She nestled in his arms, curled against his chest, pressed her face to the side of his wet, muscle-corded neck. A powerful tenderness for him overcame her. “If that’s what you call playing, Cort Dimitri,” she said in a low, husky murmur, “you must throw one hell of a pool party.”
He didn’t answer, but tightened his arms around her. She noticed the tension in his body and the thunderous beating of his heart.
Of course. He hadn’t found his release yet.
Languidly she slipped one arm around his neck and brushed her lips across his mouth, her breasts against his chest...and delved her hand into the water to rake her fingers up the front of his naked thigh.
His eyes shut and a small groan escaped him, but he caught her wrist and held it. “Laura,” he uttered heatedly through his teeth. “As much as I’d like to keep doing this with you forever, it’s time to call it quits.”
“Quits?” She found his hard, pulsating arousal with her thighs and rolled it between them. He hissed in a sharp breath, and she gazed deeply into his hot, chaotic eyes. “You said you want to be inside me any way you can. There’s still another way.” She angled her face, sucked on his earlobe and murmured, “But we have to get out of the pool, or I’d probably drown.”
With a tortured groan, he removed her arms from around his neck, slid his erection out from between her thighs and gently eased her onto her feet in the water, surprising her into silence. He looked almost angry, yet she sensed no anger in him; only frustration, desire and inexplicable conflict. “You’re enough to drive a man crazy, you know that?”
With those hoarse, mystifying words, he swashed by her, climbed the steps and strode alongside the pool—wet, naked and unmistakably aroused.
Stunned at the rebuff, then distracted by the lean musculature of his powerful body, Laura watched as he grabbed a towel from the chaise lounge, vigorously rubbed his face, neck and chest dry and then slung it around his hips. She hadn’t seen him naked in fifteen years. He’d only grown more Adonislike; a prime, breathtaking specimen of manhood.
“Cort?” she finally called, rousing herself from a stupor. “We can...you know...continue this upstairs, if you’d like.”
“Think I’ll turn in for the night,” he said on his way to the door.
She gawked at his retreating back. Turn in for the night? “Cort, wait.”
He didn’t wait.
She hurried out of the pool, grabbed the remaining towel, wrapped it around herself and rushed after him. What the hell was going on? Had he been hurt somehow? Had he taken ill? She raced across the glassed-in walkway, through the house and up the stairs, heedless of her wet body and hair, or the chills racing up her spine.
She caught him in the corridor between the bedrooms. “Cort, what’s wrong?” She searched his face for signs of pain or distress. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” He glanced down at her towel-draped form in some surprise, although he himself wore only a toweL “You’re dripping wet And shivering.”
“Oh.” She glanced down at herself in mortification. “Oh, I’m sorry.” She suppressed a shiver. “I didn’t mean to drip on your carpet.”
“The hell with the carpet.” With strong, warm hands on her arms, he ushered her into a bathroom. Snatching a decorative white towel off a rack, he briskly dried her face, then squeezed the towel around random handfuls of her hair.
She watched him in growing bewilderment. She’d been ready to believe that he’d been stricken by some physical ailment, yet he looked perfectly robust. Tense and distant, but robust.
Never had he puzzled her more.
“Cort.” She set a gentle, staying hand on his forearm. “I don’t understand what happened. Why you...turned me down. And left me.”
“Left you?” He seemed to object to her terminology.
“Yes, left me.”
He stared at her for a long moment, the intensity again building in his gaze. Then he glanced away and tossed the damp, decorative towel aside onto a long marble-topped vanity. “We can talk about this some other time.” He made a move to leave the bathroom.
She insistently blocked the doorway. “It’s been an incredible evening for me, Cort. You’ve made me feel things that I haven’t felt in a long time.” Heat leaped again in his eyes, and her stomach warmed. “But I didn’t want to leave it a one-way thing. I wanted to...to take care of you.”
“You mean, like...” he tilted his head “...I do you, and you do me?”
