in her life, and there was no doubt, he tur
ned her on. But he seemed to have a personality that was more than dominant, and quite frankly, it intimidated her. If only she had some control over the situation, she’d feel a hundred times better. And on top of all that angst, there was the matter of twenty-thousand dollars.
But, dear God, his kisses. His kisses had been—mind blowing.
Chapter Six
The next morning at nine o’clock, Natalie phoned Marco’s office and asked for Joy. After an initially stilted conversation about the day’s itinerary, Natalie had opened up and expressed her fears about the evening. She’d asked the other woman for input and reassurance and she’d gotten it. Joy had known Marco for a number of years, she knew his tastes and the type of women he dated. She knew about the charity function they would be attending that night.
She’d chatted sweetly to Natalie—had it been Natalie’s imagination that the woman’s voice had pepped up when informed that Marco had broken up with Tanya—and said Natalie would be fine.
When the car had pulled up at ten, the morning’s itinerary was all mapped out. The shopping and the salon—all were prearranged and Natalie only had to go along for the ride and choose what she wanted.
The dress she’d found was perfect. It was more expensive than what she’d ever buy in her life, but the price tag hadn’t been on it and she hadn’t known the cost until later. She’d hoped for the perfect little black dress, but that’s not what she’d ended up with. No, this dress was a white sheath, simple in design, but when Natalie had slipped it over her head, the garment had come to life. It was short; a few inches above her knees, and coupled with silver diamante heels, made her appear taller than she was. The back was low, not ridiculously low, but it couldn’t be worn with a bra. The front of the dress was lined for just that reason.
Next the car had pulled in front of a salon, where Natalie had been led inside and pampered to within an inch of her life. The decision to have her hair and nails done was taken away from her; it was a given that she was there for the ‘works.’ She’d left the salon with an array of cosmetics, and a pair of costume drop-earrings that sparkled.
Standing now in her bedroom in front of the mirror, she couldn’t contain the apprehension that screamed down her spine. She wanted to look nice, but she was scared about the coming evening where she knew for a fact that she’d be out of her element, and she had a niggling worry about all the money that had been spent.
Marco had arrived from work sometime before, and Natalie knew he was in his room getting ready.
His knock on her door came too soon; she hadn’t had a chance to calm her nerves yet.
She walked to the door and opened it, and what she saw there had her completely forgetting about the state of her nerves. Marco stood in front of her, dressed in a designer black suit, and although she’d seen him in a suit many times, this one packed an added punch.
Her hand trembled on the doorframe as he stood still in the threshold, studying her, but completely silent as he did it.
Her brow wrinkled and she felt a pinch at the back of her throat. “Hi,” she managed.
“Hi, yourself. You look—different,” he said.
Natalie’s stomach dropped to her feet. She so wanted to look nice tonight but his statement didn’t sound good at all. Her eyes dropped from his and her hands twisted together.
He lifted her chin with one finger and her eyes met his. “I’m sorry. I screwed that up. Let me try again. You look beautiful.” His words were exactly what Natalie wanted to hear, but his manner suggested he wasn’t telling her the truth. His lips were pressed flat, his brows were pulled down in a frown, and there was a visible tic in his cheek.
She remained silent as he examined her, and she concentrated on taking one breath after the other. His hand left her chin and slid to an earring where he touched it—picked it up and looked at it—then let it drop, his hand sliding to the curve between her neck and shoulder. Natalie sucked in a breath and watched him from under her lashes as his eyes lifted to her hair where the stylist had managed an elaborate partial up-do, leaving the length to fall back down to her neck.
Finally, he spoke again, his thumb making swipes across the pulse in her neck. “What’d you do to your hair?”
“It’s an up-do.” Her brain was fragmented; she couldn’t concentrate on the conversation they were having, not while his touch was on her and his awesome scent was filling her nostrils.
“I’m talking about the color. It wasn’t that way when you left this morning, was it?” His voice was brusque, in direct opposition to the way his hand caressed her.
“Oh—no. Chris added highlights.” She swallowed hard, trying to stay steady on her heels while she attempted to guess at his meaning. “You don’t like them?”
