“A lot. I was apologizing to her now,” Timothy said.
“A bit late, isn’t it?” Salvatore retorted. “All this time we thought you were our friend.”
Raffaello motioned to move again, but the others brought him to a halt. Barely. With flaring nostrils, he groaned. “When I get my hands on you—”
Elena waved her hands. “Guys, stop.”
Timothy turned to her brothers. “This isn’t the place. I can explain everything if you want, but I don’t think we should do this here.”
“Why? Because you don’t wanna ruin the party like you ruined my sister? Blaming an addiction just on your willingness to screw her up?” Emilio asked.
“Hey, go easy on him,” someone screamed behind them.
“Easy?” Raffaello snarled. “This guy—”
“That’s it!” Elena yelled. “That’s why I didn’t want any of you to know about our marriage, because I know you’d go all cavemen on him and land yourselves in prison.”
One of her brothers tried to speak, but she shushed him. “Quiet. I forgave him, and I don’t wanna dissect what happened. It’s my failed marriage. My choice.”
“Why didn’t you tell us, bambina? Why did you move away and shut us out?” her mother asked. Devon’s heart squeezed. The woman’s face wrinkled, and she kept blinking back tears.
“I wanted to handle things my way. I love you all, but it’s my life. Growing up, I always feared what my brothers would think or do. I couldn’t keep living like that.”
Rocco sighed. “Elena…we always meant well.”
“I know. So do I. Listen, I need a breather. Devon and I will sleep at a hotel tonight.” She stretched her hand to his, and he took it. She started to walk out of the room, then halted for a moment and glanced over her shoulders. “And guess what? Here’s another shocker. We won’t be getting two different rooms.”
Chapter Thirteen
“You haven’t said a word since we left your parents’ home,” Devon said, as they walked through the imposing lobby of The Mandarin hotel after checking in. To the left, a few other guests strolled. A couple of them contemplated the hand-blown glass swan sculptures displayed on a heavy oak round table, and accented by soothing golden lighting.
“I’m still digesting everything,” she said, and glanced at him. Was it wrong that a part of her didn’t want to find out who kept stealing money from the company? That even though she had gone over possibilities with him at the office and given him some ideas…she didn’t want what they had going on between them to end? The moment they found the thief, he wouldn’t need her anymore. Sexually, she needed him more than he did her. After all, what could she teach him he hadn’t already mastered? Not in the bedroom. But maybe she could teach him how to let down his emotional guard and let someone in. Someone like her.
They reached the elevators. She walked into the first open door, but when she turned to push the button to their floor, Devon still stood outside. His confession from the other night rang in her ears. Not fond of elevators. No wonder she never saw him on the elevators at Wilder & Co. “Join me?” she asked, tilting her head as invitation.
“Of course. I’ll meet you upstairs,” he said.
“You’re not climbing a million flights of stairs, Devon. Come in.” She stretched out her hand. She could just listen to him, and embark alone. But her feet didn’t move, and she decided to address the frustration clogging her throat. Frustration for not being able to be for him what he was becoming to her. “After the crappy day I’ve had, if you’re gonna get all tired and sweaty, it won’t be from exercising, handsome,” she said, trying a lighter approach.
He stared at her. The doors were almost closing, when he shoved a hand to keep them open and got on the elevator, next to her. If he had helped her face a part of her past she feared, why couldn’t she do the same?
Even though the confined space was the size of a foyer, and jazzy songs flowing quietly from the speakers filled the space with elegance, there was still something else in the air. She studied his profile. His full lips were pressed into a razor-thin line, and beads of sweat trickled down his forehead. She wasn’t sure if having no one else in the elevator with them was a good thing or not.
“Remember what you told me in Denver?” she whispered. “That I was gonna kick ass and you would watch it? Now I’m watching you too, Devon.”
He didn’t move, and his face was like black marble. She held his hand in hers, and noticed his palm was clammy. Biting back a smile, she squeezed his hand, trying to give him some solace. The guy probably hated her. Way to go, Elena. “What are you thinking about?”
