To Win Her Smile

by Mackenzie Crowne

  “Wyatt.” She reached for him. “I want you inside me.”

  Her brutal honesty was almost as sexy as the need shimmering in her eyes. “Soon, duchess. I’ve got one or two other carnal delights I need to explore first.”

  Walking backward on his knees, he lowered to his stomach and cupped her ass in his hands. She whimpered as he lifted her, and jolted at the first flicking lick of his tongue against the hard nub of her clit. Sweet and musky, her essence made his mouth water, his nostrils flare, and his cock throb as he alternately sucked and licked.

  Incredibly responsive, she mewled deep in her throat. It wasn’t long before she was bucking against his mouth as she reached her climax. Starting over, he built her back up until she cooed with desire, staying after her until she shattered a second time while screaming his name.

  Only then did he let her rest, and then, only long enough to retrieve one of the condoms he’d tossed into the bed-stand drawer before traveling the half mile to the studio this morning. Sprawled boneless and naked, she followed his movements with heavy-lidded eyes as he rolled the condom over himself.

  Propped over her on his left elbow, he used his right hand to position the tip of his cock at the entrance to her channel. A flex of his hips, and she stretched around him. Retreating slightly, he pressed forward, pushing beyond the tip before retreating again. A third foray into paradise, and he was buried to the hilt. His groan merged with hers.

  Ripples of pleasure skipped up and down his spine as he paused to enjoy the exquisite squeeze of her incredibly tight walls. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead, and he had to move. Slowly at first, he swiveled his hips in a lazy roll. Seduced by the spark of returning heat in her eyes, he picked up his pace. She matched his ever-increasing frenzy, rising and falling in time with him. Hands clinging to his shoulders and a slim calf wrapped around the back of his thighs, she arched from the mattress to meet him and took his heavy thrusts as if they were her due.

  She threw back her head, mouth open in a silent scream, and the sudden milking of her internal muscles was his undoing. His balls contracted, and he buried himself deep, shuddering beneath the violence of his orgasm.

  Lost in a sultry fog, he wasn’t sure how long he lay atop her. As she shifted beneath him, he pushed up on his elbows. “Sorry, I must be heavy.”

  “You make a lovely blanket.” Her jaw snapped on a wide yawn, and he smiled.

  “You okay?”

  “Fabulous.” Looking as if she didn’t have the strength to lift it, she brought her hand to his face and cupped his cheek. “You’re a talented and generous lover, Wyatt.”

  Turning his head, he held her gaze while pressing a kiss to her palm. “I was inspired.”

  The pink tinge of a blush bloomed over her cheekbones, and he shook his head. She’d just matched him lust for lust. The fact she could still blush surprised him as much as it charmed. Dropping his forehead to hers, he chuckled.

  “I’m in danger of losing my heart here, duchess.” The whispered words were out of his mouth before they’d even registered.

  She froze beneath him, her eyes wide. He swallowed a vicious curse. Pressing a kiss to her nose, he disentangled their bodies and rose from the bed.

  I’m in danger of losing my heart? Fuck. Where the hell had that come from?

  Like the coward he’d suddenly become, he avoided her gaze as he swept his briefs from the floor. Instead of entering the attached bath to dispose of the condom, he hurried toward the stairs. He needed a few minutes to scrape the holy fuck off his tongue before any post coital conversation could begin.

  “I’m going to get us something to eat. I’ll be back in a couple.”

  Chapter 17

  Piper sat up and tugged the rumpled comforter from beneath her hip. Wrapping it around her naked breasts, she blinked at the speed with which Wyatt disappeared down the stairs. Bloody hell. What just happened?

  She’d been kidding with her comment about him making a good blanket. Up until that point, she’d been hotter than a banked fire and, considering he’d experienced at least two orgasms of his own, she’d assumed he had been, too.

  But she wasn’t hot now.

  Chilled to the bone by his sudden coolness, followed by his rapid retreat to the first floor, she chewed her bottom lip. Though he’d whispered the words, she’d heard them clearly. He’d said he was in danger of losing his heart. Then…what?

