“Please love me,” she whispered against his mouth, when she finally came up for air. She rubbed herself against him and felt her dampness increase. “I have such a need for you.”
“Oh, darlin’,” he murmured against her ear as he nuzzled her there. “I need to love you like I need to breathe.”
She sat back then, staring into his deep golden eyes. “Then show me,” she whispered, reaching for the buttons on his shirt.
He’d taken off his tie in the car, but his dress shirt had tiny little buttons that threatened to defeat her as she fumbled with them with trembling fingers. Then he helped her finish the job and sat forward far enough to shrug out of his jacket and shirt, which she pulled away and tossed aside. His t-shirt followed, and she ran her hands through the fur on his chest before leaning forward and letting her lips trail her fingertips.
“You still have too many clothes on, darlin’,” he growled, and the next thing she knew, he had slid the zipper down the back of her dress.
The weight of the velveteen pulled the dress away from her shoulders, and he finished the job with quick fingers, baring her to the waist. The black lacy confection beneath was no challenge at all, and in another moment, he grasped both her bared breasts in his big hands, lifting them to suckle. Meg arched back on a soft cry, and she clung to his arms to keep from falling as she continued to rub herself against the now bulging front of his pants.
“Please, John!”
He chuckled. “We’ll get there.”
“Not soon enough!” she complained.
“We can start by getting’ the rest of this contraption off you,” he said, gathering up her skirt and pulling the whole dress over her head so he could toss it aside.
She now sat astride him in nothing but stockings, a garter belt, and lacy panties so insubstantial that he simply tore them away, leaving her bare and vulnerable.
“Now it’s my turn,” she said, as she ran her hands down his belly.
“I reckon so,” he murmured, reaching for his belt. “Lift up a bit.”
She raised herself on her knees while he dealt with his shoes, pants, and shorts, sliding them down and off. Then she lowered herself, rubbing against him and feeling the wetness.
“We’d better take it a little slower this way, darlin’,” he said, taking her waist in his big hands. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
But she would have none of it, taking him into her hands and guiding him to her opening then coming down hard on him. She cried out, the pain/pleasure taking her by surprise, but she wouldn’t allow him to control her motion, as she set a fast pace, rising and falling on him like a piston.
“You’re a wild thing, you are,” John said through clenched teeth, but she heard approval in his voice as his hands shifted to her breasts, allowing her to take the lead in their coupling.
She didn’t speak—she couldn’t, for she was too caught up in the pleasure.
Then he suddenly placed his big hands under her arms and lifted her off him.
“No!” she screamed at the loss.
But he only laid her on the floor, pulled her legs up over his shoulders, and entered her in one long, hard thrust. She screamed again at the startling invasion then sank her teeth into his shoulder. He roared his pleasure, flooding her with his seed.
A long time later, Meg stirred, feeling the warmth of the fire on one side and the cool air of the room on the other. His weight had her pinned to the hard floor.
“John?”
She felt him inhale deeply then he rolled to his side, keeping her between him and the fire. In another moment, she felt the afghan from the couch settle over them. He pulled her leg over his hip. He was still deep inside her, and feeling him stir, she squeezed her inner muscles.
John chuckled. “Can’t get enough, eh?”
“What just happened?” she asked, in a tiny voice, utterly shocked by her own behavior.
“I’m thinkin’ we might have made a baby.”
She stiffened then abruptly relaxed. “Do you really think so?”
“I’m hopin’ so, Meg darlin’, ’cause I sure want to give you a reason to stay with me.”
She managed to lift her head far enough to look down at his face. “I don’t need another reason,” she said, reaching out to trace his lips with her fingertips. “I wasn’t planning to go anywhere. I love you.”
He nipped at her fingers and smiled.
“I’m right glad to hear that, ’cause I surely love you.”
“If we did make a baby,” she said, moving her hand to play with the fur on his chest, “it would probably be a good idea for us to get married. Don’t you think?”
He reached up to caress her face. “I think that’s a really good idea—even if we didn’t make a baby just now.”
“Okay.”
She laid her cheek on his chest with a sigh and heard his chuckle. “’Course, we might want to try again, seein’ as how a baby would be a really good thing.”
“Maestro Campagnone might not think so, losing a second violinist to maternity leave so soon.”
“He’ll get over it,” John said rolling over and covering her once more.
