by A. C. Arthur
He kissed her again, dragging his tongue over her teeth, dipping deep into her mouth to tangle around her tongue, suckling, taking, devouring, before pulling away again.
“Say it!” he commanded, holding on to her bottom with one hand and grabbing her hair with the other, moving his fingers frantically until whatever style she’d come into the casino with was effectively ruined.
“Never,” she whimpered as he pulled her head back so that she was looking up directly into his face. “Never again,” she finally managed and was rewarded by yet another scolding kiss.
With a quickness she and Brock were becoming known for, Noelle was lifted into the air, then settled on the very table they’d just been playing on, cards sticking to her bare back.
Brock ripped his shirt open, popping buttons up and down his chest and violently removing the cufflinks, as he tore it off. A quick tug of his undershirt and his chest was bare. His pants, boxers and shoes were gone in a blur. Even the retrieval of a condom from his wallet and the sheathing of his impressive arousal were fast.
Noelle didn’t care—she was on fire, her legs trembling, heart pounding. God, she wanted him. Fiercely. Completely.
When he stood over her, she lifted her arms to him in invitation. He paused, roped muscles in his arms tensing as he looked down at her nakedness.
“Please don’t stop me, Noelle. Not now.”
She heard his words, recognized them for the permission he was asking and the strength it was taking him to do so. Any other man, with the offering before him would have taken, gladly. But Brock was asking, needing, wanting.
And she was falling, fast, assuredly, in love with this man.
“Take me, Brock. Please.”
When he came down lower it wasn’t fast but it was hot. The closer he came, the soft touch of his lips to her temple, her cheek, her lips, was hot and sweet and just what she needed.
“Stop thinking,” he whispered. “I want you mindless of anything but me. Just me, Noelle.”
His tongue plunged into her mouth as if he were attempting to wash away all memory of any other man. It was unnecessary, Noelle thought as her hands gripped the back of his head, holding him close. He was Brock and he wanted her, all of her. She knew, could feel it in his touch, see it in his eyes, know it in the way he respected her in business and in bed.
When Brock slipped into her warmth he shuddered, his body immediately embraced by hers. Lifting her thighs high in his arms he planted his feet firmly and began to ride.
It was glorious, surreal, intoxicating. This woman and the way she made him feel. He’d craved her, from that very first day he’d seen and kissed her. It had been like an addiction the way one taste had driven him crazy with need. This wasn’t a part of the business plan. He wasn’t supposed to fall for a woman this way. And yet there was absolutely no doubt in his mind, this woman was made for him, and he for her.
With each thrust the deal was sealed for Noelle. Good or bad she knew her mind, her heart. It had never felt this way before, her heart that is. She’d never felt this way before. Sex had been good, men had been nice, but making love had never been as sweet. Falling in love had never been as swift. Falling in love had simply never been for her.
Now she embraced it, embraced Brock and what he was doing to her. Right at this very moment he was taking her to higher heights, pushing her until she had no choice but to helplessly tumble into the abyss of sexual pleasure. By now her legs had been hoisted up on his shoulders, her palms flattened against the felt table that she was now scraping as she screamed her release.
Brock followed right after her, falling hopelessly as her tightening thighs and heartfelt cries of ecstasy pulled his release from him with smooth efficiency. When his body finally finished shaking, his breath slowing to some semblance of order, he turned his face and kissed her ankle. Spying her shoes he pulled back slightly, holding both her ankles in his hand and looking from one gold shoe to the other.
“I don’t know where you get these things or who the hell made them, but I’m eternally grateful for his genius,” he said, then proceeded to kiss each ankle, down the front line of her foot to her toes.
Noelle could do nothing but sigh until he was finished and putting her legs back down. She felt weak and depleted and as if she were glowing all over. Flattening his palms on the table on either side of her head, he looked down at her with a devilish gleam in his eyes.
“You can rest up on the ride home because I’m not finished with you. I just need to get you into a bed, finally.”
With those words, Brock lifted Noelle from the table and proceeded to dress her in much the same fashion as he’d undressed her—with slow precision that made her shiver.
When he was dressed and they were finally leaving the casino, Noelle stopped and hugged him.
“What was that for?” Brock asked, staring down at her quizzically.
“For winning. Again.”
His smile was quick, his kiss on the tip of her nose sweet. “How could I not win with you as the prize?”
His words were so endearing that she’d almost slipped up, almost told him that she loved him. Almost.
Las Vegas, Nevada
The double doors were white with gold handles and locks. The lawn was impeccable, glittered marble lined the walkway, while two cars—a Rolls Royce and a Cadillac Escalade—sat outside the closed doors of the two-car garage.
Trent rang the bell and waited. In another ten seconds he was kicking the damn door down, his patience already worn thin.
Luckily it swung open and a woman who looked to be in her midforties with a bad gold-blond weave glared at him through icy eyes.
“Who are you and why are you banging on my door like you’re the law?”
Flattening his palm on the door, Trent pushed past her, making his way into the foyer of the house. “I’m worse than the law,” he said.
