by Unknown
"What … what did you do?" Miranda whispered.
His eyes were back to normal. "Nothing. Not a damned thing."
Miranda opened the cupboard above the stove and pulled out a dusty bottle of single malt scotch she'd been given for a holiday several years before. The strongest drink she indulged in was an evening glass of wine.
As she filled two glass tumblers with ice and poured the smoky golden liquid, she decided this was as good a time as any to try strong drink. What Drake had revealed, if it was true, changed everything while at the same time clarified her relationship with her sister.
Relationship aside, Lucy had always had a small problem with the truth. Miranda had thought she'd outgrown it once adolescence had passed, like outgrowing acne. If Drake was right, Lucy's little character flaw had simply become more refined.
The whole thing gave her a sour ache somewhere near her heart. The heavy weight of disappointment held her immobile.
She didn't hear Drake come up behind her. She jumped when he reached past her and took one of the glasses.
"I take mine neat." He fingered the ice cubes out and let them clink into the metal of the sink.
Miranda found herself mesmerized by his action of licking the moisture from his fingers. It was innocent yet imbued with sensuality.
Stop it.
She forced her gaze away and tried to move back into the living room. Drake blocked the way. It was a very small kitchen. Unless he moved or she vaulted over the counter, he had her trapped.
He took a deep drink. Nervously she did the same. The fiery liquid paralyzed her throat. It looked like iced tea but tasted like hellfire with an attitude.
Tears sprang to her eyes as she gasped. "Damn, from the way people talk you'd think this stuff at least tasted good."
Drake took the tumbler from her shaking hands and replaced it with a towel. "It's an acquired taste. The next sip will be better."
"Maybe later, once my throat's healed." Miranda splashed water on her face. "Back to your sad tale," she demanded.
He sipped his drink while leaning against the archway to Miranda's only route of escape. He knew it, too. She could tell by the way his eyes glinted.
"It ended simply and ugly enough. Sort of like a soap opera. I found her in bed with another man."
Miranda slumped into the nearest chair. "On, no." Her mind reeled. This was just too much for one day. Before she had time to consider the consequences, she blurted out, "I'm surprised you left either of them alive."
In a flat, hard voice, he said, "What makes you think I did?"
She opened her eyes wide at that.
He drank some more. "I'm no murderer, though by the time I was done with him, he might have wished to be dead. Lucy left that night. I divorced her within the month. I'm sure she's trying to get control of my company as some sort of revenge for not overlooking her behavior and allowing her a large divorce settlement."
Miranda shook her head. "She's not smart enough for that." As the import of her statement struck her, she clapped a hand over her mouth.
Drake grunted as he sat across from her. He swirled his glass in a wet circle on the tabletop. "You're right. This is too sophisticated for her. It's got to be an inside job."
"That's why you think she's in cahoots with an employee? Just to get back at you?" She stood, leaned against the table, glad that her shaky knees didn't have the entire job of holding her upright. "Has anyone ever told you that you have an enormous ego?"
Without thinking, she took another sip of her drink. After a moment of horror she realized she'd live through it. The stuff had a soft, almost sweet flavor. She tasted again, a larger mouthful this time.
What had they been talking about?
"I don't believe I've ever hear anyone use the word 'cahoots' in casual conversation," Drake said. "You are a unique individual, Miranda."
The intensity of his gaze made her mouth dry. She gulped the rest of the liquor hoping it would alleviate the tightness in her throat, assuage the heaviness in her chest.
"It's a perfectly good word," she stated. "Would you like another drink?" His glass was empty.
He nodded. She poured for both of them, wondering why it was hard to focus her eyes. She sat.
Drake's fingers grazed hers when he took the glass. She focused on his action, and then glanced at his face. The air between them seemed to crystallize. Panic swept through her as she realized how very much she was attracted to him. She couldn't seem to think straight when he was around.
What had they been talking about? She was angry with him because--because--ah!