  Ha! ‘Tis a basket of rubbish he was feeding ye. The only danger to that devil’s heart would’a been if he fell down the steps while scramblin’ to get away once he’d gotten his leg over with ye.

  She stared at the empty space where he’d disappeared, and her pulse catapulted into rapid fire. Surely, that wasn’t it. He’d said he thought about her. Wanted the time to discover why.

  Ye know why. Tis what men do. Like yer cheatin’ fiancé, Wyatt Hunter has had his way with ye and now he’s ready to move on. And ye played right into his hands. Her inner nag snorted. Forgettin’ yer knickers? Blimey, had the first Baroness of Delaney known what her line would come to, she’da become a nun.

  Piper slapped a hand over her eyes and groaned, but now wasn’t the time for I told you so’s. She dropped her hand to her lap and eyed the windows running the length of the front wall. Perhaps she could tie the bed sheets together and shimmy down the building to the street below.

  Right. With yer luck, you’d come up short and spend the afternoon dangling above the sidewalk before ye fell and broke both legs.

  With a grimace, she shoved aside the comforter and climbed from the mattress. She very well may be a disappointment to her ancestors, but the current Baroness of Delaney didn’t escape through third story windows and she didn’t run. Especially when she’d done nothing wrong.

  She scooped her jeans and jumper from the floor where Wyatt had dropped them and welcomed the growing kernel of anger in her belly.

  For heaven’s sake, they were consenting adults and it wasn’t as if this was his first sexual encounter. By all accounts, he was an expert in the field and, in view of the way her body still hummed, the reports were spot on.

  A low growl escaped her throat. Considering his expertise, if he was uncomfortable with women once he’d shagged them, then he shouldn’t bring them to his flat. Good God. He owned his own plane. Surely he could afford to spring for a neutral location, like a hotel room, where he’d be free to be on his way once the deed was done…instead of pacing around downstairs, wondering how the devil to get her to leave without tossing her out.

  She jammed a leg into the wrinkled denim, then the other, and yanked the jeans over her naked bottom and hips. Bugger it. It wasn’t as if she’d forced any kind of demands on him. Well, other than the money, but that was business. Bloody hell, she’d expressly insisted on a no-strings arrangement with no long-term commitments.

  She scowled at her pretty green jumper and wished like hell she had a brassiere stashed away somewhere. Knickers, too. Shoving her arms into the sleeves, she dragged the sweater over her head as heat suffused her cheeks. Her nag had a point. She’d been incredibly easy for him. Wyatt probably considered her a trollop not worthy of another thought now that he’d had it off with her.

  The wanker.

  Stomping into her heels, she headed for the stairs. If he’d decided they were done personally, fine. She could live with that, but he didn’t have to be a…prick about it. She nodded smugly at the Yank insult and decided it fit Wyatt perfectly. After all, a shake of the hand or a pat on the head might have been a cool ending to what had just passed between them, but either would have been far less insulting than bolting from the bed and running like hell while she was still vibrating from his touch.

  She hesitated only slightly as she spotted him upon reaching the bottom step. Bare chested and footed with his hair sexily mussed from her fingers, he stood at the kitchen island in only a disreputably faded p
air of jeans. The makings of a sandwich were spread out around him. The knife in his hand stilled over the tomato he’d been slicing, and he looked up. His forced smile made him look like he’d been sipping the juice from the pickle jar near his elbow.

  Definitely a prick.

  She stalked past him, stopping to collect her camera bag from the couch where he’d left it. Hefting the strap onto her shoulder, she faced him with a bugger-off tilt of her chin. “I didn’t see a pedestrian door when we arrived. Is there a secret passage somewhere to let me out, or shall I ride down with the SUV?”

  He cocked his head. “What are you talking about? Where are you going?”

  “Back to my hotel.” Adjusting the bag’s strap, she shrugged. “Never mind, I’m an intelligent woman. I’ll figure it out on my own.”