“Hey! You don’t have any right busting into my house. I’m calling the—”
She’d slipped past Trent and was heading toward a cordless phone sitting on a white marble table just beneath a huge gold framed mirror.
“When you get the cops on the line, tell them about the blackmail scheme you and your husband cooked up against the Donovans,” he said, his voice as lethal as the way he glared at her.
She stopped abruptly and spun around to face him. “Who are you?”
Trent smiled. “Today’s your lucky day Mrs. Simmons. I’m Trenton Donovan.”
The effect was priceless. The woman’s already light complexion paled.
“I see we won’t have to waste time with formalities. Maybe you’d like to change before I carry your sorry behind to the police station.”
“You can’t arrest me—you’re not a cop,” she said defiantly, her shifting eyes giving away the fact that she wasn’t totally sure her words were true.
Trent chuckled. “There you’re wrong. I’m an officer of the United States Armed Forces and a licensed PI in the state of Nevada. I can and will arrest you and take you in. I’ve just got two questions for you: Where are the photos, all the copies including any negatives or originals? And do you want to go to jail dressed in your robe or would you rather put on something a tad more decent?”
“Go to hell!” she screamed, and attempted to run.
She truly had no idea who she was dealing with. With two steps, Trent had her around her waist, lifting her into the air. Her arms were instantly flailing, her legs kicking wildly. So when he stomped into her living room and dropped her onto the couch, she was already out of breath.
“You’ve got two minutes to get yourself together and gather those photos before I tie you up and tear this house to shreds.” He took a step back, lifted his arm and tapped the face of his watch.
The normally well-put-together, ready-for-anything Claudette Simmons looked as if she were two seconds away from either spitting nails or having a nervous breakdown. But it was when she was scrambling to get herself upright on the sofa that she heard
the police sirens.
With a jerk of her head, she looked toward the windows, then back at Trent, who only looked down at his watch once more.
“Fine,” she said through tight lips and was once again up and pushing past him.
Trent followed her through the ornately decorated house. Adam and Max had pulled Luther’s financial records, along with those of the private accounts held by Claudette. One was definitely higher than the other. It seems Mrs. Simmons had been making a career of being married to Luther. The last two properties Luther had attempted to purchase had been underbid by his own wife, who had in turn sold them under an anonymous company name and pocketed the profits. In Trent’s eyes her little blackmail scheme of Noelle and the Donovans was probably her last hoorah where Luther was concerned. She had enough money to drop his cheating behind like a hot potato. Trent had to chuckle at the irony.
When they were in the library Claudette moved a painting to the side and began working the dial of a pretty high-tech safe she had hidden in the wall. Trent didn’t bother watching the combination. If he wanted in he’d simply blow the damn wall up. Patience wasn’t one of his high points. But his eyes rested on the painting, which was now tilted at a weird angle. He’d seen it someplace before but couldn’t recall where. It was nice, though, with its muted colors of a black man playing a trumpet.
“Here are your pictures,” she snapped, turning back at him with an envelope in hand. When Trent snatched them from her, she folded her arms over her chest. “They weren’t even in good focus so I was hoping I wouldn’t have to use them.”
Just to be thorough—not because he wanted to see Noelle in a compromising position because that might make his last little bit of calm fade and he’d conveniently forget his father’s studious training about not hitting a female—he glanced at them. She was right—the images were really blurry, so much so that trying to pinpoint the identity of either of the parties in the picture was difficult. It probably wasn’t Noelle with Luther at all. But Trent knew that, when it came to the press, the truth didn’t really matter.
“I want the negatives,” he said flatly.
With a roll of her eyes Claudette turned back to the safe and removed a black pouch. In the distance they both heard footsteps.
“You said if I gave you the photos there would be no police,” she said, pulling the lapels of her robe closed.
“No,” Trent said with a shake of his head. “I informed you that I could arrest you if need be but that I’d prefer you turn over the photos. These guys,” he said, nodding toward the door at the exact moment two uniformed Las Vegas police officers entered, “are definitely here to arrest you for extortion.”
“But you have the photos,” she was yelling, even as the first officer came around, grabbing one of her wrists and cuffing her.
“That I do,” Trent said, tapping his hand against the folder. The officer had her cuffed and was about to lead her out of the room when Trent stopped her and leaned over to whisper in her ear. “And if I so much as hear a whisper of these photos or anything else about your jackass husband and my sister, I won’t hesitate to release the tape I have.”
“What tape?” Claudette gasped.
Trent grinned. “I almost forgot to mention the little bit of adult entertainment in my little safe. The one with you and a certain Senator’s wife performing certain…shall I say acts of a sexual nature.”
Her face paled.
“Don’t fret, Claudette. My tape is in excellent clarity. There will be no mistakes about who is doing what, to whom.”
Her mouth opened to say something, then snapped shut as the second officer began to read her rights. Trent was still laughing when he walked out of the Simmons house. When his cell phone rang he was expecting to hear Tia’s voice wondering where he was and how long he was going to be. So it was with a smile in place and a deep desire to see his fiancée that he answered the phone so cheerfully, “Trent Donovan.”
“We’ve got trouble,” Max’s somber voice said on the other end, and Trent’s good mood vanished.