"You didn't really make love to me," she accused.
Anger mixed with hurt. Maybe she hadn't been worth his time. Lucy was what he wanted, not plain down-to-earth Miranda.
"No, I didn't." The words sighed from his mouth. Miranda had to lean closer to hear him.
"Why not?" To her dismay tears formed in her eyes. She blinked to clear them.
"Despite what you've heard, I'm not a monster. Making love to you while you were unconscious would have been unconscionable."
She appreciated his clever play on words. "I never knew you to have feelings before."
This whiskey was really good. It slid down her throat like warm chocolate.
"There's a lot you don't know about me."
She blinked. When she opened her eyes, he'd vanished. "Hey, where'd you go?"
Hands dropped onto her shoulders. Miranda spun around. Her drink sloshed. Drake leaned across and took the glass from her hand.
"I'm not going to miss this opportunity to make things right." He dragged her to her feet. The last thing she saw before he kissed her was the blaze of passion shooting at her from his eyes.
Chapter Seven
At first dizziness and shock kept her from fighting. Crystal sharp awareness slammed into her. Wherever he touched, she burned. From where his lips attacked hers to the trail of fire his fingers blazed down her arms, her back, her buttocks, the burning left tremors of desire in their wake. Tremors that threatened to rock Miranda's deliberately constructed world.
She pushed against his chest. It was like pushing on granite. He held her tighter. The intensity of his mouth on hers changed. Where at first it demanded she kiss him back, it now gentled and asked.
She stopped pushing. Stopped thinking. She allowed herself to enjoy the warm softness of his lips.
Someone whined. Pumpkin. Thank goodness. Miranda had had a horrifying moment thinking it was her moaning and whining with desire and delight and pure lust. As she thought this, and thought it might be time to put an end to this kiss, Drake shifted the tenor of his mouth once more.
Now Miranda did gasp. She held onto his shoulders for balance. His lips opened against hers. His hot tongue probed. His teeth nibbled until she opened her mouth against the onslaught.
That cost her. Up until that moment she could have pulled away, put some distance between them. Probably. Later, when she'd take the time to think about it, she tried to convince herself it was true.
Deep need pulsed through her. This time it was her groan that escaped as she tried to breathe. Drake's growl echoed it. The primal noise matched the way his hand strayed to her breast as his other found the bottom of her skirt. He pulled the fabric up until his fingers reached the soft skin of her inner thigh through her hose. She writhed against the strictures of fabric.
His hands--she wanted them everywhere.
He unbuttoned her blouse all the while deepening his kiss. When he had her throat and shoulders bared, he removed his mouth from hers. Shivers shot through her as he licked at her earlobes nibbled her neck, made his way to the softness where her breasts began.
At the same instant his mouth reached her cleavage his clever fingers stroked the moist fire he'd created below. Miranda couldn't decide whether to melt or to scream. She had too many clothes on. She wanted skin to skin; heat against heat. Nothing else would do.
She reached to unbutton his shirt. Damn buttons. H
er fingers fumbled with the small pieces of plastic. In her growing need she grabbed and pulled hard. The shredding of cloth and the patter of buttons dropping onto the tile floor faded into the background as a deep-seated tremor burst through her.
His mouth found her nipples through the lace of her bra as his fingers encouraged the first slamming orgasm to rock her. She cried out. Her voice almost undid him as she arched against his body with the force of her release. Before she finished cresting he stopped the frantic touching. He lifted her as she moaned. As he carried her to the bedroom he had an irrational hope that the damn dog would stay out for a change.
Miranda's eyes fluttered open as Drake laid her on the bed. Her face, soft and flushed, lips parted, stopped him. She'd given herself to him unselfishly. He wasn't sure he should complete the task.
The throbbing in the lower part of his abdomen gave him notice that he did want to get on with it. Fierce self-control was the only thing that kept him from lowering his trousers and taking Miranda now while she was soft and pliable and oh so sexy.
