by Beth Andrews
“Hold on to me,” he commanded, the same words he’d said when they’d been dancing.
She wound her arms around his neck, watched his face as he gripped her thighs and slid inside her.
AIDAN GROUND HIS TEETH, fought against the urge to pound into Yvonne. Until he’d rid himself of this incessant need for her.
But when he’d entered her, she’d rolled her eyes back as if it had been the best thing she’d ever felt.
He could relate.
He shifted, lifting her higher in his arms, going deeper inside her. She gasped and then moaned as he bent his head and kissed her. Her mouth was hot and wet under his, her tongue touching his. She smelled of her perfume and sex. He couldn’t get enough of her.
And what would that mean when it was time for her to walk away again?
He leaned back and waited until she blinked up at him, until her eyes focused on his. Her hair was damp with sweat, her eye makeup smudged, her lipstick smeared.
She’d never been more beautiful to him.
“Hold on,” he repeated, and this time she gripped his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin, and locked her ankles around his waist.
To his surprise, she leaned forward and kissed him, a soft, sweet kiss that warmed his insides.
Except, that wasn’t he wanted. He deepened the kiss, turned carnal as he moved inside her.
This time, when she went over that edge, she took him with her.
YVONNE GASPED FOR AIR, her heart pounding. Aidan’s face was pressed against her neck, his chest rising and falling heavily against her. Her body was slick with sweat. She was pleasantly sore. Completely satiated.
And Aidan was still inside her.
Oh, God. What had she done?
She wriggled and he straightened, slowly lowering her legs until her feet touched the floor. Her entire body trembled with the aftereffects of her second orgasm, with the effort it took to remain upright. She picked up her clothes and took a shaky step forward. Then another. Satisfied she wasn’t about to slide into a boneless heap at his feet, she bolted across the hall into the bathroom and firmly shut the door behind her.
Yanking up her panties, she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror and winced. She wriggled back into her jeans, then adjusted her bra and shirt, her cheeks heating at how…wanton she looked. How she’d acted.
She ran cold water over a cloth, then pressed it to her neck, her face. They’d made love in the hall, against the wall. It had been frantic and basic and rushed. Unlike anything she’d ever experienced before. It had been wonderful.
But it hadn’t been making love. Frowning at herself, she lowered the cloth. And, dear God, she’d liked it. She shouldn’t have. It wasn’t proper. He’d stripped her of more than just her clothes, he’d stripped her of her inhibitions. Of her barriers.
She squeezed the cloth until her hand hurt. She needed those barriers. So she went to work putting them back in place.
Ten minutes later, when she opened the door, her clothes were straight, her hair brushed and her makeup reapplied. She stepped out into the hall, her heart in her throat. But Aidan wasn’t there. Actually, there was no sign anything had happened between them at all. Certainly nothing that pointed out how stupid she’d been to let him make her lose control like that.
“I see you’ve put your mask back on.”
She gasped and turned toward the sound of that sardonic voice, to find Aidan standing in the kitchen by the sink. “I…I thought you’d left.”
Had hoped if she took long enough to gather her thoughts, he would leave.
“No such luck.” His shirt was wrinkled, hanging loose from his jeans. His hair stuck up at odd angles and she blushed, remembering exactly what he’d been doing when she’d had her hands in his hair. How much she’d enjoyed it.
And yet, though he was a far cry from looking put together, he was still obviously in control. She needed to take a lesson from him.
She smiled. “I’m sorry I took so long. Can I get you something? A glass of wine or—”
“Knock it off,” he growled.
Flustered, she clasped her hands together in front of her waist. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”
“Knock off the act, the whole charade you’ve got going here with the clothes and the makeup and the polite veneer.” He shook his head, disgusted. Disappointed. “Hell, maybe that’s all there is to you. Maybe there’s nothing real about you at all.”
She locked her shaking knees. “I’m very real.”
