And sexy scent, and deep voice, and strong hands, and sinful tongue and golden skin.
And long back, and muscular thighs, and taut belly with its enticing slim stripe of descending hair, and...
Get out of my thoughts!
This wasn’t going to be easy.
He’d demonstrated she was resistible. Given her a little treat and then abandoned her. Made it obvious he wanted no further involvement. Damn him!
She reached across and pulled out one of the drawers, retrieved a fresh nightgown and, trying not to gasp and grunt with pain, wriggled into it.
Suddenly the books held less appeal. She staggered back to bed and began scanning the blurbs on the back covers desperate for something—anything—to grab her imagination.
But nothing’s going to grab my imagination the way he does.
Christian dressed fast and high-tailed it out of the house only minutes later. After the enforced celibacy of Jan’s final decline, he felt wonderfully potent again. Never mind he’d not actually buried himself inside Fiona—he’d explored her beautiful body and brought her to full screaming orgasm. For now, that was enough.
More than enough.
Stupidly more than enough.
As he drove, he cursed his lack of restraint. However much he might want her, she was the wrong choice. The dangerous choice. He’d loved Jan and lost her. What if he lost Fiona the same way? Breast cancer ran in families; he’d not wanted to know the disgusting facts, but that one had sunk in and stuck.
You’re getting a bit ahead of yourself here Buddy. She’s not yours to lose. In no time she’ll be back on her fancy cruise-liner with plenty of other men sniffing around.
Snarling he snapped on the radio, found Metallica, and wound it up high. The music distracted him for a few minutes, but once he hit the long promenade of Oriental Parade he pulled over, turned off the radio, opened his laptop, and Googled breast cancer. What were her chances?
He read with growing unease that a woman at moderate risk had one chance in six of contracting it by the end of her life. Jesus! If Jan had died from it, surely that meant Fiona had at least a moderate risk. Maybe that made her high risk? He clamped a hand over his mouth and glared at the screen. One in six?
He skimmed on through the information, scowling at each unpleasant fact he uncovered. If she had the BRCA1 or BRCA2 gene, the risk could be as high as 85%. He’d never heard of them. How common were they? Did she already have mutant cells lurking inside her gorgeous breasts? And what about Nicky in the future?
He raised his eyes from the screen and stared out across the harbor, seeing nothing of the sunlit water and the passing parade of runners and dog-walkers. Thick black dread settled over him like tar.
Soon after Fiona climbed back into bed there was a knock on her bedroom door. Kathy’s bright red hair and nonchalant face appeared.
“Christian—er—Mr Hartley said to bring you coffee,” she said, carrying a steaming mug across to the bed.
Fiona noticed the easy use of his first name. Kathy seemed right at home. “And to let you know he’s decided to go to work for the rest of the day, seeing I’m here.”
Getting as far away from me as possible.
She couldn’t blame him. They could hardly indulge in polite chit-chat after what had happened. “I’ll get up and bring my book through to the big window seat in a while then. Thanks for the coffee.”
For the rest of the day she lazed in the shifting sun, trying hard to lose herself in a murder mystery set in Venice and New York.
Kathy kept Nicola well occupied or napping. Amy Houndsworth mopped the floor and produced a delicious chicken pie for dinner, commenting on Fiona’s new hairstyle, and mentioning her own forthcoming visit to a sister in Australia when she noticed the book had been laid down. Construction noises drifted through from the workmen in the garage. And Christian stayed away, and away.
It was six-thirty before he re-appeared.
“I’ve bought Dad back for dinner”, he said, introducing his tall silver haired father to Kathy.
Fiona blanched. The only time she’d met Christian Hartley Senior was at Jan’s wedding. She’d felt beautiful that day, but now she was slouched in her old robe, blotched with bruises, and without so much as a lick of lip gloss.
She sat up straighter to shake his hand.
“You’ve been very lucky, I hear?”
“I’m indestructible,” she joked.
“That I doubt.” His brown eyes surveyed her keenly. Christian’s gaze exactly.
“I’m feeling very glad to be alive,” she conceded.
“I remember you looking more like Jan—almost her twin.” He released her hand.
“Different hairstyle,” she murmured.
“Very easy-care,” Christian contributed, tongue-in-cheek.
“You could almost do this yourself,” she shot back at him.
“Could be fun.” He sent her a slight wink—the merest twitch of an eyelid over a dark eye—and Fiona felt a sudden little spasm of pleasure bloom low in her belly. The man was far too desirable. Her body knew it for certain, even as her brain fought to put some distance between them.
“Ganda!”
“Is that my Nicky?” Christian Senior asked, turning aside to play peek-a-boo with Nicky around the corner of the couch.
Seeing the chance to escape, Fiona levered herself to her feet and grabbed for her crutches. “If you’ll excuse me for a few minutes,” she said, “I’ll just get changed for dinner, seeing we have company.”
“Not on Dad’s account, I hope?”
Fiona smiled vaguely and shook her head. “On my account, Christian. It’ll make me feel much better.”
“Shall I get the chair?”
“I’ll be fine.” She started to limp across the room, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm.