He curled his fingers into hard fists. His earlier reasons for wanting her had melted away. Now he wanted her to want him. When had his feelings shifted from cold planning to warmer caring? He couldn't think about that now. Now he had to get away from her before he did something both of them would regret.
A soft swish of fabric stopped him before he got to the door. Miranda's hand touched his sleeve.
"You can't leave yet," she whispered. Her eyes, huge and liquid, held him captive.
Warm light from the living room spilled through the bedroom doorway. Her body glowed. Drake hesitated.
This time she put her arms around his neck and kissed him. Her tight nipples touched his flesh where his shirt hung open. White heat shot through him. For a brief instant he was unable to move.
He waited for her to break away, to laugh at him. Waited for her to push him out the door. He waited through an eternity of need for Miranda to somehow end what he had started. He waited for her to cast him out of her life. His heart pounded.
Her hands crept under what was left of his shirt. Then his shirt was on the floor.
He stopped thinking. He picked her up and carried her to the bed. Her legs lifted and wrapped around him as her kisses deepened.
He'd never make it. He'd embarrass himself before he got his pants off. Perspiration broke out on his forehead as he settled her on the bed. He fumbled with his belt; groaned with relief as his trousers and briefs hit the floor.
He plunged into her. Her moist wetness sheathed him, clenched around him. He gritted his teeth, determined to make this more than an animal coupling.
Miranda moved against him, gyrating her pelvis to take in more of him. It undid him. With a hoarse shout he came.
Through the haze of his pleasure he was aware of Miranda's deep, rhythmic orgasm. Time defined itself to that moment of shared intimacy. There was nothing else in the universe except her touch, her body and his together.
Reality returned when something cold and wet touched the leg Drake had dangled over the edge of the bed. He jerked away then looked. Pumpkin's drooling face frowned at him from the floor. Disapproval arced from the dog's clear brown eyes.
Drake shook his head. Pumpkin had no idea what was going on. He was a dog.
Miranda shifted beneath him. Great, not only had he just ravished her, now he was pressing the life out of her. He rolled off with reluctance. She felt soft and warm and infinitely better than the cool sheets that caught his backside.
He was afraid to say anything. What could he say? "Let's do it again?" Or what about, "Guess we consummated that, now."
He stifled a groan as his loins relayed to his brain that they weren't quite ready to quit.
He stared at the ceiling and tried not to think about it.
Miranda's voice, quiet and devoid of emotion, zeroed in on the one thing he should have remembered. "I don't suppose you used a condom?"
He shook his head.
"Then you got what you wanted, didn't you? You did it without taking advantage of me."
Her cool voice held neither judgment nor censure within the fabric of the words. That got to him. Shame and elation fought for space within him. Shame because he had planned her seduction, and got it. Elation because her response had been so much more than he expected.
She had wanted him, had given herself to him when all he asked for was her body. He'd felt her soul come to him in that rare moment of clarity when they were joined.
Had she been aware of it? Did she know how her sweet surrender shattered his plans and thrust him into a dervish of emotions he thought he'd cast off along with his bad marriage?
The silence between them pressed against his chest. Turning toward her, his breath caught in his throat. With eyelids half shut she was curled to face him. One hand cupped her cheek. Her free arm stretched along the curve of her silhouette, enhancing every line beneath the sheet.
Words of apology stuck in his throat. "I'm going to need more than thirty days," he said as he gave in to the heat that rose through him.
Miranda's eyes flashed open. "Why?"
He rolled closer, gratified when she didn't pull away. "Because I want more of this." He took her into his arms and kissed her again.
Her tense resistance faded away. He knew he'd won a major battle when she opened her mouth and her legs to him. He slowed the pace of his lovemaking. He wanted to do it right this time.
Moving her stroking hands away from him, he lifted back the sheet. Goose bumps appeared on her arms. Her nipples peaked.
