by Alexia Adams
“I guess there’s a woman in me somewhere who still likes pretty things.” She shrugged, trying to ignore the soft caress of the material against her skin. And Erik’s one finger that was wreaking havoc with her control.
“You’re all woman, Analise. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. A strong, beautiful woman.” The heat of his gaze set off warm tingles over her exposed skin. Mesmerized by his eyes, she didn’t notice the waiter had appeared beside the table until he spoke.
“May I take your drinks order?”
Forcing herself to look away from Erik, she gave the waiter a small smile. “Just an orange juice for me.”
“We’re celebrating—wouldn’t you rather have champagne?” Erik asked.
“I’ll stick with the juice.” Her mother’s dependence on drink and drugs had made Analise wary of any predisposition to substance abuse. Although, her father’s constant infidelity probably had more to do with her mother’s downfall than any inheritable tendency. Plus, she was having enough difficulty staying in control of her body without alcohol reducing her inhibitions.
Erik ordered a glass of wine, then leaned forward again. He ran his fingers up her arm to her elbow and back down again. His touch was smoother and more potent than eighteen-year-old Scotch. They spoke of favorite foods, her photography, and his love of sailing. At some point they transitioned to the restaurant. Erik’s arm around her waist held her tightly against him. Anyone watching them would have no doubts that they were a couple in love. Analise herself was having trouble remembering it was all a façade.
As the waiter cleared their dinner plates, Analise excused herself to use the ladies’ room. As she washed her hands, she stared in the mirror, hardly able to believe the image that reflected back. She glowed. The dark circles under her eyes had disappeared. Her cheeks were flushed, and she couldn’t even blame a glass of wine. Excitement hummed through her body and, in the spirit of honesty, a drum of desire also pounded in her veins. Erik was gorgeous, and all evening he’d gazed on her with undisguised lust, tempered with a hint of reverence and care. If only she could erase the past ten years. Go back to the sweet, innocent girl who still believed in happy-ever-afters.
As she exited, she spotted a pay phone tucked in the corner of the hallway. Just her luck. She’d been searching all day, and she’d finally found one when Erik was only meters away. But it was the closest she was likely to get to untraceable private communication. With no time to waste, she dug into the bottom of her purse and pulled out the huge bag of coins she’d prepared for just such an eventuality. As she slotted the money into the phone, she carefully extracted the delicate paper with the number written in Jean-Claude’s nearly illegible Arabic scrawl.
She glanced around, praying that Erik didn’t also make a trip to the washroom. Her fingers shook as she punched in the numbers. An eternity passed before she heard the distant ring through the earpiece. Hopefully, the connection would be decent, and she wouldn’t need to shout.
“Oui.” The call was answered on the second ring by a male voice speaking French.
“Je m’appelle—”
“I know who you are.” The caller switched to English. “He is dead?”
“Yes.”
“Buy a cheap cell phone with cash. Text this number with the GPS coordinates of a location exactly ten days before you are able to meet. Then dispose of the phone somewhere it will never be found.” The voice was harsh and spoke with an Arab accent.
“How will I know you?”
“I will find you. Choose a place very public. Tell no one.”
The line went dead before she could ask another question.
“Analise?”
She turned to find Erik striding toward her. Replacing the receiver, she gave herself a mental shake.
Tell no one.
“I wanted to call my granddad and let him know I’m okay. He probably expected us back before now.”
“Why didn’t you say something? I’d have loaned you my cell. Don’t you have one?”
“The battery’s dead. I keep forgetting to charge it,” she prevaricated.
“Did you get through?”
“What? Oh, um, no. I must have misdialed. The number is on speed dial on my cell phone; I guess I remembered it wrong.”
“Here.” Erik handed her his phone. “The number’s in my contacts under ‘Thordarson.’” He pushed open the door of the men’s room and disappeared inside.
