Dangerous Love: The Bold and the Beautiful

by Ros Baxter

  Eric waved a hand at her. “Don’t even think about it, honey,” he said, looking at her carefully. “If it hadn’t been me, someone else would have come along. Or you would have figured your way out of it. If there’s one thing I know for sure, Donna Logan . . .” He tapped the side of his nose conspiratorially. “You’re a survivor.”

  Donna smiled at him. I am strong, I know it. But I’m not like you, Eric. All you’ve been through, all you’ve achieved, and you did it all on your own. With your wit and strength and creativity. You have weathered so much—business, marriage, children, disasters of one kind or another—and yet through it all, you remain somehow true to yourself. You are so constant, just being near you makes me feel stronger.

  But she didn’t say any of those things.

  She said, “I’ve made some stupid choices, especially lately.” She wanted Eric to know she regretted the Justin thing. And Nick.

  Eric covered her hand again. “You know what I think, Donna?” He winked at her. “I think we should never regret the things we’ve done, only the things we never did.”

  Donna smiled at him. If only he knew.

  “Sometimes, to get what we want, to truly chase happiness, we have to take a chance,” Eric continued. “That’s an idea I’ve tried to live by, and I think it’s brought me more happiness than not.” He chuckled drily. “On the whole.”

  He looked far away, like he was pondering weighty things.

  “And you know what? I think maybe I’m still not too old to make a leap of faith; to trust my gut and pull the ripcord.”

  Donna was about to agree when the flight attendant interrupted them, holding aloft a bottle of the finest French bubbles. “More champagne, madame, monsieur?”

  Donna declined, but Eric held up his glass. “Why not?”

  Donna studied him as the attendant filled his glass. He looked different lately, she decided; younger and more relaxed. Like some restless energy, some excitement, was driving him. She thought carefully about his words. Never regret what you’ve done, only what you haven’t done. We have to take a chance to chase happiness. Donna took the last sip of her champagne.

  No, she decided, she was done with taking chances. She was done with gambling on her happiness. She had done it before and it hadn’t worked out. This time around she needed a safe bet. She needed something tried and tested. She knew now how it felt to be lonely, to feel as though you had failed too many times to make things work.

  Ridge’s face pushed its way into her mind again. She thought about the way he had looked at her during the trial: intense and concerned. No, he was not safe, despite the kindness he had been showing her. She knew, from the experience of her sister, that Ridge spelled trouble and pain.

  And Donna had been through more than her fair share of both.

  Okay, so it was impossible to deny there was something between them—some little spark of attraction, or understanding. Or something. But sparks did not have to be fanned. Attraction did not have to be acted on. This time Donna was going to be sensible, and work hard to rekindle something that had been good and right the first time around and could be again. It felt right to be sitting beside Eric, listening to him, looking forward to their shared venture. It felt right to her, and she was sure he felt it too. Now she just had to show him how good it could be.

  *

  Everything on the jet was discreet, even the careful positioning of the bathroom, away from prying eyes, in a small alcove curtained off from the rest of the plane. Donna made her way carefully through the seats, hoping to powder her nose in peace before they landed in Cannes. The bathroom was occupied, and as she waited she ran through her plan for this evening.

  Upon arrival, they would make their way to the apartments she had booked. The luxurious apartments stood on the bay, and had grand sweeping sea views. Hers was next to Eric’s, so it would be easy to catch up with him this evening after he returned from the reception with local officials to which he had been invited.

  Donna had declined Eric’s invitation to attend. She knew she would need some rest after the journey. Unlike Eric, she was not indefatigable. Honestly, that man seemed to derive energy from hard work, rather than be exhausted by it. And he ate up long-distance flights and punishing schedules like they were fine meals. Well, not Donna. She would need some rest to summon the courage to carry out her plan.

