“Jan was fond of them too,” he said, poking about and pushing the prongs through two of them. He shook them so there’d be no more juice to wipe away, no reason to touch her again. He raised the fork. One of the soft berries slipped off the tines, tumbled onto Fiona’s collarbone, and rolled the small distance into her scooped neckline.
“Oops,” she said over his muffled curse.
She raised her face toward the fork and took the other raspberry. Christian watched as the first one rolled a little lower with the movement of her body.
Great—how do I keep my hands off her now?
“Stay still,” he growled, inspecting the front of her nightgown. A soft damned-near-transparent thing, which did little to hide her breasts. Thank God she’d rested her hands over herself so at least her nipples were hidden.
“The buttons undo,” she muttered, looking embarrassed and vulnerable. “Let me try.”
Christian shook his head. “Easier if I do it.” He slipped the first from its buttonhole. “Nearly.”
He undid the second. The raspberry rested neatly between her breasts. He hesitated, then lowered his head and nuzzled it up with his tongue and lips against her warm flesh.
“Christian!” she exclaimed.
“No mess this way,” he murmured, licking over the spot where the berry had been, eyes averted from hers. The scent of her floated all around him; the softness of her skin and the flimsy fabric of the nightdress ate at his resolve.
So far, he was doing a really good job of not touching, not kissing, and keeping well away from her! He allowed himself a brief exasperated grimace that Fiona had no chance of seeing, then drew back a little and inspected the extra bruises now exposed by the opened front of her nightdress. He whistled softly at the damage and shook his head. “God, Fee—I had no idea.”
“Ugly,” she said. “Cover me up.”
“Never ugly,” he countered. “But you took some big hits for sure. At least you’re fading from purple to olive green and yellow.”
“Lovely...”
“Still very sore though, and I can see why.”
He finally gained enough control to raise his eyes to hers and reached for the small pearl buttons again.
“The bruises aren’t too bad now,” she assured him. “It’s more the aches where I got wrenched about. My shoulders. My left knee.”
Christian nodded as he fumbled the buttons back through the holes. His pants were shrinking by the second.
Down boy, he pleaded, knowing there was damn-all hope of obedience.
He changed his position on the bed, trying to hide the evidence of his painfully aroused body, and dug into the fruit again. Their turn-about lunch continued.
“I feel like a baby bird,” Fiona said. “Being fed goodies in my nest.”
“Worms and beetles?”
She wrinkled her nose and smiled. “Stale bread and toast crusts, maybe.”
“Enjoying your lunch are you, birdie?”
“I was always a sucker for worms and stale bread.”
He laughed at that, grateful to feel the atmosphere lightening a little. Then he stabbed two more raspberries, ensuring they were securely on the fork before raising it. He watched her mouth fall open and couldn’t resist rubbing them over her bottom lip as he inserted them.
She opened a little wider for him and instantly Christian found it all too easy to imagine slanting his mouth across hers in a passionate open-mouthed kiss. All the air around him fogged thick with heat and desire again, and he hardened from clay to concrete as he pictured her sensual surrender.
“Did you do this a lot for Jan?” she asked, with impeccably bad timing.
He withdrew the fork and closed his eyes for a few seconds. Then prodded at one of the rosy grape-halves and slid it into his mouth, crushing the fruit so the juice spurted tart and cool.
“Yup. Quite often near the end.” He barely trusted himself to speak.
“Sorry. Shouldn’t have asked.”
Christian shook his head. “We have to talk about her. My wife. Your sister. Nicky’s mother. She’s part of our lives.” He shrugged and drew a resigned breath. “Do you like mango?” He poked around in the bowl to find some for her, desperate to get his mind onto something else. Anything but Jan who was gone and Fiona who was way off limits. Anything at all.
“Love it. I suppose it’s imported?”
“Probably,” he agreed, concentration still shot to pieces.
“You need to eat more than that,” Fiona said as he finally clattered the fork down into the empty bowl.