  “Duchess, wait...”

  She ignored him, and turned toward the exit. Behind her, metal clattered, and he cursed beneath his breath. She hurried her steps. Chin high, she somehow managed to hold on to her pride, a difficult thing with the residual stickiness between her thighs reminding her just how big a fool she’d been.

  He caught her before she reached the barn door. Tucking an arm around her from behind, he dragged her to a stop. His chest swelled against her back as if he were dealing with something he’d rather not. “Hold on a minute, duchess.”

  She stiffened her backbone. She’d become accustomed to the nickname. In fact, she’d found it rather charming, but now... If they were to be nothing more than business associates—and their professional relationship had bloody well better still be in effect because there was no way she was returning his money—then he could damn well address her by her given name.

  “I’d rather you not call me that. Especially since our association from here on will be of a professional nature. I insist you call me Piper or Miss Darrow.”

  His sigh was audible as he lowered his head to press his cheek against hers. “I’m sorry, Piper.”

  Surprise caught her off guard, but only for a moment. She twisted her head clear of his cheek. “Yes, well. That makes two of us. Now, if you don’t mind…”

  He tightened his arm when she attempted to step forward. “Give me a minute to explain.”

  She leaned her upper body to the side and turned her head to look at him. “Explain what, exactly? I’m not some virginal missy who doesn’t know how men think. I get it, Wyatt. We shagged and it was lovely, but now we’re done, and you’re not sure how to get rid of me.”

  His brows dipped together in a frown. “What the…? Not even close.” He released her, but only to straighten and turn her to face him. Gripping her upper arms, he looked her dead in the eye. “Jesus, duchess. What kind of men have you been with that that’s your opinion of how we think?”

  She arched a brow, but wasn’t going anywhere near that minefield of questioning. “I asked you not to call me that.” She gave in to a derisive snort. “And please, you couldn’t get off me fast enough when the deed was done.” The flash of guilt in his eyes was painful to witness but, instead of increasing her anger, a sadness she hadn’t expected filled her heart. She blew a windy sigh. “Look. We agreed at the beginning there would be no strings or obligations. I suggest we cut our losses and move on.”

  His fingers briefly clenched around her arms. “What if I don’t want to move on? What if I want to move forward?”

  She blinked, but if she was shocked by his question, it seemed he was as well. An agitated wrinkle creased his forehead, and he released her arms. She stared at him as he jammed a hand through his hair, disturbing the mussed locks even further. She waited for him to correct himself and, when he didn’t, she shook her head.

  “You don’t mean that.” He couldn’t. Not in the way she wanted him to, anyway. Men like Wyatt didn’t have relationships; they had flings. He was a player. A playboy. A professional athlete who had his pick of women and had proven through the years that variety played a key role in who he spent his time with.

  Been there, done that. Didn’t buy the T-shirt because it was bloody ugly and hateful.

  Then again, perhaps she should have. Maybe then, her heart wouldn’t be tripping in her chest at the thought he might have actually meant his whispered comment—before he’d rolled off her and fled.

  He dropped his arms to his sides and blew a half-pained snort. “I’ve never meant anything more in my life and it scares the fuck out of me.”

  Her head went fuzzy, and she must have gone pale because his face tightened with alarm. She didn’t argue as he slid an arm around her waist and guided her back to the couch. He very gently lowered her to the cushions and squatted before her, then took her hands.

  “Yeah, I know. I had a similar reaction. Which is why I took off so quickly. I needed a few minutes. Truth is, I didn’t expect to discover I have feelings for you, much less speak them out loud.”

  She swallowed hard, but he seemed to have moved past his panic.

  He squeezed her fingers. “Can I get you something? Water? A glass of wine?”

  “Thank you, no.”

  “Whiskey?” He smiled softly at the narrowing of her eyes. The bulk of the concern drained from his face. “That’s better.”