He gave her a sideway glance. “Balloons. Isn’t that pathetic? When I was stuck… I kept visualizing them… Somehow that calmed me down a bit.”
Her throbbing heart floated up her throat, and she had to bite her lip to keep from spilling just how much she cared for him. She nudged his hand, and when he gazed at her, she fingers traced his jaw. “There is nothing pathetic about you, Devon Wilder. Do you understand me?”
He watched her in silence, and for a moment their eyes locked. Her pulse fluttered, and a familiar warm wonderful sensation coiled in the pit of her stomach.
Devon parted his lips to speak, and she bobbed her heard toward him, foolishly hoping good words escaped his mouth. Nice words. Love words.
However, he cleared his throat, and shook his head, breaking the stare. When the elevator reached the floor with a soundless bump, he asked, “Aren’t you mad at me for stirring things up at your folks’?”
Why would she be mad at him? “No.”
He opened the door and gestured for her to go inside first. “Good. I’m sorry about how it all went down.”
I am not sorry. She’d mused in silence over the fight at her parents’ townhouse all the way to the luxury hotel. A tiny part of her had hoped her brothers—especially Raffaello, known for his short temper—hadn’t beaten Timothy into a pulp. She wanted to believe that her parents wouldn’t be angry with her for leaving their house. And choosing to stay with Devon—in every sense. Then she’d told herself her that she wasn’t responsible for her brothers’ actions, and she had a right to make grown-up decisions.
Nope. Still not sorry, she reiterated to herself while glancing through the suite’s floor-to-ceiling windows that gave her a breathtaking, panoramic view of Central Park.
The ginormous room had been decorated with an amazing combination of deep chocolate sofas and dinner table, which contrasted with reds and brushed-gold of artifacts and accessories. After she removed her shoes and kicked them to the side, the handcrafted rugs caressed the soles of her feet.
For a moment, all that luxury distracted her from everything else. But not from him. Never, from him.
He stood against the arch of what she imagined led to the bedroom with his arms crossed and his gleaming eyes locked onto her.
“Wasn’t this view worthy of you getting inside the elevator?” She pointed at the thousand little lights glittering below them. To her surprise, even though they were in the city that didn’t sleep, the suite was quiet. Like the view was part of a movie, but in no way connected to the energy enveloping them.
He gave her a small smile. “It certainly was.”
“But you didn’t like going in.”
“It’s not that I can’t go in if that’s the only way. It’s the memories flashing in my brain whenever I’m forced to ride in one,” he said casually, and rolled up his sleeves.
She let out a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding for so long. “Sorry. I meant to help.”
He shook his head, and walked up to her. “Don’t you be sorry. I’m the one who feels bad for somewhat outing you to your family.”
“No. That was long overdue.”
Leaning forward, he placed the smallest kiss on her lips, only to disengage and return to his original place. “I’m proud of you.”
She glanced at her bare toes curling against the soft carpet. “Thanks.” A
wave of empowerment swept over her. Surely, she wouldn’t have chosen that venue or crowd to reveal the most intimate secret she’d hidden for so long. But then there was never a good time for bad news to be revealed. Now that hers was out, she was free.
“For what it’s worth, he was apologizing when you interrupted us. Not that it was the best place for that, either.” And why the hell would the man wait a year after his recovery to do so? Why hadn’t Timothy called her? Emailed? Whatever. Didn’t matter. All she wanted was to move forward.
“I don’t know how to ask you this, but does it help you give it some closure?”
She sighed. “I’m not sure. Something tells me my family will be more curious than ever. I just don’t wanna think about it.” However they felt about Timothy was their business. She had struggled to get out of that relationship, and wouldn’t go back again. “I have to say though, I’m glad that I told my brothers off.”
“Who knew my Elena could be so feisty?”
His Elena? Shoulders sagging, she shifted her weight from foot to foot and almost lost her balance altogether. Melting. Again. For Him.