Chapter 21
They’d showered together. A blissfully sweet half hour filled with steamy hot water, thick lather and long, luscious kisses that promised more to come.
Back in Brock’s bedroom for only the second time since coming to St. Michaels Noelle stood at the end of the bed. She’d been sitting on one of the deep-cushioned chairs across the room, applying the lotion she’d retrieved from her bedroom to her body. Brock had propped up his pillows, crossed his arms over his bare chest and watched her.
Now she stood before him not having to wonder what thoughts were going through his mind, but asking just the same. “What are you thinking?”
He didn’t even blink an eye. “I’m thinking about how lucky I am to have met you.”
Her hands were on her hips and her fingers drummed nervously. That wasn’t what she’d expected him to say. “Like you said, we probably would have met eventually.” Snappy remarks were always her best defense.
“I think the timing was perfect. I think you are perfect.”
She looked down. “As bodies go I guess I’m okay.”
Brock got up from the bed, walking until he was standing directly in front of her. Cupping her face in his hands he said seriously, “You can’t ask me to see more than just your body if you’re not willing to do so yourself.”
His gaze was intense, his touch electrifying, his words so very true. “Sorry. Old habit.”
“One that I don’t want you reverting to again. You’re a terrific woman, Noelle. Smart and tenacious, caring and loyal. Any man that doesn’t see that is more than a fool and not worth your time.”
She nodded, feeling his declaration straight down to her toes. “I know.”
“Now with that said, any man who sees you for what you really are and attempts to make a play for you is a dead man walking. Sharing is not one of my strong points.”
“That’s not true. You’ve shared so much with me since I’ve been here. More than I suspect you’ve ever shared with anyone else.”
Brock sighed. “You bring out the best in me.”
She smiled.
“But my word is true. I’m a very possessive man once I’ve staked my claim.”
“Oh, really?” she asked as his hands slid from her face to her shoulders, pulling her even closer to him. “Is that what you’re doing?”
“That’s what I’ve already done.”
Slipping her hands between them, Noelle gripped his erection and watched with pleasure as his eyes grew darker. “Then maybe it’s time I do a little claiming of my own.”
“Please,” was all Brock could manage as she slid down farther, her hands stroking him harder.
Her breath touched him first, warm and teasing, fanning over the head of his arousal. Brock closed his eyes only to have them shoot open again as her mouth closed over him.
His fingers were in her hair, scraping her scalp, guiding her head over him as his hips matched the rhythm created. When he could no longer stand the sweet torture he pulled away, lifting her up into his arms, kissing her deeply as he carried her to his bed.
“This is where you belong,” he said, laying her gently on top of the comforter, then reaching into the nightstand to retrieve a condom and sheathing himself before settling over her. “Now and forever.” His words were muffled as he buried his face in the crook of her neck, his thick arousal into her center.
Noelle wrapped her legs and her arms around him, cradling him. They moved ever so slowly, a sharp contrast to their previous intimate interludes. It was decadent, this sweet, slow climb they were taking together. His strokes were deep, punctuated by some compliment, some promise he was making to her.
Her mind roared, wanting so desperately to share her feelings with him, yet still afraid to put herself completely out there in that way. Brock didn’t seem to mind as he continued kissing her, caressing her, loving her.
And when her body finally gave up its fight, lettin
g yet another orgasm ripple through her with delightful ease, Noelle shuddered. Not simply at the feel of completion but on the precipice of happiness, of finally finding the love she’d been searching so long and hard for.
Having allowed her own thoughts to scare her to the point that she needed desperately to be alone to sort them out, Noelle had sneaked out of Brock’s bed not long after he’d finally fallen asleep. For a moment she’d stood there and watched him, wondering how he would react to her being in love with him. Would he tell her that he couldn’t offer her anything? That he was tainted with the misfortune of his parents?
She didn’t know what he would say and, worse, didn’t know how she’d react if he did. For the first time in Noelle’s life she wasn’t going to push an issue into a compartment and deal later. She was going to think on it and deal with it now. Well, in the morning when they were both well rested and thinking clearly. As she tiptoed out of his room and returned to hers, she figured she was doing the right thing. Something had definitely changed between them tonight, something too significant to put off. However, sleeping enfolded in his arms was muddling her thoughts, giving her a sense of security that might not really be there. So until she was absolutely sure that this was going where she hoped it was, she would sleep in her own bed.
Alone in her room, Noelle was able to think clearly about the step forward she and Brock had just taken, until finally her mind had given up the battle and she’d slept—only to be awakened, she wasn’t sure how much later, by a strong hand clamping down over her mouth.
“Luther! Are you out of your mind? What are you doing here?” Noelle whispered a second after the hand slipped from her mouth and the lamp beside her bed was switched on.
“You told me to fix the situation, so I am,” he said, giving her that same smooth smile he’d had the day she’d met him. Luther was still a good-looking man, no matter how much Noelle despised him now. His pecan complexion and seductive light green eyes were the first things she’d noticed that day in the casino. She noticed them this morning, yes, it was morning, barely, she noted as the orange-red sky was just shooting dull rays of light through the blinds in her room.