  She dropped her gaze to their hands, but hadn’t realized she’d been clinging to his fingers. The smart move would be to tug free, but she couldn’t bring herself to break the connection. “We had a deal, Wyatt.”

  “Deals are renegotiated all the time.”

  True, but… “Hey.”

  She lifted her gaze to his.

  “I’m not suggesting we jet off to Vegas tonight. All I’m asking is you keep an open mind. See where things lead.”

  The dizziness returned as her heartbeat pounded in her ears. She shook her head to clear it. “See where things lead? Wyatt, your father is running for president of the United States.”

  That reality killed the humor in his eyes, and he winced. “Yeah, there is that.” Releasing her hands, he slid onto the couch beside her. He didn’t ask, simply scooped her into his lap and wrapped his arms around her. “I think you should know, you’re being investigated by my father’s campaign.”

  “What?” She struggled against his hold. “Let me up, please. I’ve got to go.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Yes, I do. I really do.”

  “You’re panicking and there’s no need.” He held her gently but firmly, and she gave up the fight. Rubbing a soothing hand up and down her spine, he pressed a kiss to her temple. “It’s not as big deal as it sounds. They investigate anyone with a connection to the family.”

  “Not a big deal? Bloody hell. I’m being investigated by the probable next president of the United States.” She squeezed her eyelids shut on a whimper. “I’ve fallen down the rabbit hole.”

  His palm stilled on her lower back. “You haven’t killed anyone, right? Don’t head up an international mob syndicate? Aren’t hiding out here in the States because you’re wanted by Interpol?”

  She coughed dismissively and met his gaze. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  He grinned and resumed his soothing strokes. “I admit, I don’t understand the ball cap and sweatshirt routine, but figured you have your reasons for wanting to keep a low profile.”

  Bugger it. Obviously, he’d recognized her attempt to disguise herself as exactly that. She blew a frustrated huff. “Wyatt, I...”

  “There’s just one problem, though.”

  Whatever explanation she’d been about to give—and she had no idea what that was—stalled in her throat. She blinked. “What kind of problem?”

  He slid his hand past her waist to cup his palm along the left cheek of her bum. “You may want to exchange the jeans for a pair of baggy sweats. A woman who wears denim the way you do is impossible to overlook.”

  Relief sagged her shoulders. “I’m serious, Wyatt.”

>   “So am I. You have one of the finest asses I’ve ever seen.” He squeezed her cheek in emphasis, then brushed his lips over her temple. “Talk to me, duchess.”

  Fear mixed with an underlying desire to do as he asked, and fear won. “What would be the point? In case you’ve forgotten, we live on different continents.”

  “In case you’ve forgotten, I have my own plane.”

  His grin was so boyishly self-satisfied, she couldn’t help smiling, but it faded quickly.

  He sighed, but didn’t give up. Brushing a fingertip down her cheek to her jaw line, he crooked his knuckle beneath her chin and lifted her face. His eyes darkened with intensity. “I’m interested in you, Piper. Several days ago on my plane, you admitted you were interested, too. Less than an hour ago, you opened yourself up to me in the most elemental way a woman can, and I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.”

  He dipped his head and brushed her lips with his before straightening. “My father is running for president. I can’t change that any more than I can change the fact that you make my heart pound and my dick hard. Dad’s staff doesn’t give a shit about you, but I do. Forewarned is forearmed. If I’m going to defend you against whatever they find, I need to know what’s coming.”

  She dropped her gaze, but he wasn’t having any of that.

  “Hey.” He jiggled her slightly until she looked up again. “Dad’s paranoia aside, I want to know more about you. About your favorite foods and television shows. What makes you happy and those things that have made you sad in the past. Like the asshole who taught you to have such low expectations when it comes to men.”

  Her fear was no match for the glow of hope sparking in her chest. If she was being honest with herself, she’d been more than interested in him from the very beginning. He hadn’t gone so far as to touch on the L word but, then, she didn’t love him, either. She wasn’t so stupid to have allowed herself to go down that road again, but she did like him. A lot. As V claimed, it was impossible not to.