by Dani Wade
He wrapped her in a thick, dove-gray towel and dried her with painstaking care.
“Draco?”
Her voice made him look up from his ministrations.
“Hmm?” he answered, reaching for a fresh towel to dry her hair before skimming his own body dry.
“What about you?”
He smiled. “Later. For now, you rest, si?”
“I’m sorry, I—”
He put a fingertip to her lips. “Don’t. Don’t tell me you’re sorry.”
He guided her to the master bedroom and pulled back the voluminous, down-filled duvet and the crisp cotton sheet before gently pushing her down onto the mattress. She was asleep in moments, confirming his belief she’d been pushing herself too hard. It was certainly more than the languor of the aftermath of lovemaking that dragged her into somnolence. He tossed her damp towel to one corner of the room and climbed into the bed next to her, propping himself up slightly so he could watch her as she settled into a deeper sleep. Eventually, he flipped the control that dimmed the bedroom lights into darkness and settled down onto his pillow, scooping Blair against his body and pulling the sheet over them both before letting sleep claim him also.
It was her feather-light touch that woke him only a couple of hours later. Somewhere in the night she’d slid from his hold and he’d rolled onto his stomach, a position that was becoming increasingly uncomfortable as awareness flooded his body.
Blair knelt over him. Her fingers touching, yet almost not, as they traced a line up from his ankles to the backs of his knees and then higher. Blood surged to his groin as her touch coasted up the inside of his thighs. Up and down and back again, each time moving a little higher, until goose bumps raised all over his skin anticipating her next move.
He felt the mattress shift, ever so slightly, as she moved, straddling his legs, keeping him captive, prone. He could feel her firm buttocks on the backs of his thighs, feel the heat of her core against his bare skin. It was both a torment and a pleasure.
Her touch strengthened now, deepened as she stroked the long line of muscles on either side of his spine, stopping every now and then to change her touch to that feather-soft caress that threatened to drive him crazy with want. His hands, shoved deep under his pillow, clenched into fists as he fought not to reach for her, to spin her beneath him and torture her as she now did him.
“Are you awake yet?”
The teasing note in her voice made his lips pull into a smile.
“Yes, I am awake,” he ground out through clenched teeth as her fingers tracked his spine—down, down, until she skimmed the crease of his buttocks.
He felt her weight lift from his legs.
“You’d better turn over then,” she instructed.
Draco rolled over, hissing in a breath as she wrapped her fingers around his hardened length and caressed him, her other hand reaching for the packet she’d already removed from the bedside cabinet. He nearly lost it as he watched her tear the foil open with her teeth and slide the condom from its wrapper, then meticulously slide it over him.
He reached for her hips as she rose above him, poised at his tip.
“Let me,” she whispered, placing her hands over his. “Let me look after you this time.”
He was unused to surrendering control, whether it was in the boardroom or the bedroom, but for Blair he would do this. Her heat threatened to consume him as she lowered herself to take only his tip within her body. Every instinct within him demanded he take charge, insisted he drive into her and bring them both to the shattering pleasure he knew lay in store, but he beat back the urge and forced himself to concede.
A groan broke from his throat as she tilted her hips, taking a little more of him, then more, until finally he was exactly where he wanted to be, needed to be. She clenched her inner muscles around him, holding him tight then releasing him, shifting her hips back and forth ever so slightly with each clench and release, increasing in tempo until a sheen of sweat broke out on his body and hers.
He could keep his hands from her no longer. He reached for her, his fingers closing over the small globes of her breasts, squeezing them as she thrust forward, flicking her nipples with his thumbs. And then he was lost, pleasure unleashed in waves through his body. Beyond control, he thrust upwards and was rewarded with her cry as he felt her spasm around him, again and again, her body shaking.
He supported her against his hands as she climaxed, eventually lowering her to lie over his body. Lazily he rubbed one hand up and down her back, savoring the boneless sense of completion that permeated every part of his body.
Eventually, Blair lifted herself off him and took care of the condom. A simple thing, but one no woman had ever done for him before. When she came back into the bedroom she climbed back into bed beside him and curled up against his body and Draco allowed himself to sink into sleep, secure in the knowledge she wanted him now as much as he wanted her.
Four
Blair woke to the sound of Draco moving about the room. She kept her eyes closed and focused on keeping her breathing even. She didn’t want to face him. Not now. Not in the cold light of day. She’d agreed to one night, but, if she knew him, he’d want more. And he wouldn’t take no for an answer.
She listened to the gentle slide of a drawer closing and then the soft sound of his bare feet on the thickly carpeted floor. She waited until the door to the bathroom was closed before opening her eyes. She wanted out of here, right now.
Yes, they’d had the most spectacular night of lovemaking of her life, but Draco would never let it stop there. Men like him wanted more. Needed more. With his position back at home he was expected to marry, to raise a family. He could never do that with someone like Blair, and she didn’t want to be that someone anyway. She didn’t have that kind of person inside her to give.
