Meanwhile, Andrea was still sobbing, her face buried against his neck as he held her, cooing soft, meaningless things to her, to help her calm down, and holding her very tightly, which he had discovered she really liked—and he did, too.
When the storm that he had caused within her passed, he arranged her on her back as he lay alongside her, head on his hand. Rad brushed the damp hair away from her eyes and gave her a Kleenex. When they'd settled back down again, he caught her hand and brought the palm to his lips.
"I know I'm asking for trouble every time I do this, but I don't care. I always want to be sure we're on the same page in this." He caught her eye. "Are you content to submit yourself to me, even now, my dear?"
She nodded, tears flowing down her cheeks again.
And he kissed every one of them away, then kissed her as he let his fingers find her as he did after every punishment, wanting to reassure himself that her body was on his side, too, which it always was. And this time was no exception, he was very glad to discover.
Even though her little fanny had to still be stinging and burning atrociously, a mere, barely-there brush of his fingers over her clit had her arching up, only to bring her weight back down onto her bum very slowly and with lots of hissing of breath. So, in deference to her condition, he brought her back onto her side, hooking her top leg over his hip and introducing his rampant erection to her dripping cleft. Andrea arched again, whimpering, as his mouth took total advantage of what she was offering him—her magnificent breasts.
Mouth and fingers tasted and teased nipples that were at attention, eager for his touch, as he slowly slid inside her. Even though he'd had her countless times, she was still very tight, and he loved how his cock taking possession of her had her grabbing his arms as if to fortify herself. She panted and keened, biting her lip as he stretched her around himself.
Having achieved full penetration, Rad leaned down to nibble at her lips. "Does that feel better, honey?"
"Yes, please, Rad," she breathed.
His eyes narrowed and he purred at the back of his throat at her response. "I wish I could be inside you all the time. There aren't enough hours in the day for me to fuck you as much as I want to."
She couldn't say anything to that, because he had leaned back to discover her little pearl, which he proceeded to polish unrelentingly as he continued to pulse himself in and out of her, deliberately keeping her as full of him as possible.
"Rad, Jesus, please!" she begged, shivering on the verge.
"You're close already?"
"Yesss! I'm always close around you!"
She almost spat it out as if it was a bad thing, but he knew that she was just on edge. And he took that as a tremendous compliment.
"I'm glad you are, because I always want you, too."
As he began to stroke more insistently into her, he caught her chin in his hand while his other hand set the course more determinedly toward her pleasure.
And when she was seconds away, his eyes locked with hers, he said, "I love you, Andrea."
She looked more surprised than he'd thought she would, but his intimate confession did nothing to distract her from the carefully crafted inevitability of the climax he was bringing her to.
"Rad!" she panted, wishing she could come up with something profound to say in response, but she didn't have it in her to say the same thing back, and she didn't have a functioning brain cell in her body at the moment, anyway.
So she settled for screaming his name as she came hard, clamping down on him and forcing him to become rougher with her in order for him to find his own bliss. He kept the fingers of one hand on her clit, already coaxing her toward number two, but then he wrapped his other arm around her waist, taking control of her, and holding her still for his heavy thrusts, until, within the space of three heartbeats, he was bellowing her name, too, and proclaiming his love for her again.
Even as he was recovering, he was bringing her off again and again, loving the fact that she seemed to have absolutely no defenses against him doing so. He gave her no choice but to do as he willed, and she never failed to respond to him helplessly, until he decided that she'd had enough.
While she was still shaking and shivering in the aftermath, he clamped her to his side, but when he looked down, she appeared worried, although he couldn't fathom why.
"What's the matter, honey?" he asked solicitously.
"I-I'm sorry that I can't say it back to you right now!" She was on the verge of tears again, needlessly.
He pulled her on top of him, holding her gently and not letting her get down.
"No need to be sorry at all, baby. I promise. I want you to say it when you feel it, not just because I've said it. I didn't say it to make it an obligation for you to reciprocate. I just want you to know that you're loved, and that that's what's behind anything I do for or to you. I love you."
She threw her arms around him, burying her face in his neck as he held her while she cried, wishing she was much less broken for him.
Chapter 8
That was typical of Rad, though, and she had experienced countless ways he put into action what he'd said to her. He always put her first in everything. She was always paramount on his mind at all times, and thinking about her colored every decision he made.
And, although they went out occasionally and travelled some, they mostly spent their time at home, because neither of them really wanted to spend time anywhere else. They were an insular little clique of two, and they rapidly became each other's best friends.
Even though he had enough money to take her away anytime he wanted, Andrea was most content when they were at home together, just being together and doing the stupid things involved in being a couple at home—cooking, cleaning, yard work. And Lord knew they were going to talk—he was constantly asking her questions about all sorts of things, from the state of their relationship to her thoughts on North Korea.