“You’re not,” he said quietly, his eyes narrowed as he studied her. “You’re all appearance.”
“I don’t think having pride in one’s appearance is a crime.”
“You’re good at that,” he murmured almost thoughtfully as he moved toward her. “Excellent at saying what you think people want to hear. At keeping people at a distance. I thought you were just cold. Above everyone and everything. But now I can’t help but wonder if you’re not hiding behind all that. Tell me, what are you afraid of?”
His words cut deep. She glanced down at herself, surprised they hadn’t drawn blood.
What was she afraid of? She was afraid of this. Of letting someone get close enough to hurt her.
“I’m not hiding. I’ve just learned that people only see what they want to see. Women see me as a snob. A conceited rich girl. A threat. Men often convince themselves I’m an ice princess—and they’re the only one who can turn me on, who can thaw me out. Or they assume I’m an angel with my fussy clothes and makeup. That I’ll be sweet and malleable, easy for them to shape into whatever they’re looking for.” She sneered. “It seems I’m some sort of fantasy.”
“I’m not sure who you’re giving less credit,” he said. “Any man who might be interested in you, or your self.”
“I’m being honest. People don’t want me because of who I am,” she said, proud of how strong her voice was, how steadily she met Aidan’s eyes. “In school, the other kids only wanted to be friends with me because of my last name. As I got older and realized it, I learned how to protect myself.”
His nostrils flared. “By playing some part? Putting on an act?”
“By giving people what they want.” Setting her hands on her hips, she flipped her hair back. “Wasn’t that why you wanted me? Why you pursued me? You wanted this—” She held out her arms. “The package. And that’s exactly what you got, but when we moved to Jewell, suddenly it wasn’t enough.”
“I was attracted to your looks, yes,” he admitted tightly, his mouth barely moving, “but that wasn’t why I asked you to marry me. I fell in love with you. Despite how standoffish and aloof you were, despite how you shut me out, I loved you.”
Just when she thought he couldn’t possibly hurt her any more than he already had, he proved her wrong. But underneath that hurt, her anger simmered.
“How magnanimous of you, marrying me despite my many flaws. Tell me, Aidan,” she demanded, stalking toward him, her hands fisted, “was that why you were constantly trying to get me to act a certain way? Why you wanted so badly to change me?”
He flinched as if she’d slapped him. “I didn’t want to change you. I tried to get you to open up to me, to be real with me.”
“That is such…such…bullshit.” His eyebrows shot upward, whether at her cursing or because she was now yelling, she wasn’t sure. All she knew was that her heart was aching. She began to pace. “You’re just like my parents, just like my ex-fiancé. You all claim to love me when I’m what you want. When I’m who you want me to be. The dutiful daughter. The beautiful, malleable fiancée. You didn’t want me to open up to you. You wanted me to be someone else. Connie. Or your mother. Someone who enjoyed schlepping around outside or spending hours in the kitchen. Who laughed at those stupid movies you watched. Who made friends easily and was interested in small town gossip.”
“Is that what you really thought? That I wanted you to be someone else?” he asked after a moment of stunned silence. He shoved an unsteady h
and through his hair. “My God, is that why you left me?”
There’s one question you’ve never asked. Why I left.
Well, he was asking it now, his brows lowered, his mouth a grim line, his gaze bewildered as if he really was clueless.
“I was never enough. I wasn’t comfortable with public displays of affection. I didn’t cook or bake. I hated my job at the hospital, couldn’t relate to my coworkers.” Her stomach cramped and she hugged her arms around herself. “I was too staid. Too uptight. Too guarded with my thoughts and emotions.”
And the more he’d pushed her, the more he’d actively tried to break down those barriers, the harder she’d fought him.
She laughed, but felt no humor. “Want to know the really funny part? I fell in love with you, and married you because I thought you loved me, that you accepted me for who I was. Kept trying to convince myself of that until you decided it was time for us to have a baby.”