“I’ll make a sandwich. One for you?”
She shook her head slowly, grimacing at the pain it caused. “Just my pills and the water, thanks. I’m going to stagger to the bathroom in a minute and then see if I can get some sleep.”
So now I have to leave her.
He stayed watching her for a few moments, then uncoiled from the bed, and lifted the tray away. Once again he was acutely aware of the darker shadow at her groin through the fine cotton.
He turned to set the tray aside and find the pills. Fiona moved a hand down to cover her lap.
“I’ll get rid of this old nightgown soon,” she added. “I usually sleep in long T-shirts. Not so pretty, but not so see-through, either.”
Is she winding me up on purpose? She’s doing a fine job of it, whether it’s intentional or not.
Suddenly he pictured her breasts snugly outlined by stretch-knit fabric, her nipples peaking against the softness. Which for some reason seemed even sexier than being able to half-see them through the folds of gauzy cotton she currently wore.
Wordlessly he poured a tumbler of water and passed it to her, then loosened the top of the pill bottle and shook several of the painkillers into his palm. Fiona grunted as she reached toward his hand and picked out two.
Christian’s pulse quickened as her pretty nails scraped over his skin. Again his imagination conjured up her fingers clutching his shoulders as she writhed in pleasure beneath him.
Fiona and Jan. Jan and Fiona. My lovely sunflower and my exotic orchid. And dammit, I can’t have either of you.
To escape his bitter reflections he turned away and walked across to the big windows to adjust the blinds against the sun.
“I’ll give you ten minutes to get to the bathroom,” he said in a voice that felt rough and raw. “I’ll make sure you’re comfortably back in bed before I go and collect Nicky. Do you need a hand?”
Fiona shook her head. “I’ll just take these,” she said, slowly pushing the pills into her mouth, raising the glass, and gulping at the icy water. She swallowed and handed the tumbler back.
Christian watched the small movement of her throat, and a sudden fierce yearning to bite her just there struck him. To nuzzle at her soft skin and trail a line of slow kisses down to the warm valley between her breasts which might—just possibly—still hold a hint of raspberry fragrance.
“Amy Houndsworth will be here soon if you need anything,” he said hoarsely, reaching to retrieve her robe from the foot of the bed. He held it up as a modesty shield as she levered herself up with several small gasps and moans. He clenched his teeth against her pain, eyes fixed out over the harbor, determined to avoid looking at her.
At her body, which would no doubt be silhouetted against the glittering mid-day view. And at her various bruises and dressings, which tore at his conscience. Why wasn’t it him who’d been injured?
My house...my cars...my responsibility.
Instead it was lovely fragile Fiona who’d been so dangerously damaged.
She smiled her thanks and twisted to slip her hands into the sleeves. He heard the slight catch of pain in her breath.
“Damn,” she muttered.
Christian lowered the silky garment, slid the sleeves over her wrists, and then smoothed it upward in a light caress. He stood for a moment with his hands on her shoulders, feeling the burning imprint of every finger.
“Belt?” he asked, right beside her ear.
From this position, he could so easily lower his lips onto the back of her neck...could nip her, tease her, kiss her. She was totally at his mercy, and some age-old instinct goaded him to touch her...subdue her...take her. His big frame jangled with warring emotions. The civilized man and the caveman were only millimeters apart. And no woman had ever tipped the balance as precariously as she had.
“Thanks. Don’t worry.” She eyed the crutches with no pleasure. “I’ll be back in bed in a few minutes.”
Remember Jan, remember Jan, he repeated to himself as Fiona limped toward the bathroom door.
And remember how Jan died. Remember this is her sister, who might be in the same danger. If you ever won her, could you bear to lose her to breast cancer too?
Chapter Eight
Fiona jerked awake in the big bed as a faint whirring noise reached her ears. She’d been lying drowsing in the dim golden room. Someone had pulled the blinds further closed as she slept. And the pills had helped her to sleep wonderfully, despite the heat, the hurt and the waves of searing sensuality that had earlier engulfed her.