Stung by the crudeness, she regarded him in uncomprehending silence. Intensity simmered just beneath his surface, and she had no idea why. “I suppose you could look at it that way.”
His lips slanted almost imperceptibly. “Can’t say it’s not a square deal.”
Anger sparked within her. “I’ve obviously said or done something to offend you. I don’t know what it was, but you can be sure it won’t happen again.” She pivoted to leave the bathroom.
He caught her arm and turned her to face him. “You think you offended me?”
“What else could I think?”
“You can’t offend me, Laura.” His hands moved on her arms. His gaze played over her face. “Not when it comes to anything sexual between you and me.”
Her pulse pounded; her temperature soared, and she realized that some troubling intensity simmered just beneath her surface, too. “Then what happened? Did you get tired, or bored?”
“You know damn well I didn’t.”
“Then tell me what. It’s not fair that you should close yourself off to me when I’ve been so...so open to you.”
He tipped her chin up and submitted her to close, hot scrutiny. “Are you open to me?”
She stared at him, her heart beating high in her throat. “In most ways,” she whispered, thoroughly shaken and hot and wanting something beyond what he’d already given.
Cort saw the rise of desire in her gaze and felt the dangerous pull of need within him again. Dropping his fingers from her chin, he gritted his teeth in an excruciating effort to control the hunger. She was open to him in most ways, yes...but not all. And he wanted all.
All.
Torrid emotion stormed through him. They had reasons, solid reasons, for not making love. He remembered only one. She considered him the wrong man. He could look and touch and taste; he could make her come again and again in his arms; but he couldn’t have her.
That realization ate away at something vital inside of him. She had offered to tend to his sexual needs, and in keeping with their game, he should consider himself lucky. But he wanted her in a way that transcended any game he’d ever played. If she thought that mere physical release would satisfy him, she was wrong.
And he wanted her to know it.
“Talk to me, Cort,” she pleaded. “Tell me why you′re holding me at arm’s length when we’ve just been so intimate. I’ll respect whatever reason you have. But without understanding the situation...” she shook her head, her eyes glazed with hurt “...I won’t carry on a one-sided affair.”
The tension within him twisted another painful notch. She was tearing him in two. He didn’t want to settle for less than all of her. The undisputed right to all of her. But if he held out for that right, he’d undoubtedly lose all chance of looking and touching and tasting. And making her come in his arms.
- Her caring gaze fanned the heat he was trying to bank, and her thick tangle of wet ringlets called out to his fingers. Her scent clouded his mind—a provocative mix of chlorine, heat and woman. And the scant towel draped low across her breasts barely reached her thighs.
He looked away from her, clenched his jaw and reached deep inside for self-control. Intercourse won’t enter into it, he’d promised. His lungs pumped hard and slow; his heart spewed liquid fire through his veins. “Okay,” he rasped, turning a smoldering gaze to her. “Okay.” He tangled his fingers into her billowing ringlets and cocked her face to his. “Tend to my needs then, Laura,” he whispered, rubbing his thumbs beside her mouth.
And
he kissed her with all the hunger that savaged his heart and body. He stripped their towels off, lifted her from the floor and perched her at the very edge of the marble vanity. Ignoring the questions in her gaze, he parted her thighs and wrapped her legs around his hips.
His arousal strained hard and erect between their bodies, planted against the curl-matted threshold of her womanhood. He braced an arm around her back and proclaimed in a torrential outpour against her ear, “I’m making love to you now.”
A sound tore from her—half cry, half groan—but she didn’t pull away. She didn’t stop him. Cort shut his eyes, overwhelmed by the crushing weight of his promise. He couldn’t have her. He was the wrong man. Clenching his jaw against her temple, he rocked his aching hardness against her. And in a pained rasp, he clarified, “In my mind, I’m making love to you.”
Laura heard those last few qualifying words through a simmer of desire. In his mind. Only in his mind. Conflicting emotions rioted in her heart. Temptation to make that fantasy a reality ran the strongest.