The failure with Rhys was categorical proof of that, and with her family track history—no, best not to go down that route. Besides, where would a girl like her fit in with the centuries-old traditions of Draco’s life? No, it was far, far better that she make a silent retreat here and now, before he could tempt her into wanting more—wanting him—again.
She swept her legs off the bed, relishing the sensation of her bare feet sinking into the plush pile of the carpet. A far cry from the polished wooden floors in her small apartment, and yet another example of the differences in their lives. Blair rose from the bed, acknowledging the minor aches in her muscles. Aches which sent a flush of desire across her body as she remembered how she’d earned them.
She looked around the room for her clothing, scowling silently as she remembered that Draco had undressed her in the bathroom and she’d left her pack in there. Would she be able to slip inside and gather her things without him noticing? She doubted it. So, what did that leave? Going home wrapped in a sheet? Hardly likely, although a sense of urgency gripped her. How much longer would Draco be in the bathroom, she wondered?
She darted across the room and listened at the door, the sound of water cascading in the shower reassuring her for a moment.
There was nothing else to do but borrow something of his, she decided. She could always courier it back to him, if he even noticed it missing. She quickly rummaged through the dark cherrywood tallboy, grabbing a T-shirt and a pair of lightweight drawstring track pants. Draco was taller than she, but not by so much that the track pants would drag on the ground. She swiftly pulled the clothes on, regretting for a moment that she hadn’t had a chance to grab her shoes. Okay, she acknowledged, there might not be much between them in height but there certainly was in body size. Draco’s shirt hung on her like a rag, and the pants would trip her in a minute, no matter how high she hitched them to her waist. She bent to quickly roll up the legs a couple of twists and then tied the T-shirt in a knot at her lower back. There, that was a bit better.
But what about her feet? A quick glance in the walk-in wardrobe confirmed there was no way her narrow feet would carry off wearing a pair of Draco’s running shoes or
anything else in there. She’d have to forget about footwear for now and just pray she didn’t have to walk too far before finding a taxi.
She stiffened as she registered the sudden silence in the bathroom behind her. Damn, he was out of the shower. She didn’t have much time.
Blair shot through the apartment and let herself out the front door. She ran lightly down the corridor to the elevator and leaned on the button to call the car to the top floor, her eyes fixed on the door to Draco’s apartment the whole time. When the door whooshed open behind her she jumped, and then laughed at herself for her ridiculousness. What had she been expecting? That he’d jump out from behind the elevator doors and drag her back to the apartment, hold her there as his love slave forevermore?
She rolled her eyes at her mirrored reflection in the closing doors, taking a minute to push her fingers through her hair.
One night he’d asked for. One night he’d had. It had to be enough—for both of them.
Some people might call it running away—others, well, “tactical withdrawal” were the words that immediately came to Blair’s mind. If she wasn’t at the apartment or the restaurant, then Draco couldn’t find her, and that’s just the way she wanted it. The instant Blair got back home she showered and changed into her own clothes, grateful to put on fresh underwear and to rid herself of the tingling sensation of Draco’s clothing against her bare skin. All her bare skin.
She threw the clothes in a bag for dry cleaning and added them to the laundry to be picked up by their linen supply company. Then she quickly put together a few things, enough to last her a couple of days, and headed out the door.
She hadn’t been to visit her father since she’d returned from Tuscany. Now seemed as good a time as any. Monday and Tuesday were supposed to be her days off, not that she usually took them, so it wasn’t as if she was running away. Not really, she told herself as she threw her bag into the passenger seat of her station wagon and put the vehicle in gear. A couple of days at the beach would do her good.
As she drove down the rutted driveway toward the house her father rented by the beach at Kaiaua, on the Seabird Coast southeast of Auckland city, she knew she’d made the right decision. Already, the soothing sounds of the sea, the cries of wheeling gulls and the soft onshore breeze began to invigorate her in a way being back at work hadn’t in a long time.
She thrust open her door and loped over to the house. She ignored the two shallow stairs that led to the weathered wraparound deck and jumped the short distance, her feet landing with a muffled thud before she ran around to where she knew her father would have his French doors open to the ocean.
“Dad?” she called as she stepped inside.
A tantalizing aroma filtered through the air to tweak at her nose, and Blair instinctively followed the scent through to the compact kitchen, just beyond the airy, open living area that faced the sea.
“I thought you might turn up today,” Blair Carson, Sr. commented without turning his back as Blair entered the kitchen.
“Hello to you too, Dad.”
Blair smiled at his usual, taciturn nature. Not even a surprise visit could wrest a smile from his careworn features. But then she hesitated.
“What made you expect me today?”
Her dad gestured to the laptop computer open on the small kitchen table. “That.”
Blair sat down at the table and focused on the screen. Even though her dad was an hour from the city now, he liked to keep a finger on the pulse of what was happening, especially in the restaurant and entertainment industries. Her heart plummeted when she identified herself and Draco in the photo. The picture showed Draco holding her fingertips to his mouth, and more damningly, showed the expression of longing on her face.
