by Joanne Rock
He filed the notion away, unwilling to lose this time with her by getting caught up in their differences.
“What about you?” He turned the tables, only because it was the first conversational tidbit that occurred to him and he didn’t want to start analyzing his own situation. “No one defaces your prized possessions when you’re an only child.”
She tensed, a reaction he felt where he stroked her calves under the water.
“I wasn’t, though.” She straightened in the tub, but didn’t turn away from him or move her feet off his lap. “My mother made sure I was very aware that I had half siblings and that my father treated them very differently from how he behaved with me.”
“Damn. I’m sorry, Lydia.” He sure as hell hadn’t meant to stir up old hurts.
“No.” She shook her head and waved a hand as if she could brush aside his concern. “Don’t be. I think she hoped throughout my entire childhood that Dad would swoop in and raise me for her, but that never happened. Once she realized that she was going to have to be my mother—well, I was mostly grown by then. But we got along better once I stopped expecting her to be a mom and started enjoying her as a friend.”
“Yeah?” He massaged her feet, hoping to ease away the tension that had crept into her body since he started this conversation. He hated to think she’d never been her parents’ number one priority. “Maybe I ought to try that approach with Liam. He was the nonparent in my youth. But at least I had my mother and grandfather.”
“Although you were the one standing between your siblings when they came to blows.” Her green eyes pinned his for a moment before shifting lower. “Maybe that’s why you and I ended up getting along so well. For a few incredibly memorable weeks, we put one another first.”
Until they didn’t.
He wondered if that realization echoed through her
with the same dull ache that it did for him. But Lydia was already shifting closer, her naked thighs straddling his on the hot tub seat and making it impossible to think about anything but her. Them.
This moment.
* * *
Lydia needed to lose herself in Ian.
She didn’t want to think about how much it had hurt when he put his family before her. When he’d refused to see how painful it might be for her that he’d allowed his grandfather to collect potential bride prospects for Ian when she thought she’d been the most important woman in his life.
All he had to do was deny it. Or explain it. But he’d done neither, drawing a line with her that she had been too hurt and angry to cross.
But even though a year apart had done little to soothe the raw, empty gap he’d left in her life, she was able to breathe all that hurt away enough to kiss his damp shoulder. To plaster her hands to his bare chest and absorb the hard warmth of his strong body. Selfish?
Maybe.
Or maybe there was a tenderness underneath that cold control of his. And maybe she’d kiss her way to it this time.
She could feel the moment when the fire that burned her caught him, too. His body came alive beneath her. His fingers flexed against her lower back, hands palming her spine and drawing her hips closer to his. Her thigh grazed the thick length of his erection, the contact making him groan with a hunger that reverberated through her, too.
“I want you.” He said the words even though she understood as much from every single touch on her body.
“Not in here,” she cautioned, her too-brief pregnancy coming to mind and causing a fresh pang in her chest.
“Too risky.” He spoke into her ear, his hands wrapping around her waist and lifting her higher against him. “I know.”
In a flash, he had her on her feet, with him following her. A moment later, he stepped out of the tub and opened the warming drawer full of fresh towels, a billow of dry heat spilling out along with the scent of detergent and lavender. He turned back to her before she’d even stepped all the way out of the spa and extended a towel for her to wrap herself in.
Rather, he wrapped her in the towel and his arms, too. He already had one around his waist and one on the deck where they stood. She couldn’t touch him back since her arms were pinned to her sides in the towel, but she arched her neck for his kiss, getting lost in the man and the moment.
Just the way she’d wanted. And better.
“Where should I take you?” He asked the question against her cheek as he trailed kisses there, down her jaw, and onto her neck.
Her whole body came alive for him, like it always had when he touched her. Every single time.
“Anywhere,” she murmured, not caring as long as he kept touching her.
When he stopped kissing her, she opened her eyes a moment to see him gather up a stack of more towels before he took her hand and tugged her out on the deck toward a teak porch swing covered in gold-and-turquoise cushions. Gossamer-light mosquito netting was draped over it and there was a table full of hurricane lamps to one side of the swing, which looked like a pasha’s bed. Ian paused to light two of the lamps before pulling her into the netting enclosure with him. He tossed the towels into one corner of the bed, a foil packet sliding off to one side.
She smiled at his careful thought to protection, a sweet gesture that made her relax against him as he pulled her underneath him.
“I can’t get enough of you.” He breathed the words into her skin as he kissed his way down her body, sliding aside the towel and licking over her sensitive breasts.
His thigh pressed between hers, the welcome weight hitting the place where she craved his touch most. Her back bowed off the cushions, hips meeting his despite the lingering barrier of the thick terry cloth at his waist. She tunneled her fingers through his damp hair, holding him to her, feeling the tension build deep inside her.
Still warm from the hot tub, her skin heated to a dull sheen from the humid air. She tugged at the remnants of the towels between them, needing to get rid of all barriers to having him deep inside her.