Her throat worked in hard, dry swallows as she struggled to resist temptation. But even as she struggled, her hands swept to his taut buttocks and pulled him closer. Her fingertips kneaded muscles that bunched and flexed. Pleasure flooded her loins with every grind of his hips.
“Touch me,” he breathed.
She did, in reverent awe of the power, the heat, the size. He guided her hand downward and wrapped it around the smooth, hard base of his erection. His hand then clamped over hers, and he moved in sinuous gyrations. His hardness pumped through her grip, pulsating and growing. Sensations curled in her loins from the undulating pressure against her femininity.
Heat flared. Pleasure glowed. His hand abandoned hers and climbed higher, to fist around the very top. His thrusts quickened. His muscles clenched. He groaned, stiffened and bucked.
A torrid ripple of contractions broke through both of them.
He remained absolutely still for a long moment after, his breathing ragged, his sweat-dampened face against hers. She fought for control of her own erratic breaths while the quivering in her loins subsided.
“There,” he uttered almost inaudibly. “That takes care of that . . .” he drew back and locked her in his stare “...doesn’t it?”
And though she knew he’d found release, the troubling intensity remained in his gaze.
8
NOTHING, BUT NOTHING, soothed a troubled soul as well as color schemes, fabric choices, window treatments and fine architectural detail, in Laura’s opinion. Glad that her work allowed her to indulge, she rose before dawn, gathered her notebook, sketch pad and camera, and engrossed herself in the wonder of the house.
From its grandly scaled entrance doorway to its courtyard garden with an exquisite fountain to its sumptuously detailed library, the house abounded with dramatic spatial and decorative effects. Her hand almost shook as she sketched ideas, scribbled notes and snapped photographs.
She’d made her way through most of the downstairs before she realized it was almost nine-thirty. She usually started her workday with clients around eight. And Cort had not yet put in an appearance. Surely he meant to consult with her about the house. After all, he had insisted she break her appointment at the clinic—which would have been today, she realized with a pang of surprise—to spend the week with him.
Was he avoiding her? If so, why?
The questions renewed her emotional turmoil. Something had deeply disturbed him last night, she knew. She believed it had been the sexual limit they’d set, although he himself had agreed to the need for it. Had she been unfair to let herself revel so openly in their intimacy, when it couldn’t lead to its natural conclusion? But he had been the one to initiate the intimate play. He had been the one to promise that intercourse wouldn’t enter into it.
He had also been the one to honor that promise, even when she’d been ready to ignore it. Gratitude warmed her. He’d been strong, honorable and trustworthy. He just doesn’t want to get you pregnant, you nitwit!
Which was wise. Very wise.
She, on the other hand, had been thoroughly lost to wisdom or rational thought. She’d spent years arming herself against just such mindless passion, yet within the first day she’d entered Cort’s home, she’d unconditionally surrendered.
A vague fear stirred within her. It would be so easy to fall in love with him again.
She’d convinced herself over the years that she’d felt only a schoolgirl’s infatuation for him. At the time, though, she’d believed it was love. And she’d been sure, absolutely sure, that he felt the same for her. He hadn’t. He’d considered their relationship “just sex.” She couldn’t allow herself to forget that, or to make the same mistake twice.
Her best defense, she realized with a sinking heart, was to keep personal involvement to a minimum. She’d come too close to disaster already. I’m making love to you now, he’d whispered. She’d been more than willing...and he hadn’t even been wearing a condom! How, how, how could she have been willing to take such a ridiculous risk?
Besides the risk of pregnancy, her intimacy with Cort threatened in other ways, too. Last night had led to more strained relations between them. He’d left her at her bedroom door with barely a word...and he hadn’t shown his face this morning. Not a good beginning for the business she’d come to transact.
With a frustrated glance at her watch, Laura climbed the stairs, stalked down the corridor and prepared to beat on his bedroom door. She found that door open, the bed neatly made and Cort dressed in dark jeans and a black sweater, seated in an armchair with a telephone to his ear. “No, tell him the price is firm. We’re not coming down a penny. And if he doesn’t finalize the deal by Thursday, he might find himself in a bidding war.”
