“Then give me a kiss.” He ate the distance between them with one long stride. “One little kiss, and if you prove me wrong, we do this your way.”
She lowered her lids against the seductive quality of his voice and stared down at the rich burgundy carpet. Her breathing had already grown fractured at the mere thought of kissing him.
“You know this color lipstick is my favorite,” he said. His fingertip swept the seam of her lips and made them tingle. “It’s distracting. Is that why you wore it? So you could distract me?”
She’d forgotten she was wearing ruby red lipstick. In truth he preferred her to be au naturale, but when she wasn’t his favorite color lipstick was ruby red. He said the color gave her lips a fullness and plumpness which turned her mouth into an invitation, begging to be kissed.
“I didn’t wear it for you,” she said.
He took her hand, and a shiver of awareness raced up her arm. He ran the blunt tip of his thumb over the spot where her rings used to be. Her pulse started to dance, faster and faster. “One little kiss, Dani.” He pressed his lips to the back of her fingers.
The inside of her belly trembled, as if a family of moths had taken up residence there. He pulled her closer, and she went to him with little resistance. She was shaking. She wanted him to kiss her. Badly.
One hand went to her back and trailed up and down her spine in a slow caress. Despite his cold, cruel nature in business, Cyrus was a sensual man and a master of seduction.
He drew her closer until she pressed against him. He was semi-erect, fitting because she was semi-wet.
Against the stimulus of his hard chest, her nipples pebbled and her breathing became shallow. She felt his hard strength and fought the reaction the best she could, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of being right.
His labored breathing could be heard in the quiet room. “Do you know how long it’s been since you left me?” he asked. “Three years, one month, eighteen days.”
Her heart pounded, echoing in her ears. He’d kept track, even down to the day?
“And five hours,” he added.
Her lips parted in shock.
“I know exactly how long you’ve been gone, and it’s been even longer since we’ve made love,” he said. “One little kiss, Dani.” His breath brushed her mouth and created a tingling sensation across the skin of her lips. “One little kiss for your husband.”
It wouldn’t be one little kiss. She knew it and was certain he did, too. He would consume her, because that’s what he did. She lost all sense of the present and time when caught up in his arms.
Cyrus lowered his head, and in the next instant their lips fused together. This kiss was different from the one at the restaurant. It was tender, even affectionate, and Daniella leaned in, enjoying the flavor of him way too much. She held onto his biceps, the power and strength of his arms sending little darts of pleasure along her spine.
Engulfed in the thrill of touching him again, she was unable to move away, and she certainly didn’t want to. His lips were warm, and little by little he increased the pressure against hers. The hand at her back dipped to her backside and tightened. She gasped into his mouth, the blossom of heat invading her thighs.
When he lifted his head, she felt bereft, and he must have felt it too, because his nostrils flared and he groaned—the sound in the back of his throat so low she almost didn’t hear it. Need flashed in his half-closed eyes. He dipped his head again and heaven help her, she lifted her mouth to meet his and parted her lips for his invasion.
A few seconds before there had been no tongue, just their lips meeting, reacquainting with each other. This time, his tongue foraged into her mouth and the arm around her waist tightened, drawing her even closer against the swelling hardness of him.
“Damn, I love kissing you,” he muttered. He wasn’t only concerned about his own needs. He wanted to make sure she enjoyed it, too. He was amazingly thorough, and oh-so-good at it. Just like he was at everything else.
Her muscles became useless, as if they’d atrophied. She didn’t move, simply melted against him and enjoyed the way he took control, tilting her head back, devouring her, claiming her again.
Her arms inched around his neck and she opened even more to him. She traced the shape of his mouth with her tongue and felt the violent tremor that rocked his hard frame. Hands at the back of her thighs, he lifted her onto the desk. Shoving items out of the way, he cleared a space and lowered her onto her back, and she welcomed his heavy bulk between her open legs.
Burning up, Cyrus fumbled with the buttons on her silk blouse, careful even though he wanted to yank the edges apart and tear it off of her. He finally peeled back the material to reveal a black, lacy number that barely covered her soft skin. He popped the front clasp and her sweet breasts bounced free, forcing her to emit a slight whimper. Plump, with engorged nipples standing upright like little caramel party hats, they called to his mouth. He lowered his head and before he even touched them, she was arching her back and gripping his head, anticipating his touch.
He didn’t want to hurt her, but he could barely contain himself. He’d been deprived for so long, he devoured her breasts, having suffered without the taste of her for what seemed like eons.
Control. Rigid control. That’s how he’d kept it together the past few years. But now that she was lying beneath him and he could feel the heat between her legs, he couldn’t fathom how he’d managed for so long without storming her apartment and dragging her back here.
“Dani…”
He wet her nipple with the pull of his lips, swiping his teeth over the puckered flesh and then following up with soothing strokes of his tongue. His ears ate up every moan, every broken plea of her surrender. Sounds that could turn even the most impotent man into a Casanova.