"What?" she murmured as she watched him.
He hushed her with a gentle kiss on the mouth then directed a body-length caress along her. The goose flesh disappeared. She kept her eyes open.
He began this slower seduction at the top of her face. Flicking tiny kisses across her brow, over the corners of her eyes, around the edge of her mouth, and up the tip of her nose. Her lips curved up.
Next he touched an earlobe with the tip of his tongue as he brushed a nipple with his fingers. She arched into him. He came close to ending it then.
Deep breaths. This time he wanted it to be perfect, unrushed. Deliberate.
Dipping his head, he ran his tongue along her neck until he reached the hollow of her throat. He cupped the other breast and stroked that nipple with his thumb all the while kissing Miranda's neck and throat, moving down to her shoulders and upper arms.
She moved against him again, moaning. Her hands stroked his head. As Drake moved down her body she writhed beneath him. When his fingers found the moistness between her legs she arced to meet them, crying out. He pulled away; determined to pace it. Instead he gave his mouth to her breasts as he placed his body between her thighs.
Her damp pubic hair rubbed against his belly as he kissed and sucked first one nipple then the other. Her hands rubbed his shoulders with a primal rhythm. She burned with the need of him. Shards of desire emanated from every cell as he tortured her with his mouth, his hands.
When his lips deserted her breasts she sobbed. His mouth kissed down her torso trailing flames along her length. She touched his head. When he turned his face to hers, the blaze in his eyes burned hot. He returned to torture her skin.
Lucid thought left her as his mouth sought the nub of her femininity. She grasped handfuls of sheets as his tongue stroked her. Panting, she pulled his head away.
Inside. She had to have him inside her.
For an instant he held back. Just as her body began to tremble with the wave she could no longer resist, he entered her. A long stroke completed her, and then propelled her into the warmth of a universe that was now composed of only the two of them. Infinity waited.
Chapter Eight
Miranda welcomed the darkness of her new office when she arrived. The sun waited below the horizon but its promise started a golden glow in the eastern sky.
On a subliminal level she was aware of the executive appointments of this room. But even the cor
ner view couldn't distract her from the reasons she had arrived so early. Her little apartment had been invaded; she needed someplace where she could be alone to think. This small domain was her best bet. For a little while anyway.
She threw her coat and briefcase onto a chair before sinking into place behind her new desk.
What had she done?
For starters, she'd slept with, correction - had sex with - Drake. He'd wanted consummation; he'd gotten got it. He was husband in fact as well as in name.
She rubbed her forehead as images of herself plastered to him last night--had she really begged him to make love to her?--flashed through her mind. Last time it had been champagne yet he'd been decent enough to keep his hands off. Last night whiskey had been her downfall.
Blaming the liquor was too easy. The cold fact remained that her anger at Drake's deception had blossomed into something else as he told her his side of the story of his marriage. She wondered who was right, Lucy or Drake? Her future depended upon this pivotal question.
Drake's business conduct bordered on ruthless, yet never untruthful. He didn't lie. He had no reason to lie about his personal life. Of course she hadn't known much about that until he'd married her sister. Even then, he'd been close-mouthed. Probably because she remained employed by him.
He had fired Jack on the same day Jack broke off his engagement to her. The next thing she knew, she was in bed with Drake at a no-tell motel in Las Vegas. Were the incidents connected? Even in her exhausted state she was astute enough to realize that somehow all of these pieces fit together.
Lucy was the key. That seemed ridiculous. Even though Miranda loved her sister deeply, Lucy's interests revolved more around clothes and her new career as a dental assistant than anything sneaky. Unless money was involved.
Lucy, younger by three years than Miranda, had developed an early talent for bending the truth so that it benefited her. As much as Miranda loved her sister, she also knew that Lucy wouldn't hesitate to lie if it suited her.
Except for gaining Miranda's sympathy, why would Lucy lie about the reasons for divorce?