“What?” Brows furrowed, she blinked up at him. “Why are you scowling like that?”
Fuck it. He pulled his hand from his pocket and sank his fingers into the hair at the base of her neck. He massaged the back of her scalp, and with his other hand, he grabbed hold of her waist and jerked her toward him. She tottered on her heels and flattened her hands against his chest to steady herself.
His gaze skimmed over her face. Her eyes widened and her glossy lips parted.
“Trevor,” she whispered, “what’s wrong with you?”
Leaning down, he kissed her possessively, tasting the sweetness of her lips, sliding his rough tongue against hers. He let go of the tight hold on her hair and let his fingers sift through it, feeling its silky texture. He couldn’t get enough of her lips. Of her fresh scent. Of her hands running over the contours of his back beneath his jacket.
He was achingly hard. Again. Still.
Trevor moved his other hand from her bare back to her bottom and squeezed, felt the lace rough against his palm before gradually pulling his mouth away from hers. He missed the contact.
Allie’s full lips appeared poutier as she glanced up at him. He licked his own. “I think I’m wearing your lippy.”
Stepping back, he took a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his mouth. He looked at the light pink streak against on the white fabric before she took it from his hand. Her eyes met his as she reached up and rubbed at his upper lip.
“There, I think that’s all of it.” She still hadn’t lowered her eyes, and they gazed at each other for a long moment.
Trevor tucked the cloth in his pocket, then ran a finger down her cheek.
Allie shuddered slightly. “Thank you for letting me go back home today.”
He placed his hand on her back, brushed his fingertips over her bare skin. God, she was soft. “How did it go with Monica?”
They made their way to the stairs and Allie’s fingers grasped the banister. “Not well. After she calmed down, I tried to talk to her, but she still wouldn’t tell me Brad’s last name. However, she did promise to go to school this week. Of course, that was after I threatened to follow her to class or maybe stick a tracking device up her ass.”
Trevor scoffed. “How innovative of you.” He led her out back and onto the wide terrace. Arnold had set up a small bar to one side.
“What’s your poison, Miss Campbell?” His cock was still hard and watching her gracefully move around the patio in that short dress wasn’t helping.
Allie smiled. “Can you make a cosmopolitan?”
“Of course I can. I simply choose not to.”
“You take one part vodka—”
“Yes, yes, all right.” He began mixing ingredients into a shaker and poured the contents into a martini glass. “Here you go.” As he handed her the glass, their fingers touched, and he felt that spark again. Honestly, he was like a schoolboy with his first crush. It was embarrassing.
Allie’s eyes found his. “Thanks.”
Trevor let go of the glass and moved back to the bar. “I will have a very manly scotch, thank you.” He poured himself a glass of single malt and walked back to her.
“Come on, there’s something you need to see.” He held out his hand.
Allie stared at it before linking her fingers with his, and he helped her down the flagstone steps. They strolled along the path, toward the bottom of the garden to the small pond. He led her to a bench overlooking a hill. Two mountains in the distance framed the sunset. He squeezed her hand. “See there?”
She gasped. The water reflected the orange and pink hues that streaked across the sky. “It’s beautiful.” She shifted on the bench and placed her hand on his thigh, letting it rest there too briefly. “You’re so lucky, Trevor, to have all this.”
“Am I?” He’d never felt particularly lucky. Fortunate perhaps, not lucky. But sitting next to her, in his extravagant garden, he felt something like it for the first time.
They sipped their drinks and watched in silence as the sun fell, a dark purple sky replacing the orange glow. A few stars popped out. And Trevor was…at peace.
“When I was little,” Allie said, “my dad used to drive us out to the desert to look at the stars. He had this old telescope, and we’d take turns trying to find the different constellations. My mom would pack cookies, and Monica would never shut up, and Brynn used to fall asleep on the way home.”
He stretched his arm along the back of the bench, brushed the hair off her shoulder. “That’s a lovely memory.”
She nodded. “I think so too.”
He sighed. “We should go in soon. Arnold will have a coronary if the food gets cold.”
As they stood, she tucked her arm in his. He glanced down at the top of her head and suppressed the urge to kiss it. Good God, he was becoming treacly sweet, and it was slightly nauseating.
She peered up at him and smiled. “Thank you for showing this to me.”
“You’re most welcome.” He felt himself smiling back.
He led her through the fragrant garden and toward the lighted terrace where he noticed someone lounging on one of the chairs. Stopping in his tracks, the tendons in his hand strained as he clutched his tumbler of scotch.
Allie pulled to a stop beside him. “Who’s that?” she whispered.
Trevor glared at the woman making herself at home with a glass of champagne in her hand.
“Hello, Mother.”
Chapter 7
“Mother?” Allie gasped. “I thought your parents were dead?”
Gracefully, the woman uncrossed her legs and rose from the lounger. “Trevor, dearest, what have you been saying about me?”
“Nothing good, I assure you.”
Allie glanced between the two and winced at the cold expression on Trevor’s face. She hadn’t known him long, but she’d quickly learned that look always spelled trouble.
Allie switched her attention back to his mom—his beautiful, sophisticated mom—and saw the resemblance. Her hair, the same dark shade as Trevor’s, brushed the tops of her shoulders. Her tilted eyes were gray as well.