Meg smiled. “I guess he’ll have to,”
Bartholomew
Bearly Saints V
by
Becca Fanning
Kitty Konstantine slammed the telephone onto her desk and jumped up, knowing if she didn’t move, she’d break something. She crossed the wide expanse of her office to stand and look out the floor-to-ceiling window, hugging her arms tightly to herself. It wasn’t just the frigid air conditioning making her cold all over. Her father’s harsh voice continued to ring in her ears.
“I made you the Head of our Music Division, and you can’t even manage to get our best band to play at Opryland! You do realize they are our best band, don’t you? You do realize how much it would mean to have one of our bands headlinin’ at Opryland, don’t you? Or do you?”
“Of course I know what it would mean! I signed The Four Saints, didn’t I? It was one of my people who found them; I was the one who got them under contract!”
“Oh, you got them to sign with us, all right, but their contract is crap!”
“I’ve told you: Bartholomew Saint is their manager, and he wouldn’t sign with us—or anyone else, for that matter—unless they had the final say in where they perform. No exceptions.”
“That’s bull crap and you know it! Anyone with balls—and I’m told you’re supposed to have steel ones—could’ve brought them around. Why, if your brother was still here…”
“Well, he’s not!”
Silence, then, “Get, those Saint boys to sign an Opryland contract, or you might not be here much longer, either!”
“Bart Saint is coming in this afternoon to talk to me. I’ll do what I can.”
“You’d better get it done, no matter what it takes. Hell, I’d suggest you sleep with him, if I thought it might improve our chances, but I’m bettin’ it would only make things worse!”
On that scathing note, he’d hung up, leaving Kitty trembling with emotions she couldn’t even identify.
“Oh, Rand…Why did you do this to me?”
She stared out the window for a very long time, watching the people pass by on the street one story below, glad of the reflective glass that didn’t allow anyone outside to see her standing there. Then sighing, she glanced over at her bookshelf and reached up to take down the double folding picture frame she kept on the top shelf. On the right, Randall J. Konstantine, Jr., Army Ranger, stood at attention in his dress uniform, proudly sporting the Special Forces and Ranger tabs on his sleeve and the colorful “fruit salad”—as he’d always called his ribbons—on his broad chest. He’d been headed back to Afghanistan for his second deployment, this time as a Staff Sergeant. She remembered how proud he’d been—how proud of him she’d been. On the left, was a group shot of SSG Konstantine, Jr., laughing and fooling around with some of his platoon buddies following a football scrimmag
e in Kabul. Two days later, he’d been killed by a sniper when he’d pushed his commanding officer out of the line of fire. Captain Green had sent her this picture with his condolences—and the promise to help in any way he could. Captain Green and his wife, Carol, had come through, taking care of all the arrangements for Rand’s burial at Arlington National Cemetery. Carol had stood with Kitty on that cold, blustery day Rand had been buried. Her father hadn’t bothered to attend.
“I lost my son a long time ago, when he walked out on me,” Randall, Sr., had said, when she’d asked him to go with her to Washington.
It was the last time Kitty had asked him for anything, and she’d left the building ten minutes later, gotten into her car, and driven straight through to Washington. She hadn’t cared that her father might fire her over her absence from the office. They hadn’t spoken about Rand since, though her father never hesitated to remind her that she wasn’t the son he had always expected to follow in his footsteps at the Konstantine Talent Agency.
She sighed. And maybe I won’t be here much longer, she thought, if I can’t get that stubborn, pig-headed Bartholomew Saint to cooperate.
She’d known from the beginning this would be a problem. Melinda Darling—now Melinda Darling Saint—had brought the band of four brothers to Kitty’s attention over a year ago, and it had taken only a minute with the CD Mel’d brought in to convince Kitty they had a winner. Unfortunately, it was Bartholomew Saint who’d done all the negotiating, and they’d gone around and around about the limits the Saints put on their performance venues, until Kitty had at times wanted to pull her hair out.
What made things worse was the absolutely ridiculous—and incredibly foolhardy—attraction she’d felt for Bartholomew Saint from the moment they’d met. She’d never before been attracted to big, powerful men, but there was just something about Bart Saint that drew her to him. He was in his mid-thirties, she guessed, by the fine lines at the corners of his eyes. His hair was dark, wavy, and thick—like all the Saint men—and his eyes…
She sighed. They all had those deep golden eyes, too—a family trait, according to Mel. All Kitty knew was Bart’s eyes seemed to be able to see right through her, all the way to her deepest, darkest secrets. Not that she had that many, but most of them these days had to do with her feelings about one Bartholomew Saint.