She sat on the sofa, deciding that was far better than just crumbling to the floor. Devon followed her lead, and he knelt in front of her. He caught her ankle, and a frisson of awareness surged through her, and she worried her bottom lip. His gaze locked onto hers.
His touch ignited a series of sensations within her that she could barely register. It was too much, too good. Too hot.
He lowered his hand to her heel and foot. She parted her legs a bit. If his eyes were an ebony ocean, she would drown in them. Her nipples pebbled. Not even a freaking hurricane could separate her from him now. “Do you like me when I’m feisty?”
A smile that could cause accidents at traffic lights formed on his beautiful face. “I like you when you’re feisty.” Massaging the heel of her foot, he dipped his head and gave it a kiss.
Oh God. She wasn’t a foot fetish person or anything, but this was hot. Seriously. Hot.
“I also like you when you’re not.” Devon brought her foot to his mouth, and what was left of her almost slid right off her seat. His teeth grazed her toes, and wasn’t she glad she had squeezed in a pedicure the day before. His tongue lapped over her maroon-colored toenails. The scent of her arousal filled the air. “You’re turned on.”
She could feel heat spreading across her cheeks. Well, yeah.
“I can smell how aroused you are.”
She swallowed. Her throat was dry and thick.
“I love that scent. I love your taste. I love how you’re blushing right now. You want me to take you, but you also want me to keep talking.”
“Yes.”
He clutched her feet. “You’re one naughty, naughty woman, Elena Moretti.”
“You’re a bad influence on me.”
“I could say the same thing.”
“How so?”
He slid his hand higher. A glint of pure male pride flickered in his midnight eyes. Like fireworks from a distance. “Ever since you started working for me, showing up with that array of tight pencil skirts, pearls, and froufrou tops, all I’ve thought about was what was underneath. The way the skirt snugged your perfectly rounded ass. An ass that deserved to be touched. Licked. Spanked.”
He found the hem of her panties, and his finger toyed with the fabric. God. She was so wet that pretty soon her underwear would just slip right off. “What else?”
“Remember one day you had on red heels?”
“Yes,” she answered spreading her legs as she remembered pairing a rather conservative black dress with funky shoes to balance it out.
Finally, he slid his fingers into her underwear. Her clit was one hot button of sizzling nerves, aching for release. He could just bend her over and fuck her already. But, Devon being Devon… “I masturbated thinking about you shaking those shoes behind my neck. Twice.”
During those three months, had he wanted her as badly as she had wanted him? “Really?”
He inserted two fingers into her, and she let out a little growl. “Really.”
“Tell me more. I need more.”
Without mercy, Devon moved his fingers inside her, exploring her swollen flesh, driving her crazy with need. She squirmed on the sofa, and rocked her hips into his hand.
He licked his lips, and his gaze slid to her pussy. “I’ll give you just what you need, baby.”
Panting, she clenched the arm of the sofa with white-knuckling intensity. Leaning down, he buried his head between her legs. The sensation sent a surge of electricity through her, the currents building up with each lap of his tongue. Teasing her, he continued to finger her while the tip of his tongue flicked her exquisitely aching clit. Moans escaped her lips, and she threw her head back. The little currents swirled into one big tremor, the climax stealing the air from her lungs. Wow.
She was still catching her breath when he swept her off the sofa, and scooped her into his arms. He carried her to the bedroom. A rush of adrenaline arose inside her, and she smiled as he kissed her cheeks.
“You make me so wet. My vagina should come with a flash flood warning when you’re around,” she said, barely registering the suite’s gorgeous ongoing color scheme of chocolate, gold, and reds. She didn’t need to touch the walls to notice there was something silky about them.
He stopped in his tracks.
She drew in a breath. Oh, I sure suck at this.
His smile of amusement turned into a hearty chuckle. “Are you trying to talk dirty? You crack me up.”
He laid her on the mattress, and she pulled him on top of her. “That wasn’t my intention. Maybe I should keep my mouth shut.”