Laura considered tiptoeing away to allow him to conduct his business uninterrupted, but another glance at her watch changed her mind. After all, she had canceled an important appointment to cater to his tight schedule. The least he could do now is respect her schedule. Bracing herself for whatever reaction he might have to seeing her this morning, she remained in the doorway of his room and briskly cleared her throat.
Cort glanced up. Met her gaze. And winked. That was it—just a slight, unsmiling wink while he listened to whoever spoke at the other end of the line.
The mere sight of his midnight-blue eyes was enough to set her pulse leaping. Dismayed at how much the slightest communication with him affected her, she returned to her own work downstairs, hoping he’d taken the hint and would soon join her.
By ten-thirty, he still hadn’t.
Determined to snare his attention, she resorted to deviousness. She cooked breakfast—a particularly aromatic one that was guaranteed to draw him to the kitchen. Unless, of course, his tastes had changed drastically.
Sure enough, he soon appeared in the kitchen doorway looking morning fresh and impossibly handsome, his jet hair shining, his chiseled jaw smoothly shaven, the sleeves of his black sweater pushed up his muscled forearms. “Do I smell onions and peppers...and feta cheese?” he asked incredulously.
“And mushrooms.” She tossed a glance at him from the stove. “How does an omelet sound?”
“Fantastic.” He ambled closer, making her heart speed up at his nearness, and peered over her shoulder into the skillet. “You haven’t salted it yet, have you?”
“Just a couple of times.” She glanced at him in time to see disappointment flicker in his gaze. She elbowed him in the ribs. “No, I haven’t salted it. I know you don’t like much salt.”
He stared at her as if she were one of the seven natural wonders of the world. His surprise made her uneasy. Maybe she shouldn’t have admitted to remembering such a trivial fact after all these years. Maybe he’d make too much out of it...and start to worry that she’d never really fallen out of love with him....
He crossed his arms and leaned against the counter, studying her. “Are you going to pick the peppers out of yours?”
It was her turn to gape.
She hadn’t known he’d ever noticed that! “Actually, I’ve acquired a taste for bell peppers,” she informed him, feeling marvelously mature and worldly. After a moment, though, she admitted, “But it did take almost the whole fifteen years.”
They gazed at each other with smiles brimming in their eyes.
Cort couldn’t say why the idea of remembering her dislike of peppers pleased him so much, or the fact that she remembered what he liked for breakfast, and how he liked it cooked.
For a moment, he’d almost felt as if she were his again.
She dished the omelet onto plates, plucked toast from the toaster and buttered both slices. She’d always been a good cook, he remembered. He’d usually refused to join in the feasts she prepared for everyone at the Hays Street house, though, unless he’d helped pay for the food. Or unless she made omelets with onions, peppers and feta cheese, which he always found a way to afford. She herself had never given the cost a thought, stocking the pantry and refrigerator with everything she knew her housemates liked.
She’d brought the Hays Street house to life with savory aromas and flavors. And colorful wildflowers. And holiday decorations on every occasion. And warm, welcoming smiles.
He’d missed her so damn bad.
The force of that feeling shook him. Why hadn’t he realized it sooner? Why had he stayed away from her for fifteen years? He knew the answer, of course: he’d tried to block every conscious thought of her from his mind. He’d known he hadn’t been good for her, and when he’d left, he’d meant for the break to be permanent.
And now, though he knew he could wear down her resistance to him sexually—oh yes, last night had proven that much—she’d effectively blocked him out of her heart and life with walls that seemed impenetrable.
He had to find a way inside those walls.
He had to tear them down.
The fierceness of his longing clanged warnings in his head. When she detects serious heat in a relationship, she runs. Steffie and Tamika had told him so. His gut told him so. If she guessed how much he wanted what she wasn’t offering, she would run and never look back.
The Daddy Decision Page 13