by Sun Chara
He touched, he stroked.
She squirmed, she sighed.
A breathless break between kisses, and his brooding eyes connected with hers, signaling his need for more. She dug her fingers into his shoulders, drawing him closer, accepting his invitation … sweet sensation shooting through her.
Stan groaned his pleasure.
Stella moaned her delight.
“I want you,” he murmured against her lips, his voice husky. “I’ve wanted you for so—”
“Yes.” Stella fumbled with the buttons of his shirt and he placed his hands over hers, helping her. When her fingers stumbled to his belt, his hands glided beneath the strip of lace across her hips.
A moment of awe…
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, a catch in his voice.
“You’re big.” She blinked at the hard strength between his legs, fascinated.
He smiled and settled her beneath him.
Hot. Breathless. Erotic.
He held her tight, rocking her against him.
“Mmm.” Stella sighed, feeling like she was finally home.
“Yes,” he grunted, holding her like a masterpiece entrusted to him.
Stella trailed her hands around his navel and upward, teasing golden fuzz on his chest.
“Ouch.” Stan nipped the corner of her mouth with his teeth.
She smiled against his lips and shifted, kissing her way down his torso, her tongue flicking his hot skin.
He sucked in a breath, blew it out in a puff of pure sexual energy and slid his hands across her back lifting her back up to him. Velvet … silk … endless. His hands swerved around her midriff and up, fondling her breasts, his tongue licking each tip.
He drew each into his mouth, suckling. Sheer delight. A purr deep in her throat, and she pressed against his hardness.
A groan, and he burned kisses across her cleavage, along her neck to her mouth, brushing her parted lips with the tip of his tongue. He outlined her lips, teased, tasted and finally covered them with his own. His heart thundered in his chest, his breathing heavy. He explored with his hands, every curve, every crevice of her body … his kisses longer, deeper.
“Stan,” she gasped.
“I know, baby,” he breathed, inching his way to the shadow between her thighs. His fingers stroked her…she was slick and moist…ready.
A suspended beat, and positioning himself above her, he slid his sex inside her warmth. Heaven. He filled her, she was tight … he bumped into an infinitesimal barrier.
A split second pause.
Stella whimpered, holding him to her.
He thrust deep, and caught her cry with his mouth. She dug her fingers into his shoulders and called his name. He began moving inside her. Perspiration poured over him. He plunged deeper, higher, taking her with a passion foreign to him. His rhythmic thrusts lifted her to the pinnacle and him with her … held there … tension built … coiled tight … exploded. Wave upon wave of sensation ripped through Stella … he felt his own body convulse with ecstasy … he gripped her to him, not letting go.
Scents of love enveloped them to the deep melody of their breathing. He brushed a moist tendril off her brow. She stroked a damp curl at his temple.
“Why didn’t you tell me you’d never—” He pressed a quick kiss on the tip of her nose … her chin … her mouth.
“Would it have made any difference?” She lowered her lashes, shy.
Stan raised her chin, willing her to look into his eyes. “You’ve honored me with that special gift.”
“Thank you for saying that.”
“Did I hurt you?”
She shook her head, a smile dancing on her mouth. “You were amazing.”
“You too,” he murmured, voice gruff. He stole another kiss, came up for air and winked. “A natural.”
She playfully slugged his shoulder with her fist.
“Only with the right man,” he whispered. “Me.” He covered her mouth in a kiss that had her nerves buzzing and her heart singing.
Finally, he lifted his head and growled in her ear, “I’d better get you dressed, Sensei.”
“I-I can do it, thanks,” she whispered, a hint of shyness in her voice.
“S’ long as I get to do the undressing part.” He grinned, and slipped into his own clothes.
She smiled and turned her back for him to button her blouse.
“You must find an easier blouse to fasten or unfasten,” he growled in her ear.
“Oh, get out of here,” she said, her words tempered with tenderness.
“That’s what you told me about” –he glanced at the Swiss watch on his wrist— “an hour ago, although not in quite the same way.” He grinned, wiggling his brows.
