Tycoon Meets Texan! Page 13

  She twirled her glass by the stem. “He had all this junk stacked up around his old house, and my friends, Val and Sierra, and I, we heard that the new fire marshal was going to fine him for creating a fire hazard, so we went to help clean it up. Turned out the fire marshal was already there, not to fine him but to start the clean-up himself. He and Val are married now, by the way, and expecting a baby. His name’s Ian Keene. Anyway, that’s when Edwin told us that he and his wife had intended to recycle all that stuff but that he didn’t have the heart to carry on with the plan once she passed. He died himself just a few weeks after that, and then we found out that he was worth millions and that he’d left it to the three of us women.”

  “Edwin Searle,” he said, remembering the name. “Your guardian angel.”

  “Yes, my guardian angel.”

  “It sounds as though he loved his wife very much.”

  She nodded and sighed. “That’s one of the reasons we went to help him clean up the place that day. Edwin wasn’t the easiest person to be nice to, you know? But his devotion to his wife’s memory and his sister, who was sick, made us all think that his gruff exterior hid a very soft heart.”

  “And you were right.”

  “Yes, apparently we were.”

  He set aside his glass and reached for her. “I want a love like that, Avis,” he said, realizing just then that it was so. “With you.”

  She, too, left her glass upon the counter, even as she shook her head. “Not with me, Luc. I don’t know how to be the kind of woman who can be loved like that.”

  “But you do,” he argued softly, brushing a tendril of hair back from her face. “You were that woman in London.”

  “No.”

  “Yes,” he whispered. “If only for a time, you were that woman. Oh, yes.” Then he bent his head and settled his mouth over hers.

  She stood unresponsively within the loop of his arms for a moment before her hands drifted up to his shoulders and her mouth softened beneath his. He deepened the kiss by increments, gently drawing her closer, tilting her head with the pressure of his mouth. Relief and delight filled him. She still wanted him. Whatever she said, she still wanted him. Very soon, he was burning, desperate for more. He couldn’t bring her close enough, couldn’t draw enough from her mouth. Holding her trapped against the island with his hips and the strength of his kiss, he lifted trembling hands to the collar of her robe and unzipped it far enough to get his hands inside. The weight of her breasts overflowing his palms was as welcome as water to a parched throat. But it was not enough. He laid his forehead against hers.

  “Let’s go upstairs. Let me show you that she’s still here. That woman I loved in London is still here.”

  She pressed her hands over his, holding him to her, but she shook her head, tears rolling from beneath her closed eyelids. “I can’t. I just can’t.”

  “But why? Why can’t we have what we had in London?”

  She wrenched aside, clutching the front of her robe with both hands. “Because London is over, and there isn’t anything else for us except business.”

  Frustration clawed at him, tying his groin in knots, raking his heart. “That doesn’t make any sense. You want it as much as I do.”

  “I don’t,” she insisted. “I can’t!” She stumbled out of the room in her bedroom slippers, and he let her go, afraid to do anything else, afraid that if he pushed her, she’d erect a wall so high and so wide that he’d never get around it.

  He looked at their wineglasses, standing so close that not only did their sides touch, the feet of the pedestals overlapped. Picking them up, he drained them both, one after the other.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Mmm.” Avis sighed, aware that she was dreaming. She’d promised herself that she would not, but the subconscious didn’t listen to reason, and it was such a pleasant dream, not the disturbing tangle of arms and legs and heaving torsos that often woke her, embarrassed and steamy at the same time. This was a lovely, sweet illusion of affection, a nudge of the nose, a whisper of lips, the brush of fingertips across her brow, a warm breath in her ear and the delicious aroma of coffee. Was it London, then? Yes, of course, she was dreaming of London. For some reason she couldn’t quite remember that was bad.

  “Come on, sleepyhead. Your breakfast is getting cold.”

  “Mmm.”

  “That’s it. Open those gorgeous eyes.” She opened her eyes, and found that she was not dreaming at all. Lucien’s handsome face smiled down at her. “Good morning, beautiful.”