His nostrils flared. “Hold on. I didn’t decide anything. I brought up the subject of us starting a family, that was all.” The corded muscles of his neck stood out. “If you weren’t ready to have children, you could’ve said something instead of leaving.”
“What difference would it have made? You wanted me to be yet someone else—a mother. But how could I take on another role when I wasn’t even sure who I was?” Her eyes burned. “I’ll never be Connie or your mother or your fantasy version of the perfect wife. I’m just me. That wasn’t good enough for you—”
Her voice broke. She swallowed and forced herself to hold his gaze.
“That wasn’t good enough for you,” she repeated. “But it’s finally good enough for me.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
YVONNE’S CELL PHONE vibrated, the low buzzing too loud in the quiet dining room. Her face heated as all eyes went to her. “Excuse me,” she said, setting down her fork so she could reach in her bag on the floor next to her.
She glanced at the screen, saw the familiar number. Manners dictated she send it directly to voice mail. After all, she was at a business function. Sort of. At least, that’s how she preferred to think of this weekly Thursday lunch with the Sheppard family.
Purely business.
But this hadn’t exactly been a normal lunch. For one thing, J.C. was there. And from Yvonne could tell, her only ties to the winery were Brady and the chocolates she sold in the gift shop. For another, there was an undercurrent of tension. All she knew was that it was uncomfortable as a cheap pair of four-inch stilettos.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, smiling in apology as she stood, “but it’s my mother. She would never call me during work hours unless it was important.” Which was such a blatant lie Yvonne was surprised the good Lord didn’t fry her on the spot. “If you all will excuse me?”
She hurried out of the room and into the kitchen. “Mother. Hello. How are you?”
“I’m well, dear, thank you,” Elaine said, the heavy tones of the South not softening her cool, cultured voice one bit. “It’s you I’m worried about.”
Whining, Lily bumped Yvonne’s leg. She made a shooing motion but the dog just bumped her again, looking up at her with sad eyes. “Worried? About me?”
“Of course. But then, I suppose that’s what parents do when they don’t hear from their children for weeks at a time.”
The worst part? She knew her mother really did worry about her and loved her—in her own way. Just as she knew Elaine wasn’t above using that worry or that love to try to control her only child.
Yvonne paced the length of the bar, Lily on her heels. “I’m so sorry I haven’t called. I’ve just been swamped with work.” Diane had laid out the makings for sandwiches on the island—three different breads, various meats and cheeses, lettuce, tomato slices and several condiments. There were also chips, pretzels and a large pan of frosted brownies. “Actually, I’m due in a meeting in a few minutes. Can I call you back tonight?”
Elaine sighed. “That won’t be necessary. I just wanted to make sure you were all right. And to go over your plans for next month.”
“Next month?”
“When you come down to Savannah,” Elaine said airily. “Now, I realize Charleston is only a few hours away, but I sincerely hope you plan to spend the night.”
In the act of sneaking a piece of sliced ham to Lily—even she couldn’t resist a sad dog—Yvonne froze, the hair on her arms standing on end. “Spend the night?”
“Don’t repeat everything I say, dear, it’s rude.”
“Yes, ma’am,” she said absently, racking her brain to figure out what in the world this was about.
“As I was saying, your father and I would love for you to stay the night—or the entire weekend. We just don’t see enough of you.”
“Mother, I’m sorry but I have no idea what you’re talking about. Why do you think I’m coming to Savannah next month?”
“Oh, Yvonne, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten,” her mother said with an irritated sigh. “You know perfectly well your father and I host our annual fundraiser for the children’s wing of the hospital the third Saturday in April. Why, it’s been a tradition in the Delisle family since your great-grandfather donated the money to create the wing.”
She cut a small square of brownie and popped it into her mouth, chewed and swallowed before saying, “I didn’t forget. It just…slipped my mind for a moment, that’s all. I…I wouldn’t miss it.”