“Wait a few seconds, Fee. That’s all it’ll take.” He came back wheeling his office chair almost instantly. Sighing, she sat. He pushed her along the wide hallway.
“Stop trying to look after me,” she said through gritted teeth.
“I’m very happy looking after you.”
“I’m not yours to look after.”
“You are for the next day or two.”
But that’s all, she felt like adding.
They reached the bedroom.
“I’ll come back for you in a few minutes.”
“There’s no need.”
But by the time he returned, Fiona had curled up on the bed, sobbing in frustration.
“I can’t get my bra done up,” she hiccupped, feeling ridiculous to be upset by such a small thing.
She saw Christian trying to suppress a smile.
“I’m good at bras.”
She snorted, and pushed herself to her feet. “I’ll just bet you are.”
She turned her back on him.
He smoothed his hands down her spine and grasped the fastenings of the flimsy scrap of lace. He might have had every intention of helpfully hooking the ends together, but somehow his lips settled onto the back of her neck and wandered along her shoulder. And his fingers let go of the lace and slid around her ribcage to cover her breasts and caress her nipples. They hardened under his thumbs, and she gave a baffled moan. “That wasn’t an invitation.”
He urged her around to face him, looking down at her bruised and tear-streaked face.
“I know. I do know that, Fiona. But...God...” He kissed her brow, and the tip of her nose, and then relief flooded through her and she raised her mouth to his, all her good intentions abandoned, too.
He nipped at her tenderly, teasing her with small honeyed bites. She pressed herself against him.
“You’re hard...to resist...yourself,” she murmured between kisses, rubbing her hips against his, chafing along the burgeoning length of his cock. Their tongues slid together, and the kiss became deeper and more intense.
Time drifted by. At last they drew apart.
“I’ve spent all day trying not to thi
nk about you,” she groaned. “This is really not going to help...”
“Why do you think I escaped to work?” He twitched her bra into place, taking more care than was strictly necessary to ensure her breasts were snuggled into the lacy half-cups before he reached around to secure it.
“Can you help me with this, too?” she asked, holding out a stretchy multi-colored top. Christian slipped it over her head and carefully drew her hands through the armholes.
“I need things with buttons down the front.”
“So I can unbutton them?” His husky query flooded her brain with explicit scenes. She saw his long fingers exposing her breasts, his lips wandering hot and damp over her skin, his hands exploring and delighting her...
“So I can button them up,” she replied, avoiding his dark gaze. She sighed and then drew a courageous breath. “Don’t kiss me again Christian. I couldn’t bear it if you did.”
Chapter Eleven
Christian hacked Amy Houndsworth’s chicken pie to pieces and dumped wedges on the dinner plates. The vegetables followed with about as much finesse. Dinner was enjoyed very much by Kathy, and by Christian’s widowed father.
To Christian it was something to take out his frustration on. He bit savagely at the crisp piecrust...reduced the vegetables to pulp without tasting them. His mind returned constantly to Fiona’s tart request that he not kiss her again. He was in so deep, so fast, that his heart and brain were still at war with each other. He glanced across the table at her every now and again. From her expression, she wasn’t enjoying herself either.
Good, he thought. Why should it only be me that feels like hell?
Once the first course was finished and the dishes cleared away, he pulled three kinds of icecream from the capacious freezer and doled them out to order for dessert. Kathy drizzled bottled chocolate sauce over Nicky’s portion, adding encouragement about brushing her teeth before putting her to bed, then departing for an evening with friends.
Christian gathered cups onto a tray. “Coffee, Dad? Fee?”
Fiona nodded her thanks.
He watched her limp slowly across the room to stand looking at the view while he prepared the coffee. It was a perfect evening—he’d thrown the huge patio doors open to the soft air. The harbor lay tranquil in the subdued light. Insects still buzzed in the flower borders Jan had planted and tended with such love. The fragrance of jasmine and honeysuckle drifted in the slight breeze. There were so many reminders of his wife...her sister.
A sudden blinding desire hit him. To keep Fiona silhouetted against that backdrop forever, safe with him and Nicky instead of half a world away. Where he could love and protect her—although not from what had killed Jan, he thought with impotent frustration.
He shot a probing glance across to her once she sat down, but she returned only the blandest of smiles.
Fiona stayed quiet as Christian and his father discussed business, a current golf tournament, the forthcoming trip to Japan. Their deep voices washed over her as she cast her mind back a couple of hours.
His most recent behavior in her bedroom had been unnerving after his comment about cooling things down. How dare he make a grab for her when she’d simply asked for help because of her injuries? How dare he kiss her and entice her into responding when she’d only needed her bra fastened?
The second question gave her more difficulty than the first. Why had she kissed him back with such fervor when he’d already made it plain there could be no relationship between them? She’d be guarding against any more of that!
“... and Malaysia’s a huge market for the future.”
She brought her attention back to the conversation between the two men. From what she’d heard, their business interests were much more diverse than Jan had ever described. They extended around many of the Pacific Rim countries, and the cars were only one slice of it—albeit the slice closest to Christian Senior’s heart. His son had been the one to grab the company by the throat and transform it into the multinational success it was today.