So what was the noise? She cocked an ear toward the doorway just as Christian appeared, wheeling a high-backed black leather office chair.
“Goldilocks is awake?”
“Who’s been sleeping in your bed, you mean? Sleeping well. I feel a lot better.” She yawned and tried to stretch, and was foiled by her injuries. “Ouch!” she gasped. “Better in some places, anyway.”
“I was doing some work in the study this afternoon. And I realized although we don’t have a wheel-chair, we do have a wheeled chair. I could take you through to the living room on this until you’re more comfortable on those crutches? Do you want to get up for dinner?”
She struggled onto her elbows and the traitorous sheet slid below her breasts. Lying down flat with him looming over her was unnerving—she felt far too vulnerable. Knowing he could see through the thin old nightgown had just made the sensation so much worse. Perhaps she should have insisted her parents took her back to Auckland, after all?
“Dinner? I’m allowed up for that, am I?”
“If you feel well enough.”
He wrenched his gaze out over the harbor. The last thing she needed was him staring at her breasts like a schoolboy.
Again he held up the silk robe until she was out of bed, then lowered it so she could slip her hands down the sleeves. The beautiful dip of her waist and the gentle flare of her hips were silhouetted against the lowering sun. He clenched his teeth, trying not to react.
His hand had touched her right there on the evening of the barbecue. He remembered when they’d queued for their food that he’d been pushed against her by someone else in the line. He’d steadied himself by grabbing her waist—had enjoyed the contact—had pretended he’d had too much to drink to disguise the fact he couldn’t bear to let go of her.
He drew the robe up her arms and settled it over her shoulders, then stepped around and sat on the bed so he could wrap first one side then the other over her body. Her dangerous breasts were only inches away from his lips. With every ounce of self control he could find, he ignored them, smoothed the sash around her, and began to tie a careful bow.
“I feel so responsible for your injuries,” he said, raising his gaze to hers.
“My fault—not yours at all,” she countered. “I shouldn’t have gone near the doorway.”
“I should have pulled you back in time.”
He emphasized the action by sliding his hands around her waist and giving her a gentle tug toward him.
And Fiona stumbled forward one unexpected step so she stood right between his parted thighs, knees pressed against his groin.
Reacting instinctively to the intimate contact, Christian snaked his arms around her, holding her captive so he could lay his cheek against her warmth and softness.
He barely believed it when Fiona smoothed her palm down past the ridge of his cheekbone to stroke his face, laid her other hand on his shoulder, and then curled it around his back so she could draw him more tightly against her.
“Poor Christian—you’ve had a lot to bear,” she murmured as she rocked him gently to and fro.
Fiona’s pulse thundered. How many times had she imagined this? Against all the odds, her secret wish had been granted. Suddenly she had the perfect excuse to touch and caress Christian without him ever knowing how turned-on she was.
She moved the hand cradling his face. Trailed down his neck and then raised it to touch his dark hair again. Ran her fingers through its clean softness and on to explore his cheekbone and jaw. Her fingertips registered the slight scratchiness of his late afternoon stubble, scraped lovingly upward again to intensify the sensation, then smoothed down and just held him.
She hoped Christian thought she was offering sympathy and not sex. She knew her heart must be galloping at a giveaway rate right under his ear, and for sure he’d feel her fingers exploring and soothing him, but he hadn’t drawn away. He was in her arms, and for the moment that was enough.
Then the air rushed out of her lungs as he turned his face and buried it between her silk-covered breasts like a small hurt boy.
Fiona stroked down the back of his head again and again, giving him time to recover his composure. It must have been absolutely soul-destroying for him to lose Jan. To watch his lovely wife fading beyond recovery. To see her enduring the wretched treatment with so little hope near the end. To lose her while she was young and beautiful and enjoying the daily discoveries of new motherhood. It had been bad enough for Fiona following her progress—or lack of progress—from the other side of the world, but to have to face it every day must have broken his heart.