He ran his hand down the middle of her chest and massaged her breasts, squeezing them and alternating by deliberately rubbing the dark flesh of her nipples between his finger and thumb. Each time he did she let loose a little moan and her face contorted into a pained expression.
Through his pants Cyrus could feel how hot she was. He reached between them to undo his belt, his only thought to ease the pain of the southward rush of blood. He’d already undone the buckle when he hesitated, registering during a moment of lucidity this was neither the time nor the place. When he and Dani made love again, he wanted to go slow and savor every inch of her. He wanted to bury his head between her legs and inhale her musky, feminine perfume and lick at her essence with his tongue. This rushed coupling that threatened to overwhelm them would not do.
Her ruby red lips were full and swollen, and he dived back in, kissing her hard, savagely, and taking as much as he could until he could have her beneath him in the proper setting. Her legs came up around his waist and she grinded her hips into his. The sensual motion almost wiped out his resolve, but he lifted his head from the temptation she presented and cupped her cheeks in his hands. Her eyelids fluttered open, and as he looked down at her, the dazed expression in her eyes slowly disappeared and her legs fell away.
“As much as I want to make love to you right now, I know you’re not ready,” he whispered. It was too soon, and she would regret it. Gently, he pulled her into a sitting position and noted the widening of her eyes. “You’re surprised.”
“I am.” Her voice still held the breathless huskiness of arousal.
She turned away from him, and he could see her embarrassment at her easy capitulation, but as far as he was concerned, that was the way it should be. They’d both been caught up in a tidal wave of desire and emotion.
“You have nothing to be ashamed of,” he whispered. “You’re my wife, and it’s my job to make you feel good, but I don’t want us to rush.”
“You have surprising restraint.” She closed her bra, squeezing her ample bosom to do so and creating the most beautiful cleavage he’d ever seen. His penis jumped. He watched with regret as she started buttoning her blouse and couldn’t help but wonder if he’d m
ade the right decision to wait.
He stepped back so she could step down onto the floor. “Not always. Look at my desk,” he said. “Look at all the chaos you’ve caused again.” The words had a double meaning. He was talking about something bigger, grander than the desk. He couldn’t keep order in his life when Daniella was around.
She kept her head bent, continuing to button the blouse. Her fingers shook a little with each movement. “This didn’t exactly go as I’d planned. I guess you were right about us having chemistry.”
“You had doubts?” he asked.
“No,” she admitted. She finished buttoning her blouse and looked up at him with resignation in her eyes.
He ran a finger down the velvet soft skin of her jawline. She didn’t turn away but lowered her lashes. “Ivy’s engagement party is next weekend, and I want you to come with me.”
Her eyes narrowed a little, and he saw the distrust in the copper-brown depths as clearly as if she’d spoken it out loud. “If we’re getting back together, we have to let people know. Why are you making this hard?”
“First of all, we’re not getting back together, and you know why I’m being difficult.”
“Because you think I can’t be trusted.”
“You can’t. The things you do…to people…it’s not right, Cyrus. You can’t force everyone to bend to your will every time you get an idea.”
Her words disturbed him, but his tactics were the most efficient way he knew to get things done. “It works.”
“You can catch more flies with honey, Cyrus. Your way is not the only way.”
He didn’t say anything at first, merely looked at her, examining her features. “It’s not,” he conceded.
She seemed surprised he’d agreed with her. “Do you think…will you give Roland his job back?” she asked in a tentative voice.
He watched her closely, trying to gauge if there was more than a friendship between her and Roland. “What does it matter to you?”
“I think it’s the right thing to do.”
He would make this one concession, but only because she asked. “I don’t know why you care about that lowlife, but I’ll give him his job back on one condition. He stays the hell away from you. For good this time.”
“I’ll tell him.” He frowned, and she added hastily, “I’ll only talk to him to tell him what’s going to happen.” She tucked her shirt back into her pants and smoothed her hands over hips. “One more thing,” she said. She hesitated before she continued, a sign he wouldn’t like the next words. “After three months, if I don’t get pregnant, you’ll give me a divorce.”
“No way.”
“We can’t do this indefinitely. We don’t know what will happen. What if we can’t get pregnant? You have to give me an out.”
Normally Cyrus didn’t negotiate if he had the upper hand, content to smash the other party with a take-it-or-leave-it attitude. In this case that behavior wouldn’t be necessary.
“Six months,” he countered. “Not a day less.”
She let out a deep breath and nodded her agreement to the compromise. “Do I have your word?”
“I’ve never lied to you, Dani. You have my word,” he said. “I expect you to move in right away. I’ll give you the number to my assistant. He’ll help you.” He’d have Shaun move her in quickly, before she had a chance to rethink her decision.
“Fine.” Daniella walked toward the door.
“And Dani?”
She turned around to face him. “Stay away from Roland DuBois. Let that phone call be the end of your contact with him.”
She opened her mouth as if to respond and then changed her mind. She walked out of his office, and after the door closed, Cyrus reclaimed his chair and looked at the disorder of his desk. He ran his hand over his hair and closed his eyes to relive the past few moments.