She glanced at her watch. Barely 8.30. Not yet dark. But suddenly she felt desperate to be right away from him. With a sharp little clink, she set her coffee cup down on the Italian table and struggled up from the low couch.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be sensible and go to bed now. Don’t get up Christian—and don’t worry about my transport this time.”
But Christian did get up, as did his courteous father.
“Hope you’re soon well again, Fiona,” the older man said, reaching out to give her a warm but gentle handshake. This diversion gave Christian a couple of seconds to grab the leather chair from the shadows.
“Sit,” he insisted.
Fiona sighed with annoyance. “I can walk more easily now.”
“Yes, but how will you get undressed?”
“I’ll wriggle.” Her eyes challenged his.
“You’ll only hurt yourself. Sit down.”
“You needn’t think you’re undressing me...” She trailed off, realizing Christian Senior was listening—and watching with amusement. “I couldn’t stretch around to get my bra done up,” she explained, blushing.
He roared with laughter and strode across to her. “I used to be pretty good at this,” he chuckled. “Out of practice since Bet died. But let’s see...” He laid his palm on her back and tweaked one-handed at the fastenings through the fabric of her top. Her high breasts dropped fractionally.
“Still got the knack,” he said with delight.
“Dammit, Dad!” Christian protested.
“You’re as bad as each other,” Fiona said, trying not to grin. “Thank you, that’s very helpful. Good night gentlemen.” She sat, and Christian wheeled her from the room, but she made sure it was only as far as her bedroom door.
Her follow-up appointment was booked for ten-fifteen the next morning, and she washed and dressed in good time. Christian insisted on pushing her the small distance out to the car on his office chair, for which she was grateful. She’d had an uncomfortable night and her injured knee had ended up twisted and now ached horribly again. Jan had appeared in vivid and confusing nightmares, pale and sickly, ranting about the searing sex her sister and husband were indulging in.
In your dreams. Literally.
Fiona’s guilt had been terrible as she lay awake watching the minutes on the bedside clock tick over, but she flapped an annoyed hand at Christian when he attempted to help her settle into the car seat.
“I’ve got to learn to do it.”
“You don’t have to be so independent just yet.”
“But I want to.”
At that, he stood back until she’d settled herself, then flashed her a strange sad smile as though acknowledging she’d made it politely plain she wanted no more attention from him. He closed her door, took his own seat, fired up the low-throbbing engine, signaled the gates, and drove out onto the steep road.
She inspected him from under her eyelashes as he guided the big car down to the city. He’d dressed casually after yesterday’s impeccable business suit. Jeans again, a rusty-colored polo shirt, and with his dark hair still slightly damp from the shower.
Fiona had searched through Jan’s wardrobe and found a wine-red dress with a front closure of glossy buttons that looked for all the world like blackberries. As the price ticket was still attached, she presumed Christian had never seen it on his wife. She’d managed to put it on unaided, but had forgone a bra, knowing the doctor would want to check her all over.
Sorting out Jan’s clothes and other private possessions was a job that needed doing sooner or later. Her mother had offered, but Christian had turned her down. “Not for a while yet, thanks,” he’d said with such firmness Rebecca hadn’t raised the subject again.
Fiona was secretly glad he still wanted reminders of Jan close to him. Somehow it proved the strength of his commitment to his lovely dead wife.
They coasted down the twisting streets until they reached level ground, then he slowed and turned the
car into one of the angled parking spaces facing the sea.
“Plenty of time,” he said, looking straight ahead, feigning interest in two red tugs pulling a container ship away from one of the wharves half as mile away.
Fiona waited in silence, staring at his hands as they rested on the steering wheel of the purring car. Abruptly he cut the engine and turned to her.
“Look. About yesterday. It shouldn’t have happened.”
She nodded, still looking at his hands. Did he mean the morning or the evening? Or both?
Christian drew a deep breath.
“I loved your sister unreservedly. Even with all the traveling I did, I was never unfaithful to her.”
Fiona raised her eyes, surprised he’d been so candid. His hungry face looked haggard. She could see the torment etched there in the set of his mouth, and the lines where his brows drew together.
“Jan and I were great,” he continued. “And Nicky was the icing on the cake.” He looked out at the tugs, avoiding her gaze again. “Sorry I did what I did. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I truly loved Jan. I’m ashamed I lost my self-control with you.”
He rubbed a hand across his mouth, as though to stifle further words.
Had he hurt her? Fiona wasn’t sure. She’d certainly been surprised. But not hurt.
Hurt was what she felt now. Deep, pulsing hurt that rasped at her bones and dragged at her breath. He’d just turned everything upside down. Yesterday morning had been an incandescent revelation. The pleasure had been intense, the desire unspeakably sharp. Why hadn’t he left it like that—a swift jewel-bright scene in an otherwise unremarkable play?
The evening’s surprising follow-on had completed the little drama. Fiona hadn’t expected him to touch her again after his earlier comments about cooling things down, but for a second time the intense physical attraction had flared. And now he felt ashamed?
Second Chances Boxed Set: 7 Sweet & Sexy Romances in 1 Book Page 90