Stella picked up a hairbrush from the dresser, threatening to throw it at him.
“All right.” He laughed and trotted for the door. “I’m going.”
“Oh, wait,” she called. “What did you want when you barged in here?”
Stan arched an eyebrow, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
A blush crept up her neck, warming her cheeks.
“I wanted your help,” he said, tone serious. “I’ll speak to you about it after dinner.” He pressed his lips to the crown of her head and stepped out the door.
Stella slammed the brush back on the dresser. He’d done it again.
Breezed out and left her wondering. She caught her reflection in the mirror. She glowed. A smile curved her lips.
Two days ago the only thing that mattered to her was her business. But since this giant of a man exploded into her life like a thunderstorm, she knew her world would never be the same. She loved him. Dear God! How had it happened? Even the thought of him had her pulse skyrocketing. She was still the same independent, strong-willed woman, but loving him lifted her to a new dimension in her life. It was good. Very, very good.
With a spring in her step, Stella poked her head in Troy’s room, but not seeing him there, she bopped down the stairs. She paused at the bottom to pat her hair in place and strolled to the library.
“Who’s winning?” She fixed her eyes on the checkerboard, instead of the man.
“I am,” Troy piped up, kneeling on the carpet and propping his elbows on the coffee table.
“Way to go, young karateka.” She smiled. “Feeling better?”
“Yes, thank you, Sensei.” His eyes lit up at the acknowledgment, ‘karateka.’
“Gotcha! Crown my man.” Stan chuckled, rubbing his hands.
“Oh, Dad. That’s not fair. I wasn’t looking.”
“Teach you to keep your eye on the game and not on the pretty girl.”
He ruffled his son’s dark curls and winked at Stella. “Wanna game, pretty lady?”
“Maybe later. I thought I’d get something started for dinner.”
“We got pizza in the oven.” Troy giggled and captured two of his dad’s men.
“In that case, I’ll pace your game.” She curled up on the sofa, her gaze straying to the man hunkered on the carpet. Firelight glinted on his hair, emphasizing the silver threads at his temples. Not an hour ago, she’d ran her fingers through the silky softness and … even the memory gave her a rush. “I-I like to see what my competition’s going to be.”
“Is that so?” Stan joked, but when he caught her eye, the light tone in his voice turned serious.
“By the way, what happened with the truck?”
“We’re hiking there tomorrow to see if it’ll start,” Troy said, his face glowing with excitement. “Wanna come?”
“We-ell …” She glanced from father to son. “I don’t have any boots.”
“My dad’s got a pair of old ones you could use.”
Stella wrinkled her nose.
Troy giggled.
“Old but clean,” Stan said.
“Too big,” Stella said. “My feet ’ll flip flop all over the place.”
“We can stuff them,” Troy said.
“Let me guess.” She cast him a cursory
glance. “Your dad’s old socks.”
Troy nodded. “The holey ones.” He cracked up laughing.
“Are you game?” Stan asked, his words laced with meaning.
“Do I have a choice?”
“Always.”
The one word came out a soft caress and triggered a resurge of tender emotion inside her. Sheesh, just when she was getting her defenses in order, he had to slam dunk her with that.
“I wonder,” she shot back, not wanting him to think her an easy mark.
“Don’t,” he said, tone serious.
A quiet moment passed, fraught with friction.
“By the way, there’s been a change in the forecast. Rain this evening.” Stan propped one arm on his knee. “Won’t affect the snow up here because of the altitude, but should help clear the roads.”
“Soon.”
“Yes.” Stan met and held her gaze. “Although black ice could be a hazard if temperatures dropped again.”
“I’m a good skater.” She attempted a joke, but it fell flat.
He chuckled, but it was a half-hearted sound.
Stella picked up a checker chip and flipped it in her palm to bridge the awkward moment.
“Can we still go hiking, Dad?”
“Sure thing, sport.”