He didn’t answer her question; he ignored it completely as he continued with his own line of questioning. “Chris. As in Christine?”
She forced her brain off his intimate touch, his hand now splaying across her throat, and remembered the stylist who had worked on her hair. “No, probably Christopher.”
“Christopher? A man styled your hair?” His tone was sharp as his hand fell to her shoulder and gripped tightly, drawing her a few inches toward his torso.
Her heart beat loudly in her ears as she managed to answer him. “Yes.”
A dark frown settled over his features but then his eyes lifted to her hair again and he sucked in a breath. “He’s probably gay.”
Natalie couldn’t keep up with the myriad of emotions showing on his features—not when her own were in shambles. “I don’t know—I didn’t think much about it.”
“How could you not think about it? His hands were in your hair.”
“I don’t know—I was too involved with the cut and color—I didn’t think about whether the masseuse was gay or straight either.”
Dead silence came between them and his cheekbones became tinged with red. He breathed in deeply. “A man gave you a massage?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t arrange it, Marco—or even ask for one. Joy did.”
“And you let him?”
“I—It was the first one I’ve ever had.” Mortification spread through her. “Was a female supposed to do it?”
His nostrils flared and he gripped her wrist, preparing to leave the room. “In the future—yes.”
****
Marco escorted Natalie out to the lobby where he had a car and driver waiting on them. His usually analytical thought process had been shot to hell since he’d seen Natalie in the dress. She looked—amazing. Amazing and different. He wasn’t sure if he liked it yet. There was no question that she was stunning. Stunning in a way that made him want to touch her, give her the best orgasm she’d ever had in her life, and then lock her in the penthouse.
The dress was beautiful—but it wasn’t something any of his other dates would have chosen. It was white, for one thing. The virginal color looked good on her, it enhanced her skin tone and defined the soft curves of her body. And yet, it also intensified his awareness of her unsophisticated innocence. It made him feel as if he were about to seduce an innocent, to take advantage of her inexperience, and it didn’t sit well with him.
The earrings had to go. They looked as if they came from a gumball machine and they weren’t going to cut it at the function they were about to attend. Again, they reminded him that she was very probably inappropriate for what he had planned for her.
But that wouldn’t stop him.
The highlights in her hair were another matter. They added an element of shine and depth to her hair, making it vivid and bold—silky. He wanted to run his fingers through it, clench it in his fists as he imagined that first moment he sank inside her.
But again, although they added a new and undeniably gorgeous dimension to her features, he wouldn’t have chosen to allow her to do it had he known the outcome.
She was too beautiful now, too alluring, too—noticeable. And he didn’t want anyone—any other men—no
ticing her.
She had been softly pretty before—even seriously beautiful. But now—she was—dangerously appealing.
He’d have to be on his goddamn guard all fucking night long.
****
Natalie sat in the back of the car beside Marco and tried to calm her nerves so that her inner-self matched her outside poise.
She was a quivering mass of tension and when he told the driver to stop outside a large jewelry store, her heart rate only accelerated more.
“Stay here. I’ll be back in a minute.”
Natalie concentrated on her breathing and on a small crease in her dress she hadn’t noticed before as she waited. He wasn’t gone for longer than seven or eight minutes.
He sat back down beside her and closed the door, once again locking her into the intimate space of the back seat that the drawn partition created in the limousine.
The car pulled away from the curb and Marco handed her a small box. “Put these on.”
Natalie lifted the lid and gasped out loud. Diamond studs lay on a bed of velvet, sparkling and huge. “I don’t think—”
“You don’t need to think, Natalie. Do what I said—put them on.”
She continued to hold the box in her hands, looking down at the diamonds. She sucked in a breath as she felt his hands on her lobes, removing the earrings she wore. His fingers were cool against her hot skin, and a stream of need flowed from the point of contact down her body to flare into heat between her thighs.
Pocketing the costume jewelry, he lifted the first earring from the box and put it in her shaking palm. “Go ahead.”
“Are they real?” She deliberately closed out her sexual awareness of him and tried to focus on the jewelry he wanted her to wear.