Analise scrolled through the names on Erik’s phone, trying not to notice the number of women’s names. She had no claim on him. Unfortunately, that didn’t lessen the burning sensation in her chest. Finding her grandfather’s number, she pressed the call button.
Should she tell Afi that she’d be back later tonight or not until tomorrow? Was this the date she and Erik had missed all those years ago? The one with the secret plan to spend the night together?
Chapter 7
Erik returned to the table, and Analise rose majestically as he neared. As soon as he’d seen the dress in the store window, he knew she’d look fabulous in it. She deserved to be wrapped in silk and treasured, not treated like a disposable plaything as her previous fiancé had done. Ever since Analise had told him about Jean-Claude, the need to protect and cherish her had become almost overwhelming.
He’d already paid the bill, assuming she didn’t want dessert because she hadn’t finished her meal. If she did, they could always order room service. Protecting and cherishing weren’t the only needs that hummed through his body.
“Did you talk to your granddad?” Erik wrapped his arms around her. God, she felt as good as she looked. The top of her head fit perfectly under his chin. Her soft curves touched in all the right places. Ten years seemed to have intensified rather than dulled the longing.
“Yes. He said as long as I’m with you, he’s not worried.”
“Are you worried?”
“No. I’m a big girl. I can look after myself.”
What did she mean by that? “Let’s go up to the room to collect your things.” Like being alone with her was going to help calm his libido.
“I do need to change before we go home,” she replied.
Was she unaware of the sexual tension between them? He might need a cold shower while she changed. Then her gaze roved over his lips, and she licked her own. His mouth went dry.
The bing of the elevator arriving at their floor was like a timer going off in his body. Ready.
He opened the suite door and let her precede him. His gaze lingered on her tight backside hugged by the red silk fabric. God, this so wasn’t helping.
She turned as he closed the door, her eyes uncertain as he stepped toward her. He stopped. His own breathing became shallow.
“Analise?” He wanted to make sure she was on the same page.
He waited while myriad emotions flickered across her face: loneliness, longing, lust. She walked over to the desk, her fingers toying with the pen on the notepad. Erik released a slow breath to calm his racing heart.
“If you want to change before we go, I’ll wait here.” He offered her an easy exit.
“No, I … ” Her voice was husky. She seemed unable to move but held her hand out to him.
Crossing the room in three strides, he framed her face with his hands. He searched her eyes, needing to know if she was sure. She blinked, then parted her lips. Before his brain finished analyzing the answer in her eyes, her body was plastered against his and he was plundering her mouth like a hormonal teenager. Wanting to take things slow, in case she changed her mind, he eased back, only to have her hand thread through his hair and pull his mouth back to hers. Her other hand rested against his chest, hopefully holding in his heart as it banged against his rib cage.
As much as he wanted to stay there and kiss her for a full hour, their height difference was giving him a neck ache. So he lifted her and strode over to the sofa. He sat with Analise in his lap, her slight weight pressing against his arousal. A groan escaped his lips as she wiggle
d. Her breathing was rapid, her lips swollen from his kisses. The strap of her dress slid down her arm, revealing another centimeter of breast. He traced the line of her cleavage with his index finger, watching her eyes as they darkened.
Her hips shimmied again, and Erik clenched his teeth to stop himself from rocketing her off him. This wasn’t going to work. Neither of them was in control. Any other time in their relationship, it would’ve been the ideal situation. He’d never experienced such explosive passion before. But this was their first time; no way was he going to rush it.
With a swift move he laid her on the sofa while he kneeled on the floor. She was spread out before him like an all-you-can-eat buffet, and he intended to gorge himself. Her breasts rose and fell rapidly, and he forced his eyes to look away. That was dessert. Stripping off his suit jacket and tie, he set to play. He moved down to her feet and slid off her shoes. Raising her foot, he feathered kisses along her delicate ankle, repeating the slow torment with her other foot.