Christian remained sitting on the side of the bed for several more minutes, holding Fiona wrapped in his arms. Finally, hating to do it, he relaxed his grip a little and raised his guilty eyes to hers.
The corner of his mouth twitched.
“I should be the one comforting you. I suppose I’ve been hurting you, hanging on like this?”
“Hardly at all.”
He set his hands onto her hipbones and made a small barrier between them, then gave her a tiny regretful nudge.
“Try the chair.”
Sighing, Fiona turned and stepped back. Christian rose to hold the chair steady as she sat. He started to push her toward the door.
“No, wait. The mirror please. Let’s see how bad I look.”
“Damn good, considering what you’ve been through.”
“I looked awful after lunch.”
She frowned as she regarded her reflection. “I’ll scare poor Nicky. Let’s see if we can disguise this big bruise on the side of my face at least.” She pointed to a tube of foundation. “Can you dot some of that over it?”
Christian squatted beside the chair and squeezed a dab onto his finger. It was the last thing he needed—permission to touch her again.
“Not my usual thing.”
“Paint by numbers,” she said. “Do the purple bit peachy.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You’ll be gentle.”
He cupped her face in one hand to steady it, and began to smooth the makeup over her bruised jaw.
“Pat it,” she advised.
He rolled his eyes and she started to giggle.
“Stay still then.”
“You’re tickling.”
“And you’re getting better if you’re starting to give me orders again.”
“I don’t give you orders....”
“Eat this toast, Christian. Let me look after you, Christian...” he gently mocked her.
“I promised Mom and Dad. And Jan would want you both well cared for,” she protested.
“Jan would want you well cared for too, but I don’t think she’d expect me to paint your face.”
“She wouldn’t want me scaring her daughter,” Fiona countered, turning to the mirror to inspect his work.
“Any more?” Touching her was heaven and hell combined.
“Maybe just a bit,” she agreed, watching as he squeezed out a little extra foundation.
He worked on with care, enjoying the softness of her skin and the excuse to be so close.
“Best I can do,” he finally said, knowing he couldn’t make the charade last any longer.
He stood and inspected her, and fluffed up her hair a little with his fingers. “I had to get on with the nanny search while you were in hospital,” he added. “I’ve got a possible candidate coming to dinner to see how she gets on with Nicky. Nice girl—good references. You can give me your opinion.”
“I’ll scare her off looking like this.”
His eyes meshed with hers in the mirror. His face was serious. “We really need her, Fee. I’m only here for a few more days—I have to dash over to Japan unexpectedly. I’ll get you to the hospital for your Friday check-up, but then I’m gone until next Wednesday. Something really urgent cropped up this afternoon.”
Fiona nodded. “I’ll be okay. Mostly just resting.”
“With any luck Kathy will be your nanny too while I’m gone. Amy Houndsworth will take care of the cleaning—and continue with the cooking for a while longer.”
“So I won’t be doing her out of a job?”
“You were never doing her out of a job. She’s been our housekeeper for the last several years. As soon as we knew Nicky was on the way, I wanted Jan to have help. This is a big place.”
“But she’s cooking for you, too?”
“Only the evening meal for Jan’s last few weeks. As a favor. Casseroles to heat up and so on. I told her you’d be taking over our dinners as soon as you’re well enough again.” He began to steer the chair across the dense carpet. Once they were through the doorway it rolled with ease on the smooth marble tiles.
Fiona drew a deep breath and said the words she knew were inevitable.
“If you’ve got a nanny you won’t need me as well. I’d love to get to know Nicky better, but I’ll have to go back up to Mom and Dad’s after all.”
Unseen behind her, Christian pressed his lips together in a tight line. It was exactly what he’d wanted a few days ago—but now...?
Second Chances Boxed Set: 7 Sweet & Sexy Romances in 1 Book Page 87