He touched her before she could finish the job, however, his hand covering her sex and moving in a slow circle that made her head loll back against the cushions while ribbons of pleasure stroked her from the inside. Helpless at that touch, she held herself very still, not wanting to miss the slightest movement of his fingers over the slick warmth.
When he slid a finger inside her, she went mindless, boneless with a melting desire. Delicate convulsions fluttered through her, one after the other, drowning her in sweet fulfillment.
“Please,” she urged him. “Please, please. Right now.” She patted around the cushions in search of the condom.
Seizing upon it, she clutched it in her fist and passed it to him. But there must have been two, because he already had one in place. She’d been too intent on her own mission to notice his.
He rolled her on top of him and she forgot all about it. He thrust into her and it was all she could do to remain upright. She held very still for a long moment, getting used to the feel of him. Relishing the way they moved together.
A tightly perfect fit.
Ian gripped her hips and held her in place, moving beneath her. She met each thrust, closing her eyes to lose herself completely.
The tension built again, the rapid pace of it catching her off guard. She steadied herself against his shoulders, her hair falling forward to stroke his chest while he moved faster. Harder.
Her release blindsided her before she was ready. Before she knew it would happen. It rolled over her, through her, again and again. She collapsed against him while his climax overtook him. She kissed his shoulder. His face. Whatever she could reach as the pleasure spent itself and their heartbeats quieted.
Slowly.
For long moments she simply listened to Ian’s ragged breathing, liking the way the feelings played havoc with him, too. It helped to know she wasn’t alone in this.
That she affected him as much as he did her.
The force of it, the raw power of the attraction and the chemistry, was unlike anything she’d ever experienced. Unlike anything she knew could transpire between a man and a woman.
Maybe a small part of her had hoped that this marriage would show her that she’d been wrong about how monumental their relationship had been. If anything, being back together with Ian now only proved that they were more combustible than ever before.
The problem with combustible heat?
It didn’t tend to burn itself out quietly.
Ten
By noon the next day, the honeymoon was over.
Ian regretted leaving Costa Rica, but Lydia kept saying she was worried about their families’ reactions to the secret marriage. So, wanting to keep her happy, he’d arranged to leave, and now here they were, back on a chartered jet. It touched him that she seemed as concerned about the McNeills as she was about her own mother’s response. And, of course, she had a legitimate reason to be concerned about how the tabloid media would choose to spin the story given her unique past. Whatever gossip played out online would be best quieted by a press release of their own.
So shortly after noon, they boarded the same private plane that had delivered them to Central America. The plan had been to return to Miami—and the Foxfire renovation project. But they had the aircraft at their disposal for the day and their bags packed with enough clothes for several days. So Ian needed to speak to her about a change of travel plans that he hadn’t wanted to mention previously.
A change of flight plans he’d given to the pilot the night before.
He slid into the soft leather seat beside her, taking her hand before she could boot up her electronics for the trip. He understood she was anxious to check on the media reports about their marriage, but first he needed to clear a side trip with her.
No longer dressed in the honeymoon garments he liked so much—his T-shirts or the silk dress knotted at the knees for wading in the ocean—Lydia was now wearing a peach-colored linen sheath that reached her knees with an ivory jacket buttoned over it. With her dark hair pulled back in a neat ponytail and a heavy gold necklace, she had returned to work mode. His beautiful, endlessly competent wife.
“I’ve asked the pilot to give us a moment before takeoff.” Damn it. Ian should have brought this up sooner. He’d been too busy enjoying what they’d shared this weekend—the connection and spark he remembered from their early days together. He’d wanted to lose himself in that when he knew damn well they would never return to the time when they offered one another a tenuous trust. Love.
Thinking about the betrayal of that trust—on both sides he could now acknowledge—still burned his gut.
“Why?” Lydia straightened in her seat, immediately alert. “Did you leave something behind?”
“No. Nothing like that.” He took both her hands in his, hoping he’d earned back some small amount of her trust during this weekend together. They’d need that to make it through this marriage. “I wanted to speak to you about a possible change in our travel plans today.”
She tipped her head to one side, more quizzical than upset.
“You know as well as I do the pilot has to file any alterations to the flight ahead of time—” She cut herself off, understanding lighting her features along with a new coolness. “Of course you know that. You’ve already changed our plans, haven’t you?”
Ian could change the itinerary back again. They’d just need to wait until the plan was approved. He gripped her hands tighter, hoping she’d understand.
“Remember when I told you my brothers contacted me on the flight here yesterday?” At her nod, he continued, “They didn’t check in just to let me know the news of our marriage had leaked. Apparently my grandfather has asked to see us—all of his family—as soon as possible. My brother said it wasn’t cause to interrupt the honeymoon, but the sooner we could come to New York for a family meeting, the better.”
“Is it his health?” The look in her green eyes was compassionate. Concerned.
Something about that quick empathy soothed the raw places inside him.
“I don’t know. I would have thought I’d be able to tell by my brothers’ faces if they were worried about him. But honestly? I couldn’t read them. I don’t know if they’re putting up a brave front because we just got married.” The fear had been in the back of his mind for nearly twenty-four hours and it was a relief to share it.