  The bathroom door opened and she cursed under her breath. She had managed to avoid Ridge for the entire flight, although Eric had popped over to sit next to him at one point. She had watched their heads huddled together talking business, and tried not to compare her feelings for the two of them. She didn’t need to, she reminded herself now, looking at Ridge as he emerged from the bathroom. Her feelings for Ridge were the product of some kind of fleeting magnetism. Her feelings for Eric were grounded in respect, care and loyalty. Eric made her feel safe; Ridge made her feel unsettled.

  “Enjoying the flight?” Ridge leaned against the bulkhead, his long legs crossed at the ankle, a picture of comfort and ease. He had changed his shirt from the open-necked one he had been wearing to a soft roll-neck that looked to be made of cashmere or silk. It clung wantonly to every muscle of his torso, and the dark green showed up the chocolatey brown depths of his eyes to perfection. He leaned close as he added, “I have to confess I’m enjoying the French champagne, perhaps a little more than I should.”

  His eyes sparkled and Donna couldn’t help but smile at his playful mood. He seemed like a child, and his pleasure was infectious. But then he leaned closer and the movement brought a dangerous whiff of that citrus scent. And there was nothing childish about the electricity that whizzed between them.

  “It’s been great,” Donna said, trying to move past him to the bathroom. Trying, even harder, to push back the baying surge of lust that slammed into her at the sight and smell of him, standing there, talking to her about champagne like all was innocent and easy between them. She had no idea what this thing was that was rearing its head between them, but there was nothing easy or innocent about it. And now she was pretty sure Ridge knew it too. His eyes narrowed like a predator with a scent of the kill and he stood up from the bulkhead, moving to stand very close to her.

  “It’s a little cramped in there,” he said softly, gesturing toward the bathroom. “Hardly any room to move.” Donna could see his chest rising and falling gently under the green shirt. His eyes were half closed as he breathed in. “Tell me, Donna,” he said, grasping her arm lightly. “What is that scent you wear?”

  “Why?” She was stalling for time. She knew what he was saying. I notice you. You’re getting inside my head.

  As he was inside hers.

  “Because I keep thinking I can smell it everywhere,” he said, his voice a dark rasp. “I chase it, and then I find it was my imagination. It wasn’t you after all.” He moved his face close to her hair, and breathed in deeply again. “There it is,” he said, his voice even lower, his mouth so close to her hair she could feel the lick of his breath against her ear. “Your perfume is making me crazy, Donna.”

  “I—” But she didn’t know what to say. Yours too? What the hell do you wear, that smells like citrus and salt? Because to me it just smells like you, and it’s so full of maleness and confusion and desire I can’t decide if I want to run a million miles away or lick it from every inch of you.

  No, not that. She definitely couldn’t say that.

  But he didn’t really want an answer.

  The lips that had been close to her ear moved to the side of her face. He squeezed her arm hard as his lips brushed her cheek and moved closer to her mouth. He turned her body toward his, so they were standing, not exactly pressed together, but very, very near to each other. Dangerously near.

  Donna shut her eyes and thought about how she should step away; thought about how Eric was sitting just behind that curtain and how she wanted to start something new and good with him; thought about how she did not want a man like Ridge. But none of it made any differ
ence. She didn’t move; she just let him turn her slowly to him and move his mouth agonizingly slowly toward hers.

  What would it feel like, this forbidden thing? Kissing her sister’s lover? Eric’s son?

  Eric. Dear God.

  Donna clawed back control of her senses and stepped away ever so slightly, enough that the spell was broken. Her shoulders rose and fell as she panted, as though she had been running a race. Ridge’s face was dark and a pink flush colored his cheeks. His eyes were half closed.

  “Do you really think you can run from this, Donna?”

  She nodded. Hell yes, she could run from it. Just watch me. She found her voice. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said, starting shakily but working hard to sound like she meant it. She stepped further away, regaining control of her breath.

  But Ridge was not easily deflected. “I mean,” he said, “that I wonder if we should go in there.” He pointed to the tiny bathroom. “And find out what’s really going on between us.” He reached up and gently cupped the side of her face. “Have you ever wondered about the mile high club?” He said it in a light, teasing way, but the reference almost undid her.