He traced his lips from her inner ankle up to her knee, his fingers exploring ahead. She gasped and writhed beneath him as he hit the barrier of her underwear. Slowly, he retreated until he was back at her ankles again. He performed the same operation with her other leg. As he reached her upper thigh, his name escaped her lips. He raised his head at that; her eyes were tightly closed, and her head thrashed from side to side on the pillow. A surge of pure masculine pride flowed through him, giving him the necessary restraint to make this good for her before he satisfied his own needs.
Her hand was clenched on the side of the sofa, pulling on the upholstery. Erik pried her fingers off the furniture and kissed each digit until her hand went limp in his. He then trailed his lips around her wrist, his tongue pressing against her pulse. Her inner elbow received a similar treatment, and by the time he reached her shoulder, she was moaning with pleasure. Tracing the line of her cleavage with his finger again, his thumb rested on her nipple. Analise arched her back, and his other hand lowered the zipper on her dress. All that remained was to lift off the fabric and feast his senses.
Placing his index finger at the top of her dress, he slid it down, revealing, millimeter by millimeter, her glorious, white flesh. At the first hint of a darker color he stopped, waiting for her eyes to open. When they did, he leaned down and kissed her parted lips.
Her hands raced up and down his back, tugging at the fabric of his shirt. He sat up so she could undo the buttons, memorizing her face flushed with passion. Her white teeth bit into her bottom lip as she concentrated on her task. Wanting to test her control, he circled his thumbs over her nipples through the bunched fabric of her dress. Analise gave up on the last two buttons and ripped the shirt the rest of the way open. Her hands ran over his chest and abs, and it was his turn to moan.
“May I?” He had the fabric of her dress between finger and thumb, holding it a centimeter away from her body before lowering it again to caress her taut peaks and lifting it off again.
“Please—” she gasped.
“Oh, I intend to,” he replied. He pulled the material down to her waist and let his eyes feast on the bounty before him. “You are exquisite.”
Before he could say anything further, Analise threaded her fingers through his hair and pulled his head down to her breast. He circled the peak with his tongue before taking it into his mouth. His own body was harder than a steel beam. He clamped down on his desire. Ensuring Analise enjoyed the moment was his first priority.
He switched over to her other breast, his fingers replacing his lips on the first, plucking then circling and caressing in time with his tongue. Lifting his gaze, he saw her head again roll back and forth on the cushion, a soft mewling coming from her parted lips. With his free hand he reached down to her ankle, his fingers and thumb tracing lazy circles up to her inner thigh. He slipped his hand around to cup her bottom, massaging her clenched muscles. Sliding his hand down the outside of her thigh, he intended to repeat the movement when his palm encountered a large, raised welt. Analise flinched, and a moan of pain, not passion, escaped her lips.
A shiver coursed through Erik that had nothing to do with desire.
• • •
Analise’s eyes flew open. A cool draft blew over her flushed skin as Erik moved away. He switched from consummate lover to clinician in a heartbeat.
“What’s that?” he asked.
Flipping on the light at the end of the sofa, he turned her leg to see the injury. She pulled the top of her dress back in place and sat up on her elbows.
“It’s only a scratch.” Desire drummed through her veins. The heat of Erik’s loving had been so intense, her insides had melted and her brain had fogged over.
“That’s more than a scratch. And it’s recent. When did you get it?” The pad of Erik’s thumb traced gently around the injury, careful not to touch it again.
She pulled her leg out of his hand and sat up. Slipping her arms through the straps, she managed to pull the zipper back up on her dress without dislocating her shoulder.
“A souvenir of Syria.”
“I thought you said you evaded the soldiers.” Erik picked up his suit jacket from the floor and put it around her shoulders, then he pulled her back to rest against his naked chest. His heartbeat had lessened to a rhythmic thud, although his breathing was still faster than normal.
“After Jean-Claude died, I went to find help to move his body. I couldn’t leave him there; he deserved a decent burial. As I exited the building there was an explosion across the road. Next thing I knew I woke up in a hospital bed.” A hospital in Algeria, not Syria, but as I have no idea how I got there, it’s probably not relevant.