“Who’s your little friend, darling?” She nodded toward Allie, her inspection thorough.
Trevor’s muscles stiffened beneath her hand, but he adopted a casual tone. “This is Allison Campbell. Allison, this is my mother, Margaret Tremayne Blake del Santos Quinn Arceneau…” He narrowed his eyes. “What was the last one, Mother?”
She smiled at him. “Beauregard.”
“Yes, that’s it, Beauregard. Can’t believe I forgot.” He peered down at Allie. “Lived on a farm, that one.”
Margaret took a sip of champagne. “He lived on a ranch in Texas, as you very well know.” She turned to Allie. “Call me Mags, darling. Everyone does.”
Trevor extracted his arm from Allie’s and strode toward the bar. With his back to them, he poured himself another drink.
“I tried calling several times last week,” Mags said.
When Trevor turned around, he wore his most annoying smile—the sarcastic, nasty one. “I’ve been busy, as you see.” He pointed his glass at Allie.
Mags drained the last of her champagne. “Your father’s inside, taking a call. He should be out in a moment.”
Trevor’s body stilled, his glass froze in midair. Then he seemed to snap out of it, and if Allie hadn’t been watching closely, she might not have noticed.
“Father’s here?” Was that a hint of panic in his voice?
Seconds later, a tall man in his late fifties stepped onto the terrace. He was as strikingly handsome as Trevor, and Allie imagined that Trevor would look just like him in about twenty-five years.
Trevor had parents. He flat out told her he didn’t have any family. Why would he lie about that?
“Hello, Son. A
ny scotch left for me?”
Saying nothing, Trevor poured his father a glass and handed it to him.
As he accepted the drink, his gaze fixed on Allie. “Well, well, who have we here?”
“This is Allison.” Trevor’s voice was so frigid, it chilled her. “She’s my mistress. So no poaching.”
Allie clenched her fists and bit back the vehement denial that sprang to her lips. This was the role he wanted her to play? Well, fine. Every time she started to feel something for Trevor other than contempt, he got nasty and she remembered why she disliked him. She turned to his father with a polite smile. “How do you do?”
“Aren’t you a stunner? Good work, Trev.”
Mags gently poked him in the ribs. “Be good, Nigel. Leave the poor girl alone.”
Nigel wrapped his arm around Mags’s waist and gave her ass a little pat. “All right, love.”
Trevor stared up into the dark sky. “What have I done to deserve this?”
Mags raised a brow. “Quite a lot of mischief, I imagine. Now stop being so melodramatic, darling, and refill my glass.” She handed her flute to him. “And you, Allie—or is it Allison? Do you need a refill?”
Allie might need more than one to deal with all of these batty Brits. “Yes, champagne sounds lovely.”
Trevor handed Allie a glass before refilling his mom’s. “And it’s Miss Campbell to you, Mother.”
“Nonsense. Let’s eat, darling, or I’m going to expire.” Mags slowly turned toward the house.
“And I’m melodramatic?” Trevor walked over to Allie and placed his hand on her back. She took a page from Mags’s book and jabbed her elbow in his rib. But she wasn’t teasing.
“Umph,” Trevor groaned softly. He leaned down and whispered in her ear. “Behave yourself, darling, or you won’t get your pudding.”
Allie jerked away from him and hurried inside. He caught up to her and pulled out her chair before taking his seat at the head of the table.
Arnold served the first course, a lemony fish soup, and retreated. She didn’t blame him. Allie wished she could slip away to her room too. The tension coming off Trevor was so thick, it was hard to breathe.
“Son, you must be wondering why we’re here,” Nigel said. “Mmm, this soup is quite nice.”
Trevor leaned his elbow against the armrest of his chair and sipped his scotch. “I’m more curious about when you’ll be leaving.”
Mags placed her hand on Trevor’s arm. “We’re getting married, darling. Isn’t that wonderful?”
“Yes, delightful. Who are your victims this time? And is it a double ceremony? That would be quite novel.”
“Don’t be silly, dearest. We’re marrying each other. Again.” Mags grinned, clapping her hands together.
“Well.” Trevor raised his glass. “All the best to you.”
Allie couldn’t understand the anger in his voice. Wasn’t that every child’s fantasy, to see their parents get back together?
“I’d like you to be my best man, Trev.” His father wiggled his eyebrows. “Maybe even have a little stag party?”
Trevor threw his head back and laughed. “You must be joking.”
Nigel frowned and Mags pouted. She even managed to make her pout look sexy. Really, the woman had a gift. Maybe that’s why Trevor was immune to Allie’s own eye-batting, lip-biting trick. He’d seen his mother use it too many times.
“I don’t know what’s more amusing, the two of you marrying each other—again—or the fact that you’re doing it in Vegas. Maybe we should lay odds on how long it will last this time.” He raised a brow. “I’ll give it seventeen hours before you’re screaming like a banshee, Mother.” He nodded at his father. “And it will be six weeks at the most before you have your cock inside another woman.”
Allie gasped, but no one noticed.