“Wonderful. And don’t worry about finding an escort. Kenneth said he’d be thrilled to accompany you. Isn’t that sweet?”
“Yes,” she managed to say, “that’s very…kind of him.”
Picking up a butter knife from the counter, she mimed jabbing the end of it into her temple. Repeatedly.
Her parents had invited Kenneth—current vice president of business development at Delisle Enterprises—to dinner the last time she’d been home. He’d made it perfectly clear to her that his burning ambition to one day run her father’s company was surpassed only by his desire to marry her. Because by attaining his first goal, by tying himself to her, he’d be sure to reach his second goal.
She eyed the brownies. Shrugged, then cut herself another small piece. “Mother, I’m really sorry, but I do have to go.” She glanced into the dining room to see Connie saying something to Aidan, her hands flat on the table. Whatever it was darkened Aidan’s expression. “I’ll call you this weekend. Love you.”
She ended the call, then shut off her phone. Her entire life, all she’d ever wanted was for her parents to be proud of her. To love her. And they were—did—on their terms.
Connie’s voice rose, followed by Aidan’s low reply.
Yvonne wiped a speck of chocolate frosting from her thumb with a paper napkin. “I’d much rather stay out here with you,” she told Lily. The dog tipped her head to the side.
It had been five days since Yvonne’s honest—and impassioned—speech to Aidan. He hadn’t denied he’d tried to mold her into who he’d wanted her to be, he’d simply walked out.
She hadn’t cried, she thought now as she dropped more ham on the floor for Lily. She’d been too angry. Too hurt.
She’d let him inside that night, had sex with him because she’d foolishly thought he saw her, the real her. That he wanted to be with the woman she was now.
She’d thought this time would be different.
Instead, she’d had to do her best to treat Aidan politely, professionally, for the past five days. To pretend, as effectively as he did, that that night hadn’t happened.
Thankfully, she had her work to keep her busy, to keep her mind off him. The renovations on the carriage house were coming along, and if they didn’t run into any problems with the weather or any delays in shipping materials Mark would need, it should be complete by Diane and Al’s wedding at the end of next week. Using Aidan’s list of contacts, she’d come up with over a dozen preferred vendors they could work with, and the tables and chairs she’d ordered were due to arrive next week.
And the
re was more to do. She had policies and guidelines to come up with. Had to figure out deposit and rental fees, and discuss with Aidan and his brothers how much of a discount to offer on wine being served at future events. She had to research the legalities of having the caterers provide beer or other alcohol, with the proper license. Noise ordinances for music. Insurance and liability issues.
Not to mention all the work still needed for the senator and Diane’s wedding.
Yes, she certainly had enough to keep her busy. And her mind off her ex-husband.
“For now,” she murmured to the dog, “I have to get through this meal.”
As she walked back into the dining room, Connie shouted at Aidan, “Because I don’t want to do it!” She pointed at Yvonne. “Ask her. She’ll tell you how uninterested I am in event planning.”
Yvonne’s step faltered. “Excuse me?”
But neither Aidan nor Connie seemed to hear her. “This whole new venture was your idea,” he said.
Connie nodded sharply, her chin jutting. “I know that.”
“And now you don’t want to do it?”
“No, I don’t,” she said through gritted teeth. “I’d rather be out in the vineyards where I belong. Look, we both know…” She gestured around the table at their rapt audience. “We all know a big part of the reason I suggested we start hosting events in the first place was so I’d have a position at the Diamond Dust in case Matt went through with the partnership. I just…wanted some sort of guarantee that you’d all keep me around,” she admitted softly.
Yvonne’s lips parted. And here she’d thought Connie was so confident in her place with the Sheppards. Had envied the other woman’s inclusion in their family, how easily they accepted her.
“You’ve discussed the job details of event planning with Connie,” Aidan said and it took a moment for Yvonne to realize he was talking to her. “What do you think? Can she handle it?”