It was an ugly winter, and they hadn't gotten away in quite a while. She didn't have any time to go on vacations anyway, although she'd put in for different times from usual in consideration of him this year.
But she liked how mundane it was. She liked being home when he got home or having him pick her up from work, liked how he often made love to her the moment he came through the door, and how they would read together quietly in front of the fire while listening to playlists they had created for each other.
It was on just such a night, when she looked over to where he was sitting, not two feet from her, and realized with a start that she loved him.
She'd never craved trips or gifts or things. She'd wanted to be with someone like him—someone who was unabashed about how much he loved her, and who showed her evidence of that every single day in the way he took care of her. It was such an overwhelming feeling that the words were on the tip of her tongue, but she held them back.
"What?" he asked, looking down that patrician nose of his at her.
"What, what?"
"What have you done that you shouldn't?" he asked, putting his book down.
"Nothing! Nothing at all!" she insisted. "Why would you say that?"
"You look… I don't know. But I always figure I'm probably right when I say that." He grinned.
"I have not!" She was downright indignant.
"Okay, okay. You've been a saint, I'm sure."
"Absofuckinglutely!"
"Uh huh. You know that if I have to find it out on my own, it'll go twice as badly than if you just confessed right now, angel," he reminded her, as he slipped onto the couch and placed her on his lap.
"I haven't done anything wrong!" Andrea insisted.
"Yes, you have."
"What?" She frowned.
"You haven't kissed me in at least fifteen minutes. That's at least fourteen minutes too long, I'd say."
She solved that problem immediately as she laid herself beneath him, revealing his ulterior motive for having joined her on the plush sofa.
Andrea wanted to tell him what she'd
discovered about her feelings for him, but she wanted to make it a special occasion for him, too. He was due home on a Wednesday night, and she thought that was the perfect time. She'd arranged to take that day, as well as the next two days off, so they would have four uninterrupted days off together to bask in their newfound love.
It might play hell with their arrangements for time off later in the year, but she felt that he was more than worth it.
Since he—they—had a cleaning lady, she didn't have to do any housework, but she did gather together the ingredients to make his favorite meal, Beef Wellington.
She'd gotten up early in the morning, as was her habit even when she wasn't working, and put on her slobbiest clothes, so that, once she started cooking, she didn't have to worry about getting them dirty. And while it was cooking, she'd take a shower and doll herself up for him.
Andy was puttering around at about ten or so, when the doorbell rang. She started a little, hoping it wasn't him, having forgotten his keys and deciding to surprise her by coming home early.
But it wasn't. Instead, it was a man she'd never seen before, and behind him, a guy with a camera he had hefted on his shoulder, and which he trained on her.
"Is Mr. Windsor available?"
"No, he's not."
"Can you tell me when he'll return?"
Immediately wary of telling him anything, Andy instead asked, "And you are?"
"I'm Ray Deloise, and this is my camera man, Elton Renaut. Are you Mr. Windsor's cleaning lady?"
She'd forgotten what she looked like. If she'd known they were on the other side of the door, she would have ignored the knocking until they went away.
"No."
Andrea made as if to close the door, but her ear caught at something. "Do you have anything to say about the rumors?"
"What… rumors?"
"That Mr. Windsor is going to buy Virgin Group from Sir Richard Branson?"
She might not keep up with the latest trends—with any trends, really—but she knew who Richard Branson was.
"No. No comment." Again, she made as if to go in, but the guy with the microphone kept throwing things at her, as if to get a reaction.
"What about the rumor that he might be up for a knighthood?"
A knighthood, really? That was… wow.
She frowned. Just how rich was he—buying Branson's companies and becoming a "Sir"—certainly much more so than she had thought.
"And is there any truth to the rumors that he and Janet Knox might be getting married?"
Although she thought she'd covered the depths of her shock well, she obviously hadn't, because both the persistent interviewer and the camera man took a step closer. But she extricated herself from that horrid situation, saying, "Please excuse me," as she slipped back into the house.
She shut the door behind her and leaned back against it, panting as if she had run a marathon. What the actual fuck was that?
Plans for the day forgotten, she fired up her phone and did what she hadn't felt the need to do until that point, because she'd taken him at his word: she googled him.
Twenty minutes later, she was standing there, shaking, looking back toward her phone as if it was a snake.
He wasn't just well off. He was filthy rich. If he wanted to buy Virgin Group, then he certainly had more than enough money to do so. Hell, he could probably buy Microsoft and Apple, too. He had an obscene amount of money and companies all over the globe. It was no wonder he traveled a lot.
According to several articles she'd read, from reputable sources, this wasn't even where he lived! He had residences in several places, none of them here—a penthouse in the city that took up the entire top floor of a huge high rise—she'd seen the pictures in an article by Architectural Digest. And there was—as the reporter had hinted—definite buzz that he'd be knighted soon, too. Sir Radames Windsor.
Jesus Christ.