Tracing her upper lip with his index finger, he smiled. A wicked grin matched the heat smoldering in his dilating pupils. “I can think of a better use for your mouth.”
“So can I.” She planted her hands on his chest and rolled him so she was on top of him. Why not give him a taste of his own medicine? A flickering light in the depths of her mind reminded her it had been way too long since she’d done this—not because she didn’t enjoy it, but because it had become more of a constant imposition in her marriage.
Devon is here to help you. If you suck, no pun intended, he’ll let you know. Because he cares for you even if he doesn’t want to admit his feelings. And that thought made her hope for more. But she tucked that hope away. The feelings she nurtured for him didn’t matter. Not once they discovered the identity of the thief.
Instead, she focused on what did matter. The sex. Because the sex was fucking awesome.
She unbuttoned his shirt, her fingers skimming over his pectorals. When she started a path of kisses on his chest, her hands hovered over his six-pack. His pectorals contracted, as if he hung by a thread. Good. If she could give him half of the pleasure he gave her, she’d be a happy camper.
Scraping his skin with her nails, she went down on him, until she was face to face with his amazing hard-on.
She flicked her tongue on the head of his cock, and marveled at the growl filling the room. Encouraged, she grazed his tip with her teeth, while her hands cupped his balls. They were heavy, nice, ready. She ran her tongue along his length, and when some pre-cum pearled at the head, she tasted it. The tangy, salty flavor was beyond exciting.
“Fuck yeah. You’re killing me, babe,” he muttered.
When she took all of him in her mouth, he called her name. Maybe not all of him—but most of him. He filled her cavity, his long, thick shaft throbbing while she sucked him down deep. God, he could come right now and she’d swallow it all. The thought was so outrageously hot, her pussy grew super slick.
His groan was the encouragement she needed to intensify her mouth’s movement up and down the length of his cock. The side veins expanded even more in her mouth, and the moment he shoved his hand in her hair, she felt his liquid pulsing into her mouth. A primitive force to have all of him, in such an intimate way, drove her to swallow him until she licked the last drop.<
br />
***
“Wow. All this happened yesterday?” Kika asked.
She smiled at her best friend, glad they were able to meet for lunch at a trendy bistro in Manhattan. Kika’s husband’s Ryan had taken Devon out so the two women could have some much-needed girl time.
Who knew that after meeting each other years ago at the gym, during Kika’s first time living in New York, their friendship would stand the test of time and distance? The irony was that now, trendy jeweler Kika was the one living in New York with her husband, and Elena wasn’t part of the scene anymore. “Yes. I haven’t been home yet.” Or answered the text messages and voicemails her family members left her on a regular basis. She glanced at her cell phone on the table. The buzzing sound vibrated against the linen. Shaking her head, she tossed it inside her tote. “I will though. The engagement party is tonight and I don’t wanna make it about me.”
Kika leaned back on her chair and played with the long golden beaded necklace she wore. Probably her creation, and worth a small fortune. “I know, honey. Bad timing. I’m proud of you for not backing down and standing your ground.”
A wave of pride swept through Elena, and she didn’t dare will it away. She cut into her salmon. “Thanks. How is your sister?”
“Luna’s doing great in Florida. The catering company has grown and she’s a partner now.”
Elena took a bite of her Niçoise salad. “Wonderful.”
Kika gave her a half-smile. Even though they didn’t see much of each other, what with Elena living in Denver and Kika in New York, every few months or so when they met it only took her a couple seconds to read her friend like no one else.
“What’s wrong?”
Kika ran her fingers through her long chestnut hair. “We’ve been trying to get pregnant but no luck yet.”
“It’s still too soon,” she said, and reached for her friend’s hand. Six months ago, Kika had miscarried and ever since, besides the doctors saying everything was fine, she hadn’t been able to conceive. “Just don’t stress over it.”
Kika made a face. “That’s what everyone says. Which, of course, only stresses me out even more.”
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