The editorial accompanying the photo was full of conjecture and innuendo about what “something new and exciting” loomed on Blair’s menu. It made her feel sick to her stomach. Worse, the reporter had gone to great lengths to emphasize the title and estates that Draco would inherit on his ailing father’s death, giving him a celebrity she knew he would loathe.
“I thought you’d sworn off men,” her father commented dryly after she’d read the e-zine page through to its end.
“I have.”
“Then what was that all about?”
“It was him.”
“The one you met in Tuscany, at the palazzo? Isn’t his family some kind of royalty over there?”
“Ancestral nobility, but they haven’t used their title in years. But yeah,” she sighed. “The very same.”
“Did he follow you here?”
“No. He was at the memorial service for Mrs. Woodley. Believe me, I tried to put him off trying to see me again.”
“Obviously not all that effectively.” Her father turned back to the stove. “Oh well, we should see an upswing in patronage at the restaurant. Are you going to see him again?”
Blair got up from the table and helped herself to a mug from the cupboard and poured herself a coffee from the carafe her father kept constantly full. It bothered her that her father instantly thought of the advantage to Carson’s. How she felt about Draco didn’t enter into it.
“No. Last night was a one-time-only.”
Her father turned to look her in the eye. “Really?”
“Yes, Dad. Really.”
“That’s a shame. You should see him again. If only because the publicity would be good for takings. Want some breakfast?”
What? Was that it? Inquisition over already? Blair could hardly believe her father had let the subject go just like that. Still, he’d equated the e-zine gossip spread with a chance to keep Carson’s up there in the public eye.
“Yes, thanks. I’m starved.”
Her dad laughed, the sound like wind through dry leaves in autumn. “You’re always starved. About time you put some meat on that frame, young lady.”
“You can talk,” Blair responded with a genuine smile.
Her lean build was a direct legacy from her father. At least she assumed it was just from him. She’d never seen a picture of her mom, and her memories of her were vague—more the sensation of a brief hug here, a lingering scent of fragrance there. The trill of amused laughter. The sound of weeping late at night.
The coffee in Blair’s mug left a bitter aftertaste in her mouth. What was it about Blair and her father that they couldn’t find happiness in lasting love? She’d lost count of the failed relationships he’d embarked upon and then left during her childhood, let alone since her teenage years. They’d clung to one another many a time, secure in the knowledge that no matter how often others came and went they’d always have each other.
Yet, would they? Blair felt increasingly vulnerable. A heart attack had forced Blair Sr. into early retirement. In fact, it had only been her taking over his dreams and vision for Carson’s that had seen him agree to withdrawing from the restaurant. He’d had to move out of Auckland as well, because he hadn’t been able to stay away, or out of the kitchen, when he’d remained in town. And while he’d been happy to cover for her during her Tuscan culinary tour—a trip that was supposed to have been her honeymoon—she could see how taxing it had been for him when she’d returned.
She owed it to her dad to see his dream for Carson’s—her dream as well—come true. And if she was to achieve that ever-elusive five-star ranking for the restaurant, she had to pour everything she was into making it work.
Which meant pushing last night’s memories and Draco Sandrelli very firmly into her past.
Blair felt completely reenergized when she returned to her flat at midday on Wednesday. Reenergized and refocused. A call to Gustav had confirmed her father’s prediction that the e-zine article would see an upswing in business. Traditionally quieter nights, Monday and Tuesday had produced far higher receipts than usual and the restaurant had operated at near capacity each night.
She hummed to herself as she skipped downstairs and checked that preparations were well underway for the evening’s menu. In the tiny o
ffice off the kitchen, where she made calls to suppliers and drafted menu plans, she came to a shuddering halt. There on her seat was a dry-cleaning package. On top of it a sheet of paper with a large question mark next to the words “not yours, I presume—G.”
Damn, she’d forgotten about Draco’s clothes the minute she’d dispatched them to the laundry. Would he have missed them? She doubted it. What worried her most was that sending them back to him would only rouse his interest in her again.
She picked up the packet from her chair and shot back upstairs to her rooms. She’d shove it in the cupboard and deal with it another day. She wasn’t up to facing Draco again.
The evening started with the usual hustle and bustle, and Blair was glad to be back in her own kitchen. As capable as she was, her father was proprietary about his space—worse so, now that his space was so limited at the beachfront bach. She swung into the ebb and flow of cooking and plating up dishes with the years of experience and pleasure she took in her work.
By the time the front door was closed to patrons and the last diner had been seen off into a taxi at the curb, Blair was ready to put her feet up. The cleanup done in the kitchen and the last of her staff off on their way home, she took a moment to sit at one of the tables and relish the silence that now reigned supreme.
A sharp hammering at the front door had her catapulting out of her chair in shock.
Who the—
She swiveled the slim-line blind that screened the glass front door to peer out into the evening gloom.
Draco. Her heart skittered in her chest.
“Let me in, Blair. We need to talk.”