The intercom sounded, and Kitty reached over to touch the switch.
“Yes?”
“Bartholomew Saint is here to see you, Ms. Konstantine.”
She closed her eyes tightly, willing the threatening headache to go away.
“Of course he is. Send him in, please.”
Kitty closed the folding-frame of photos and set it down carefully before coming around and leaning back on the edge of her desk, crossing her arms protectively. She took a very deep breath, let it out very slowly, and prayed her heart would settle down, before she made a complete fool out of herself.
“Mr. Saint,” her assistant said unnecessarily when she opened the door.
“Thank you, Tina. Please hold all my calls.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The slender young black woman backed out of the room but not before shooting an appreciative glance at Bart.
Don’t bother, sweetie, Kitty thought. He’s so out of both our leagues.
It had always been difficult for her to remain aloof from this giant of a man. Like his nephews, Bartholomew Saint, at well over six feet, dwarfed her five-foot-eight, and his broad shoulders seemed to block out the light. He had a hint of a five-o’clock shadow even though it was only three-o’clock in the afternoon. Unlike the younger Saint men, there was something entirely formidable about this one. His very presence unnerved her on a good day. Today was not a good day.
“So,” she said, attempting to take control from the start. “Have you finally decided to be sensible and accept the offer from Opryland?”
She couldn’t quite interpret his smile but had a feeling it wasn’t good news.
“I usually like to start with, ‘Good afternoon. How are you today?’” he said.
She didn’t quite suppress a very unladylike snort. “Please.”
He stopped about four feet in front of her, and putting his hands in his pants’ pockets, stood at ease as he jingled his pocket change.
“I came to tell you we had a family meetin’ last night, and we’ve decided to stand pat on this one. The boys don’t want to perform on the big stage.”
Kitty shook her head in frustration. “Why not, for cryin’ out loud? That’s just crazy! Most bands would kill for the chance to perform at the Grand Ole Opry!”
“The Four Saints isn’t most bands,” he said, his calm tone of voice a startling contrast to her own.
But then he didn’t have to break the news to her father and boss that she hadn’t gotten the Saints to sign on the dotted line.
“Why?” she asked once more, hating the pleading note in her voice. “Just give me one good reason why. Don’t you think you owe me at least that much?”
He sighed and wandered over to gaze out the window. “It’s nothin’ personal, Kitty,” he said in that same, aggravatingly reasonable tone. She was shocked to hear him address her by her given name for the first time. “It has nothin’ to do with you or your agency. It’s just the way it’s gotta be.”
She let out a huff of breath, defeated. “And you’re not going to give me a reason, are you?”
Bart glanced at her, and she could almost see the wheels turning in his head. Then he glanced down at her desk, and she froze when he reached for her brother’s pictures. He opened the dual frame and studied the photos for a long moment.
“Your brother?” he asked, and she realized he could read Rand’s name plate on the front of his uniform.
“That’s right.”
“I didn’t know you had a brother.”
Not wanting to get into the “I-used-to-have-but-now-I’m-an-only-child” explanation , she didn’t say anything.
“So where is he now?” Bart asked.
“Arlington,” she said.
Kitty knew the exact moment Bart realized what she was saying, and she felt tears threaten when he turned those deep golden eyes on her, the compassion in them unmistakable.
“I’m sorry, Kitty. I didn’t know.”
“Of course you didn’t,” she said, turning her back to him in an attempt to regain her composure.
“You were close.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes. But it’s been ten years.”
She heard him sigh.
“I lost my oldest sister, Jenny, when she died in childbirth,” he said. “It’s been almost twenty years, now, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still miss her.”
Kitty swallowed hard and turned back to him. “I’m sorry.”
His smile was rueful. “You didn’t know.”
He closed the photo frames and returned them gently to her desk. When he stepped away, she leaned against her desk once more, gripping the edge on either side of her.
“Won’t you at least tell me why your nephews refuse to play the big venues? They are so good. And with the addition of the women—Addy and Candace?—they’ve reached an even higher level. I’m not just saying this to get them to cooperate. They really are that good. But no one is going to know outside of old Nashville, if they’re not willing to spread their wings a little.”
Alec (BBW Secret Baby Bear Shifter Romance) (Secret Baby Bears Book 1) Page 103