He had to get her back. He was in love with her. The realization had sneaked up on him unexpectedly three years ago when she left. The gut-wrenching pain he’d experienced when she’d walked away had been almost unbearable, but he’d thrown himself into work to get through it.
Once she came back, they could start over. She was the only woman he wanted, the only one he could imagine spending the rest of his life with, and the only one he wanted to be the mother of his children.
No matter how much acrimony existed between them, he didn’t want Daniella back for six months, for a year, not for any limited period of time.
As far as he was concerned, she was coming back for good.
Chapter Ten
“Thank you. It was a pleasure doing business with you.”
Daniella shook hands with the president and vice president of the software company she’d spent the last hour reviewing prints with. Today she was in Bellevue. The suburb had seen major growth in recent years as more and more start-ups and small businesses set up shop in the Seattle area. The city was emerging as a rival of Silicon Valley as tech companies took advantage of the affordable office space and attractive tax incentives.
The meeting had been successful. The company had recently leased office space in Bellevue and wanted the decor to reflect their young staff and the president’s love of music. She’d taken several catalogues, as well as some prints by local artists whose work she thought was a good fit. The president had liked one of the artists so much, they’d discussed framed originals for his own home. Once in the car, she called one of her salespersons, gave her the details, and instructed her to get in touch with the artist’s agent to get the ball rolling on brokering a deal.
Driving across the bridge that spanned Lake Washington, she was on her way back to Seattle. While she should be excited about the pending deal, tonight would not only be her first night back at home with Cyrus, they would attend his sister’s engagement party as a couple. Apprehension settled in her stomach and wouldn’t go away.
Packing up her belongings and moving them into the mansion hadn’t taken long at all with Shaun taking care of the details. He’d promised to have her unpacked by tonight, and she didn’t doubt he could do it.
She drove to Viva on Broadway Avenue, a popular coffee shop many Seattleites considered had the best coffee in Seattle. She didn’t pay much attention to the few patrons at the tables before walking up to the curved bar and placing an order for two one-pound bags of her favorite blend.
On her way back out the door she paused at the familiar stride of a man coming toward her wearing a golf shirt and tan slacks. At the sight of her father, Daniella’s lungs ceased to function. She hadn’t seen him in so long, she temporarily froze. Tall and handsome, with a dark bronze complexion—partly compliments of a Spanish mother and black father, and partly from being exposed to the sun’s rays year round at his home in Miami—he turned heads though well into his sixties.
Pretending not to see him, Daniella ducked her head and hurried to the door, but he’d seen her. “Daniella!”
She didn’t want to speak to him, but there was no way she could behave as if she hadn’t heard him call her name. Taking a deep breath, she swung around and transformed her face into an uninterested mask.
“Carlos.” A long time ago she’d started calling him by his first name. He didn’t deserve the title of father.
Despite her unenthusiastic greeting, he looked happy to see her, his brown eyes bright and eager. He looked her up and down, smiling as if they had a good relationship. “What a surprise,” he said. “It’s good to see you. I didn’t think I’d be able to see you while I was back in town.”
“If you wanted to make sure you saw me, you could have called and set up a meeting,” she said a cool voice.
“Would you have met with me?” he asked, his voice hopeful.
“No, I wouldn’t have,” she said with a tight smile, and was satisfied when she saw the smile waver on his lips.
“Of course not.”
“Did you want something?”
“Yes, I…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Do you think we could sit and ta
lk for a few minutes?”
“About what?”
“I have something to tell you.”
She glanced at the clock hanging on the wall behind the cash register. “I only have a few minutes,” she said, even though she had no other pressing appointment.
He nodded his understanding. “I only need a few minutes.” He glanced around the shop and motioned with his hand. “How about we sit over there?”
Sit down and talk to her father. She couldn’t remember the last time that happened, and all of a sudden she was frightened of the situation she was placing herself in. But why should she be fearful? He couldn’t hurt her anymore.
“A few minutes,” she repeated.
“No problem.”
He led the way to a two-top table against the window. Located at the back, it lent an air of privacy.
Daniella set her purse and coffee purchase on the table. What could her father possibly have to say to her after all this time?
“You look so much like your mother,” he said softly.
She stiffened. Wrong start to the conversation, and he realized it right away, too.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
“No, you shouldn’t have. What do you want?”
He took a deep breath. “I came back here to close on the house,” he said.
Daniella shrugged. “I figured as much.”
The house he referred to was the property he’d purchased years ago when he and her mother first married. He’d allowed her and Daniella to live there after their divorce, but his name remained on the deed. After her mother passed away, he rented the property to long term tenants who’d moved out over a year ago. It had take over a year on the market before the property finally sold.
Her mother had lived there until her death from colon cancer. The disease had metastasized, spreading throughout the tissues of her body at an alarming rate. The chemotherapy treatments left her so weak she could no longer work, could barely even walk most days. Even with the aggressive treatments, the cancer had plowed through her cells and ravaged her body until she’d been so withered she was unrecognizable, only a fragment of former self.
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