To feel Lydia squeeze his hands in return.
“Of course. We’ll go straight to New York. There’s no work in the world that’s more important than a loved one’s health.”
Her reaction humbled him. Even as he gave the nod to the pilot and settled in for takeoff, he recognized that he’d missed out on something special with this caring woman. What might have happened if he’d swallowed his pride last spring and forced her to listen to his explanation about why his profile was circulating on a matchmaker’s website even as he dated her? If he’d fought harder for her—hell, fought for her at all—could he have made her see the truth? That he hadn’t given a rat’s ass about anyone but her?
In all the months since their breakup, he’d been too busy blaming her for believing the worst of him. For not having any faith in him.
But maybe he’d been every bit as guilty as her. More, even.
The realization made him wonder if he could use these next months to turn this marriage into something real. Convince Lydia that they were meant to be together after all.
He was still brooding over the idea when Lydia’s soft expletive hit his ears—an unlikely exclamation from the woman who had cultivated a perfect facade to keep scandal-hungry tabloid reporters at bay.
“What’s wrong?” He glanced over at her as the plane began to taxi toward the runway to begin the flight.
Lydia squeezed her phone in a white-knuckle grip.
“It’s my mother.” She shook her head, slowly leaning back in the leather chair with a sigh that blew her dark hair from over one eye. “She’s already lining up press interviews for us.” Lydia turned an anguished look his way. She caught her lip between her teeth for a long moment, worrying away the slick peach lip gloss. “She wants to meet me at a network television studio in New York tomorrow for a live interview with one of the morning shows.” Lydia drew in a long breath. “The host already shared her lead-in to the story.” She flipped the phone so he could see a text from her mother in all capital letters.
BILLIONAIRE’S REJECTED LOVE CHILD FINALLY HITS THE JACKPOT AS A MCNEILL BRIDE!
* * *
Six hours later, seated beside Ian in a chauffeured limousine transporting them from the private New Jersey airstrip to Malcolm McNeill’s residence on Park Avenue in Manhattan, Lydia talked herself through her plan for getting through this day. Ian had taken a business call to handle a few details on the Foxfire Hotel project in South Beach, leaving Lydia alone with her thoughts for their ride through the city.
For which she was grateful.
Trying to steady her trembling hands and jittery nerves, she sipped the bottled water stocked in the limousine’s mini bar. The events of the last day and a half had been staggering. Her wedding. Finding out the event had been leaked to the press. The unbelievable honeymoon night in Costa Rica. An unexpected trip to New York because Ian’s grandfather wanted to meet with his whole family.
Her mother’s sudden interest in her life now that Lydia had tied the knot with one of the wealthiest men in the country.
Lydia’s stomach churned as the limo stopped at a red light. Ian had been kind about her mother’s meddling notes and eager desire for involvement in her life. He had reassured Lydia that he understood she wasn’t responsible for her mother’s behavior and promised her that the McNeills would deal with any media stunts her mother pulled.
In the end, Lydia had opted not to contact her mother just yet. For all that Mom knew, Lydia remained on her honeymoon for the next week or more. She had no reason to believe Lydia was back in New York and all too close to the network studio where her mother had committed to an interview.
Lydia thought she was done with this kind of thing—trying to manage her mother’s need for the spotlight while staying firmly out of it herself. She hadn’t factored in this kind of thing when Ian had offered his proposal for a marriage that would benefit both of them.
Sliding a sidelong glance at him now as the car turned into Central Park and headed east, Lydia braced for the swell of desire that just a simple look inspired. His dark suit was more casual today with his white dress shirt open at the neck. His legs were sprawled, one knee close to hers, his left hand resting on his navy trousers, the platinum wedding band glinting in the sunlight.
She thumbed her own ring as she watched him, her eyes greedily moving over his strong jaw and the dark hair that brushed his collar. Her heart tumbled over itself in an odd rhythm, alerting her to the presence of all the old feelings for him. The ones she wanted so desperately to ignore. The ones that tingled along her senses even now at just sitting near enough to touch him.
When he’d kissed her the night before and told her he wanted them to have a fresh start, she’d felt her defenses tremble. And today, after she’d read the texts from her mother and she’d been hurting and embarrassed on so many levels, Ian had been quick to assure her he could handle any of her mother’s media antics, promising to hire a full-time publicist to manage Lydia’s image and ensure that the media knew whom to contact for all stories having to do with Lydia McNeill.
It had sounded so smart and reasonable, and it probably was a very real possibility that his solution would work. It helped to have the financial resources, of course. But more than anything, the gesture had spoken of a kindness and consideration for Lydia’s feelings that rocked her old perceptions of him.
Had she been too quick to judge him last year? Too insecure in herself to ever believe that Ian might have a reasonable explanation for his presence on a matchmaker’s site? Her gaze returned to his platinum wedding band as he finished up his call. He might have pressured her into a marriage that would help him fulfill his grandfather’s wishes, but he was helping her at the same time. She couldn’t afford the scandal or the financial strain of a legal battle with Vitaly Koslov.