“I thought the snow was too deep to walk in safely.” Stella dropped the chip on the table.
“Should be okay with snowshoes.”
“I don’t know how to snowshoe.”
“It’s easy, Sensei,” Troy piped in. “I’ll show you.”
“Thank you, Troy. But I don’t want to hold you up.”
“You won’t.” Troy sorted the black and red checkers into two stacks.
“How far is it?”
“Thirty-minute trek,” Stan said. “The truck’s buried half in snow. I’d like to get it moving by tomorrow.”
“Did it start, today?”
“Coughed and sputtered. After I dig it out, it should run okay.”
“Then we can go to Vancouver,” Troy exclaimed, plopping the checkers on the gameboard. “And see Stella’s dojo.”
After dinner, Stella took them both on and a couple of games later, Troy went to bed. While Stan tucked him in, Stella packed up the game and set it on the shelf.
“How ’bout a night cap?” Stan said, startling her.
He filled the doorway, and the warm spot surrounding her heart expanded, lighting her whole body. Emotion swelled…treading dangerous ground, the warning sounded in her head.
“Sherry?” He strolled to the bar in the alcove by the window and filled a glass for her, and then poured himself a brandy.
She nodded, and bolted for the opposite end of the room.
“I won’t pounce on you, you know.” He fit the lid on the decanter and picked up the glasses.
“I’m sorry.” Stella sat on the armchair by the blazing fire.
“Drink this.” He reached over her shoulder and placed a glass in her hand, his fingers brushing hers. “It’ll help you relax.”
High voltage charged into her, and she gripped the glass in her palm. “I-I am relaxed.”
He hiked a brow.
Stella tossed the drink back and it sizzled down her throat. “O-ooh,” she gasped, slamming the glass on the table.
“Sip it slowly, savor the sweetness,” he whispered, caressing her nape with his fingers.
“I should’ve.” She scooted off the chair, swerved around so it was between them and clasped her hands by her sides. She’d spent the most intimate afternoon she’d ever had in her life with this man, yet felt jittery as a mouse stalked by a tiger. Ridiculous. Stan wasn’t stalking her, he merely wanted to talk to her. Get a grip, girl.
“Another drink?” he invited, lounging on the sofa.
“No, thank you.” She skirted around and plopped back on the chair. Stop being so silly. She folded her hands in her lap and waited.
Stan sipped his brandy and a deep crease crinkled his forehead. “This afternoon” –he paused, a hint of a smile on his lips— “this afternoon,” he said again, and his smile vanished. “I came to ask for your help.”
“With what?”
He shut his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb. A beat, and he lifted his lashes, a storm brewing in his gaze. “With the custody battle.” He rolled the brandy tumbler between his palms. “I spoke to my attorney and he … uh … suggested a quick way out of this mess.”
“What’re you going to do?”
He stared at the amber liquid in his glass for a long tense moment, then crushed her with his level gaze. “Get married.”
Chapter 9
Stella’s heart plummeted to her toes, his words like bullets lodging in her breast. She could hardly breathe. Dear God, what had she done? What had he? “How could y—”
“The lady is” –in one shot he downed his drink— “you.”
Stella’s heart flew up to heaven before it righted itself. A rush of oxygen filled her lungs. Goosebumps invaded her body from head to toe.
Stan stormed to the counter and refilled his glass, the amber liquid seeming to absorb all his attention.
“Me-e?” Air whooshed from her mouth, and she did a double take, staring him straight in the eye. “Why?”
“Because I want you, need—”
“Do you really, Rogers?” A pause, and Stella tilted her head. “Or could it be no one else’s here to fit the bill for wife number two.” She laughed, a brittle sound. “Or is it for sex?” Her heart kicked her chest, but the long years of discipline came to her aid and she didn’t even blink.
Stan slammed the glass on the counter, liquid sloshing over the rim and splashing onto the glossy surface. “What went down this afternoon mean anything to you, Stella?”