  She closed her eyes and imagined what it would be like. Letting herself go under Ridge’s clever hands, his searching mouth. She imagined them pressed up against each other in that tiny bathroom—how quickly their clothes would come off; how he would smell and feel. And taste. Most of all, she wondered how he would taste.

  “I know what you’re doing, Donna,” Ridge said, leaning closer and whispering in her ear, against her hair, again. “I know you’re thinking about it. About how it would be. You don’t have to wonder.”

  Donna’s eyes flicked open. Was he really serious? Was he really suggesting . . .?

  “Relax, Donna,” he said, stroking her arm lightly. “I’m not really suggesting we go in there. I just mean you don’t have to wonder because I can tell you. I can tell you exactly how it would be. And I don’t need to go in there to know.”

  Donna met his eyes carefully. “How would it be?” As soon as the words were out, she knew she shouldn’t have asked. She rushed the next words in her desperate effort not to let this thing off the leash, whatever it was. “And how can you possibly know?”

  Ridge dropped his hands and stepped away. “Look, I’m right back here, Donna. I’m not going to touch you.” Donna breathed a little easier but mentally slapped herself for feeling disappointed.

  But Ridge wasn’t finished. “But I am going to tell you.” He enunciated the words slowly and carefully, never breaking contact with Donna’s eyes. “I’m going to tell you exactly how it would be. And I know because I just know.”

  No, Donna’s brain screamed at her. No, I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know because no good can come of it. I want to be with Eric, not you. I can’t be with you. You belong to my sister. And you always will. So I don’t want to know.

  But her treasonous lips didn’t care what her brain was screaming at her. “Tell me,” they whispered.

  So he did. In that little alcove, beside that tiny bathroom, he stood, not close to her, not touching her, and told her what it would be like.

  “First I would breathe you in,” he started. “All over. I would run my face and my lips all over you, just drinking in that smell that’s got me so crazy I can hardly see straight. And I wouldn’t let you touch me. I’d hold your hands so you couldn’t, because nothing can come between me and getting this thing done. I need to breathe you in until I’ve had my fill. I’m so sick of coming into rooms and knowing you’ve been there. I’m done with walking down corridors and wondering if you were there, because I can smell a trace of your perfume. I would take you in there—” he pointed to the bathroom again, “—and I would drink in all the crazy, delicious smells of you. Until I was done.”

  Donna’s knees buckled and she leaned against the bulkhead, unable to tear her eyes from Ridge’s full, wanton mouth as he spoke his seduction to her.

  “And only then,” he went on, as mesmerized by her eyes, it seemed, as she was by his. “Only then would I kiss you. But let me tell you, Donna, by then I’d be so messed up by the sights and smells of you I’d have to kiss you hard.”

  The way he said the last word woke something dark and primal in Donna. A wall of lust slammed into her. She imagined it—imagined Ridge kissing her in that little bathroom, so close to where they were standing. Imagined him kissing her hard.

  “I’d kiss you so hard I’d make you forget all the things that worry you. All the things that take that gorgeous smile off your lips and replace it with that little frown.” He shook his head. “I hate that frown. I’d kiss you so hard I’d make you forget all the stupid, crazy thoughts you’ve had about staying safe and making sensible decisions. I’d kiss you so hard you’d forget you’d ever been kissed by anyone else. Anyone.” He paused and made sure she was looking right at him. “Even my father.”

  Was this another ploy, the latest in a long line to keep her away from Eric? She didn’t think so, but it was impossible to know, with her head addled by the effect of him.

  Either way, the mention of Eric jolted her out of the reverie she’d slipped into. Eric was out there, waiting for her, and she could not stand here and listen to Ridge talk like this. She could not jeopardize her own happiness.

  She’d done it before, and she would not do it again.

  “Excuse me, Ridge,” she said quietly, not trusting her voice. “I need to use the bathroom.”