Still laughing, Trevor raised his glass and drained it. “Yes, cheers to the happy couple.” He pushed back from the table, threw down his napkin, and blew out of the room.
Mags smiled. “Well, he took that better than I expected.”
“Quite,” Nigel said.
With wide eyes, Allie looked to Arnold, who had silently walked back into the room, but he was no help. He wore his professional butler face as he stared at the wall.
“So, Allie darling, how long have you been sleeping with my son?”
***
Once the last dish had been swept from the table, Allie smiled at Mags and Nigel, made her excuses, and all but sprinted out of the room. She didn’t know what to make of them. Time for some answers.
She rapped lightly on the door of Trevor’s office and slipped inside. Without waiting for an invitation, she wandered into the room.
He flicked his eyes from his computer screen. “May I help you, Miss Campbell?” He’d taken off his jacket and tie, and rolled up his shirtsleeves. Despite the casual appearance, this wasn’t the man who had kissed her so passionately in the hallway before dinner or showed her the beautiful sunset from the foot of his garden. That Trevor had been replaced by the uncaring businessman she’d first met.
“No, not really.”
“Then why are you here? I’m very busy at the moment.”
Allie walked behind the desk. Leaning over his shoulder, she stared at some sort of spreadsheet filling one of the screens. “Just making sure you weren’t playing solitaire.”
Trevor glanced down her dress. “I can see all the way to your pussy, Miss Campbell. Did you come here to fuck?” His gaze lingered on her breasts.
She recognized his tactic. He always said something shocking when he wanted to push people away. He’d done it with his parents at dinner, and now it was her turn.
She straightened. “I came to see if you were all right. And to say I think you’re an ass.”
“I’m fine, and duly noted. Please shut the door on your way out.”
Instead of leaving, she parked herself on top of his desk. “No.” Swinging her legs back and forth, her calf brushed his upper arm. “You lied about your parents.” She kicked off her shoes. “Why?”
“I never actually said they were dead. You assumed. And do get down, you’re blocking my monitors.” But he wasn’t looking at the monitors. He was staring at her legs, where the flared skirt had ridden above her knees.
Allie flattened her hands on the hem and raised it another inch. “These monitors?”
Trevor’s steely gaze flew to hers. “Are you toying with me, Miss Campbell?”
Allie’s heart began to pound as she leaned forward. This felt dangerous, like she was walking a very thin line, and with one misstep, she could tumble. Whether Trevor wanted to admit it or not, his parents’ sudden arrival had upset him. She wanted answers, yes, but she also wanted to coax him out of this foul mood so that he’d talk to her. “Maybe,” she teased. “Do you like to be toyed with, Mr. Blake?”
His eyes narrowed at the title. “Do you?” Grabbing hold of her hips, he slid her ass across the desktop until she sat directly in front of him. “Put your feet on the armrests.”
Biting her lip, Allie glanced back at the door. “What if someone comes in? Arnold could interrupt us again.”
“Always a possibility. But you started this game, Miss Campbell. Are you brave enough to finish it?”
Was she? When he looked at her with those gray eyes, so full of sexual promise, she felt brave, powerful. She didn’t know what this was, this insane attraction between them, but she wanted to explore it. Taking a deep breath and gathering her courage, Allie placed the toes of one foot onto Trevor’s chair. It caused her skirt to hike up to her hip. Then she propped her other foot on the opposite armrest. Her breath quickened, waiting to see what he’d do next. “Well?”
Trevor let go of her waist and glided his hands down her hips, over her thighs. With the
tips of his fingers, he grazed her bare legs before gripping her knees and spreading them even wider. His gaze drifted down her body, idled over her breasts until finally it rested on her covered pussy. “Your knickers are wet.” He let go of one knee to brush his thumb across the lacy triangle of her panties.
Gasping at his delicate touch, Allie gripped the edge of the desk.
Trevor’s eyes darkened as he watched her. “Do you like that, Miss Campbell?”
She nodded.
“Sorry, love, can’t hear you.”
“Yes. I like it when you touch me.”
“When I touch you where?” With his thumb, he pushed aside the elastic and traced over her slick folds. “Here?”
“Yes.” Allie glanced down. Trevor’s tanned arm was a sharp contrast to her ivory skirt. Through the transparent material of her thong, she watched his thumb glide up and down her pussy. “That feels good.”
“Do you want more?”
She was tired of being fingered. He was the one always toying with her. Time to be bold, tell him exactly what she wanted. And she wanted him. Every hard inch. Allie stretched toward him, framed his face with her hands. “Trevor. I really, really want you inside me now. Please tell me you have a condom.”
“Several.” He pulled his hand from her, let go of her knee, and reached around to grab his wallet. Opening the flap, he withdrew four.
Allie grinned. “You’re very optimistic.”
“Really? Is that how you see me? I prefer practical.” Tossing the condoms and wallet on the desk by her hip, he lowered his head to kiss her inner thigh. When he hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties, he gazed up at her. “Take them off or rip them off?”
Allie placed her hands back on the desk and angled her ass up. “Take them off. You have no respect for the lingerie.”
With aching slowness, he began to remove them. One centimeter at a time. It was torture. After a minute, she gave up.
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