“It meant a lot to me.” Everything. But she didn’t voice that shattering fact. “I wonder what it meant to you.” She shot him a scathing glance. “A prelude for this evening’s performance?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” In two strides he bridged the gap between them, flecks of ice in his eyes, his jaw jutting.
“You’d go to any length to keep your son, including—”
He pulled her from the chair so fast, she fell hard against his chest, her mouth nearly brushing his.
“Wouldn’t you?” she accused.
“Yeah.”
She slugged him in the chest and swept her foot across his ankle, knocking him off balance. He gripped her shoulders and dove onto the sofa with her beneath him.
“Oomph!” he grunted.
“Oomph!” she gasped.
“What you don’t know is that I’d also go to any length to—”
“Snag what you want, fair or foul makes no difference to you,” Stella cut in, her contempt-riddled words grazing the already volatile atmosphere between them. Through the heat of her anger, she felt his hardness pressing into her, and desperately tried to ignore the sensations shooting into her. Her mind succeeded but her body craved … and that fueled her anger. “And you want your son at any cost.”
He filled his lungs with a rush of air, and then allowed breath to ease out between his lips. “Yes, I want my son.” Wearily, he brushed a hand across his eyes. “Marriage is the simplest way to crack the legal maze.”
“Start shopping.” Her words snapped off her tongue like icicles. “I won’t be used as a pawn for your deals.”
“I’ll make it worth your while.”
Stella burst out laughing to avoid bursting into tears. She felt used. Yet it had seemed … felt right … with him. Fool girl.
He dropped the grenade. “The balance on your mortgage … paid in full.”
“I’m not for sale, Rogers.” More games?
“When the price is right…” A cynical twist to his mouth barred the rest of his words.
“No deal.”
“I wouldn’t be so hasty,” he said. “That’s five hundred thousand bucks you’re tossing out the window.”
She wished she c
ould throw him out the window. “Some things don’t carry a price tag.” Love for one, the thought knifed through her. Now why had she thought that? Surely she wouldn’t fall for that con … yet the emptiness in her stomach and the battering of her heart sent another message. Squash it.
“No?”
She shoved him back, but he was like a brick wall not budging. “Get off me.”
When he shifted, she wriggled from beneath him and leaped to her feet.
He sat up and plunked his head in his hands, his fingers scrubbing his scalp. A heavy beat, and he flung his head back, his eyes granite hard. “No deal … no money … no biz.” He curled his lip, and the grenade exploded. “New owner.”
Blood drained from her face. “You said you wouldn’t—”
“I’ve changed my mind.” His words unflinching.
“You have no interest in owning a Martial Arts dojo.” She swallowed around the lump in her throat, her words crackling off her tongue.
“I do now.” He stood, his jaw rigid. “You’d be smart to take the offer.”
“You don’t want a wife, Rogers” –she sucked in breath and let it burst from her lungs in force— “you want to buy me to play mother figure to gain custody of your son.” Although her insides felt like mush gone sour, she stood firm.
“This is the only way I know to protect Troy.”
He took a step closer.
She took a step back.
“Can you imagine what it’d do to him?” Another pace brought him close enough for him to cup her chin with his hand. “Do you?” He sighed, the sound detonating from deep inside him. “It’d destroy him.”
It was destroying her.
“He’ll crawl back into his shell, an insecure, lost little boy.” His shoulders slumped. “I won’t have my son go through hell again.”
He’d have her go through it, instead. Her heart thumped. She could walk. Now. Couldn’t she? This was not her problem … yet it could turn into a dinosaur for her. Her mouth went dry. She didn’t have to care … she could find another lender, couldn’t she? She licked her lips.
His eyes darkened.
Her gaze grew wary.
With one phone call, one e-mail he could hurl her back four years when she’d been knocking on his door with her empty pockets and a dream in her heart. She bent her head. The irony of it—he’d been the one to give her the chance to prove herself, and now, he was the one threatening to take it all away. Her dream … her livelihood … her future.