“And that was your only injury?”
“You just did a pretty thorough physical.” She crossed her arms, giving herself a hug to ward off the chill of his rejection.
“Analise … ” Erik put his finger under her chin and raised her face to his. “I’m sorry.”
Sorry for my injury? Sorry that you started to make love to me? Or sorry that you stopped?
“It doesn’t matter. It’s past.” She pulled out of his arms. “I’ll change, then I want to go home.” Dieu, she was an idiot. She’d let the past lull her into thinking this was her future. Their engagement was fake, and she needed to remember that. Just because she wanted him didn’t mean she should have him. Even though it had been … amazing.
Gaining the sanctity of the bedroom, Analise collapsed on the bed.
Amazing, but too soon.
She’d only given Erik the censored version of events. When she’d begged Jean-Claude not to go off to meet his source, his response was to make love to her. She thought he’d changed his mind, that he’d stay. But after the final orgasmic spasms had wracked her body, he’d pulled his pants back on and sauntered out the door, blowing her a kiss as he stepped through. Next time she’d seen him, death was in his eyes.
She didn’t want to use Erik to forget Jean-Claude. If she slept with Erik, it had to be because she loved him, not just for some physical release. It had to mean something.
Analise yanked off the dress, not caring if she tore the expensive fabric. She pulled on her t-shirt and skirt and stuffed her feet into her ballerina flats. Shoving the dress into the plastic laundry bag, she left the room.
Erik stood next to the window, his shirt still undone. He was disheveled and delectable, and for a microsecond she thought about staying.
“I’ll wait in the lobby,” she said as she strode toward the door. She didn’t turn back and blow him a kiss.
Chapter 8
Erik pulled up once again in front of the Thordarson house. He’d dropped Analise off at two in the morning the preceding day. She hadn’t said a word the whole trip back from Winnipeg and had just whispered, “Bonne nuit,” as she’d slammed the car door shut. Then, yesterday, she’d refused his calls. Her grandfather claimed she was resting.
The only good thing to come out of the past twenty-four hours was that his mother had managed to
stay sober the entire time. He could’ve used a drink. He’d made a real mess of things in Winnipeg. Instead of protecting and cherishing Analise, he was using and abusing, just like her former fiancé. After their fake engagement was over, she’d leave again. He had no right to make love to her.
However, there were still ten days to go until his grandparents’ anniversary. Unless he wanted to answer some very uncomfortable inquiries from his family in the coming days, he’d have to make up to her somehow. Question was, where to start?
As he stepped from the BMW, he noticed a few more changes to the Thordarson homestead. There were now two baskets of flowers on the railing, and the door had been painted. The screen door opened as he stepped onto the porch, and Analise stood before him. Her hands were on her hips, her shoulders back, her chin raised, ready to do battle. Despite all that life had thrown at her, she wasn’t cowering in the corner. She was ready to take on the world. Her fierce determination, tempered by a caring heart, took his breath away.
The summer dress she wore had small buttons all the way from the neckline to the hem. Dear God, what he wouldn’t give to undo every single one of those buttons and kiss each centimeter of skin as it was revealed.
To keep his hands off, he adjusted the ball cap on his head.
“Hi,” he said as she stopped in front of him. A trickle of sweat that had nothing to do with the thirty-five-degree Celsius temperature ran down his back.
“What do you want, Erik?” Her voice was so cold he could almost see her breath in the air.
“To talk about what happened in Winnipeg. I’m sorry; I took advantage of you. I won’t do it again.” He’d obviously misread her signals. His own desire for her had clouded his judgment.
She shook her head, then leaned against the doorframe. “It’s not that. I’m mad at myself more than you. I let myself get caught up in the romance and forgot this is all fake. Six weeks ago, I held my fiancé in my arms as he bled to death. Yes, our relationship was troubled and heading for the finish line. But that doesn’t mean I should just jump into bed with the next guy who comes along.”