And, just to cap it all off, Janet Knox was a fucking supermodel, thin, sleek, and drop dead gorgeous. She'd only seen a couple of pictures of her on his arm, from a couple of years ago, but they sure did look cozy enough back then.
Andrea couldn't believe what she'd found out about him—or, frankly, herself. What an idiot she'd been, playing house here with him like this, believing that he was what—an only slightly rich person? Even worse, she'd actually believed him when he'd said that he loved her.
But he was so far out of her league as to be ridiculous. She was a fool not to have learned as much about him as she could first thing. Foolish was getting to be awfully familiar territory for her lately.
Without bothering to do anything besides grab her pocketbook, she left her phone on the couch. It had slipped between the cushions when she'd let it slip through her fingers after she'd learned more than she wanted to know about him. Then she peeked out the window to see if those men—or anyone else—were still there, but they seemed to have left.
Blinded by tears, she grabbed her purse and headed for the garage. There, she backed her car out of the driveway, and sped off—to where, she had no idea, as long as it was somewhere that he wasn't.
Rad got home a little early, hoping to surprise her. He had a bouquet of roses in one hand and a pair of tickets to a folk festival she'd expressed interest in a month or so ago in the other.
"Love?" he called out, throwing the mail on the counter to deal with later.
There was no response from her, which was surprising. She must've been home for at least an hour by now. Come to think of it, she hadn't answered any of his texts once he'd landed, but he hadn't really worried much about it. After all, he was going to be there shortly, anyway. But it was unusual for her.
"Andrea?" he asked, strolling through the house, undoing his tie and shedding his clothes along the way, anticipating making love to her as soon as he found her. It hadn't been that long, but it had been much too long.
She wasn't in the kitchen, dining or living rooms—they were all open into each other. She wasn't in their bedroom or the bathroom, either. He sat down and took off his shoes. "Honey?" he called.
The place was eerily silent, and the hairs at the back of his neck were beginning to stand up.
He finished undressing quickly, forgoing his usual shorts in favor of jeans, in case he needed to go out for whatever reason.
Rad grabbed his phone and, instead of texting, called her.
She'd assigned him "Happy Together" as a ringtone, and as he moved through the house with the phone at his ear, he would swear that he could hear that melody tinkling from somewhere in the house, but he couldn't tell where. So he kept calling her, until he realized that the couch cushion was singing.
He picked it up, putting in her security code to open it, noticing that she'd not checked any of the texts he'd sent her since just after he'd boarded the plane this morning.
What the hell was going on? His heart was pounding a mile a minute. What could have happened to her that had made her leave here without her phone? Besides the fact that he didn't allow her to do that for safety reasons, she certainly had the habit of taking it everywhere with her even if he hadn't instituted that rule. Perhaps she had just forgotten it, he tried to convince himself. But it didn't take. He couldn't ignore that uneasy feeling he had in the pit of his stomach.
Rad tried to come at this as logically as possible. He called all of her friends, and promptly got an earful from almost all of them about how he had taken her away from them. He was as polite as he could be to get the information that he wanted from them—whether she was with or had contacted any of them today. But he did it as delicately as possible, not wanting to alarm anyone else at this point, in case she was just… he didn't know, out getting something for dinner, perhaps? Please, let it be some sort of innocuous thing like that, he prayed.
He paced back and forth in front of the fireplace. He paced in the kitchen, too, so much so that he went into the fridge to grab a water, only to see all of the preparations she had made toward cooking dinner for him tonight.
/> So she hadn't gone out for that, but if she was going to cook for him, then why wasn't she here, doing so? Wellington wasn't something you could just whip up. It took some time to cook, so she should definitely be here.
More pacing, more running his hands through his hair, more being hyper alert to any sound that might mean she had returned. But there was nothing, nada.
He waited hours, alone in the house, every minute of it excruciating. There was nothing she could have gone out for that would have taken her this long to get. She wasn't at any of her friends', and she wasn't at work, either. Calling her work was one of the first things he'd done.
Even Linda—who was his last resort—hadn't seen her, and she read him the riot act about that, too. Finally, near midnight, he did what he really didn't want to do, because he respected her privacy. But he had to know what was going on with her.
He'd been carrying her phone around with him like a talisman, and now he opened it again and went into her history on Chrome, which he knew was the only browser she used.
And it told him everything he needed to know but really didn't want to, now that he did.
She'd looked him up. He didn't know why she'd looked those things up in particular, but he'd seen the searches for his net worth, his potential purchase of Virgin Group, the speculation that he could get the OBE, and—worst of all—pictures of him with Janet Knox from a couple of years ago.
He sank back against the wall, then all the way down so that he was crouching there, her phone still in his hand.
She was gone. She'd found out that he'd kept a lot of stuff about himself—about who he was—to himself, and now she was royally pissed, and he couldn't blame her in the least. The only person he could blame was himself. He should have been straight with her from the start.
Just One Night Page 12