  Chapter Five

  Donna looked at herself in the ornate bathroom’s full-length mirror. My God, she thought, it must be something about this place. I actually look kind of French. She quickly glanced around the beautiful room before resuming her preparations. A deep sunken tub occupied the middle of the room, curving gold taps hanging like sexy question marks over its sides. A massive gilt mirror framed the double vanity and an outdoor shower graced the small balcony that overlooked the beach, artfully shaded and sheltered by bronze awnings. A low, sultry chaise longue ran along one wall. This was either a bathroom or a pleasure suite in an especially high-end brothel. Donna grinned. She needed to channel the bravado of a courtesan to get through what she intended to do tonight.

  She took a deep breath and examined herself again. She was dressed only in the skimpy black teddy that Ridge had held up at the airport. Donna liked black, and she knew that Eric did too, just as she knew he loved lingerie. It hadn’t been Stephanie’s style, but she knew that for Eric, who had such a strong aesthetic eye, beautiful things mattered. And tonight she wanted to knock his socks off. She knew he cared for her, trusted her and respected her. Tonight she wanted to remind him that there were other things he used to feel for her as well.

  She studied herself carefully. If this outfit couldn’t do it, nothing could.

  The teddy was comprised mostly of sheer black silk and was cut high on her thighs. Black velvet cups thrust her breasts skyward, the balconette style making them look even rounder and fuller than they were. Donna wore her hair loose and slightly waved around her shoulders, just as she knew Eric had always liked it, and she had applied her makeup carefully to look sheer and delicate, concentrating on making her lips very full and pink. She studied her figure critically, wondering if it showed the signs of the years since Eric had last seen her naked. She tipped her head to the side and turned slightly to look at her back. Her bottom was still high and firm, and the cheeky cut of the teddy emphasized her soft curves. She was as nervous as a schoolgirl setting out on a first date and she wanted to make an impression—she wanted to make Eric feel good; to leave him in no doubt that there was more to what Donna offered than friendship.

  Finally satisfied, she nodded at herself and made to leave the bathroom, but as she did, something stopped her, something about the idea of making Eric feel good. It was the thought of those words from Ridge outside the airport lounge.

  I hope you get a whole lot of feel good on this trip, Donna. You, and my father.

&n
bsp; She blushed and considered the black bodysuit in the mirror. This thing had been in Ridge’s hands; he had felt it between his fingers. Donna’s hand flew to the soft silk caressing her tummy. Her eyes closed and she remembered, for the thousandth time since it had happened, the feeling of Ridge’s breath at her ear, the sensation of him inhaling deeply as he stood close to her; the feeling of his rough hand at her cheek. Then the sound of his voice infiltrated her thoughts; his voice telling her exactly how it would be between them. She imagined Ridge seeing her in this outfit—what would he make of it? His face had been dark with displeasure when he had seen it outside the lounge, but now she wondered if that had been because he had not wanted Donna to make another play for his father—or because he perhaps wanted her for himself.

  Thinking about Ridge’s hands on the lingerie heated Donna’s skin. She wanted to stop the thoughts; she knew she should. But she also couldn’t help wanting the little fantasy to continue a while longer. What if he were here, now? What would he do with her in this? She couldn’t imagine him being gentle. She couldn’t imagine him asking permission—it wasn’t his style. Ridge took what he liked, and no-one ever stood in his way. Donna’s legs went weak thinking about the words he had said on the plane. Raw desire coursed through her, remembering the way her body had reacted.

  She forced her eyes open, and reminded herself, not for the first time that day, that lust was one thing, but respect, commitment and compatibility were other things entirely. She had been subject to lust and impetuousness before. She had made mistakes. She did not want to make them again. And she was not the only one. She and Ridge were a terrible combination. Ridge had his own demons to control. And, worse still, he was not hers in any meaning of the word. He had made a lifetime of loving her sister and she would not be second best. And if it was not Brooke, it was Taylor. The last thing Donna needed was to get in the middle of that whole drama.