  She smiled, and then she realized that if she was not dreaming this could not be London, which meant that she was at home, and he… She frowned, found the covers and pulled them higher. “What are you doing in my bedroom?”

  He rose from the edge of the bed and swept up the lap tray which she used for Kenneth once he could no longer sit in a chair. “It’s only rice pudding with canned fruit, but it will fill the empty spaces and give you enough strength to accompany me grocery shopping before the workmen arrive.”

  “Workmen?”

  “To install the video conferencing. I made the arrangements yesterday.”

  She sighed and pushed her hair back from her face. “I’d better get dressed then.”

  “No rush,” he insisted, settling the tray over her lap. “We have time to eat.”

  The aroma of fresh coffee was too welcome to question. She reached for the nearest cup, brought it to her nose and inhaled before taking her first sip. Heaven. Drat the man, even his coffee was rich.

  He settled onto the bed next to her in nothing more than those silk pajama pants and transferred a cup of coffee from the tray to her bedside table, then he helped himself to a bowl, spoon and paper napkin. She tried not to notice, to pretend that it was all very casual, but then she dipped a spoon into his rice pudding, and as the delicate concoction slid down her throat, bestowing bursts of vanilla and cinnamon on her unsuspecting taste buds, she couldn’t help thinking that it wasn’t fair. Why did he have to be handsome and romantic and sexy and rich and an excellent cook?

  “This is a real treat,” he said, waving around his spoon.

  “Mmm, it’s very good.” She poked another bite into her mouth.

  “No, I mean being here with you, having the time to spend in the kitchen, not worrying about hurting the cook’s feelings or shocking the housemaid.”

  “You make having servants sound like a chore.”

  “Not a chore,” he said, “but a responsibility. You know, someone else to consider. Every time I think about selling one of the houses I have to know that I’m thinking about putting someone out of work, several someones, usually.”

  She’d never thought of it like that. “Don’t tell me you think of them all the way you do Mrs. Baldwin.”

  “Hardly. There is but one Hettie Baldwin. She practically raised me, you know. Until my father died, she was with us in San Francisco. Afterward, I let her go back to London, where Baldwin was waiting to sweep her off her feet.”

  “Let her?”

  “I’d have kept her with us, but it was her wish to go.” He slid a quick glance at Avis then back to his bowl, the contents of which were rapidly disappearing. “My mother is not always so easy to work for.”

  “Tell me about her.”

  “My mother? I love her, and she has been a godsend where my son Nicholas is concerned, but even my father likened her to a petite Mount Vesuvius.”

  He loved his mother. Avis tried not to let that affect her too much, but it was difficult to harden one’s heart against such a man. He looked at her for a moment as if he expected her to ask another question, but she found it safer not to. They finished eating in silence. She shoveled hers in with a purpose, then rose to toss a robe on over her cotton gown.

  “Thank you. That was an excellent meal, but I’d rather you didn’t make these gestures in the future.”

  “Just trying to be a good guest,” he said mildly.

  She measured a doubtful look and sent it his wa
y. “Just leave the dishes. I’ll take care of them.” With that she quickly padded into the bathroom, considering that she had dismissed him, but when she emerged a few minutes later, he hadn’t moved from her bed.

  He lay with one arm folded comfortably beneath his head. The worst of it was that he looked right, as if he belonged there. She felt a twinge in her chest, and afterward, for some reason, she couldn’t seem to breathe normally. He sat up, one leg crooked beneath him.

  “I lied. I’m not trying to be a good guest. I don’t even want to be your guest. I want to be your lover. It was so good, what we had in London.”

  Memories suddenly assailed her, moments of pure abandonment, freedom, contentment. With him. Something inside her opened, like a flower to the morning sun.

  He reached out a hand to her, and their palms connected. She looked down in shock. Rising up on one knee, he pulled her to him. His arms slid around her, cradling her close, then he sank down and lay back, taking her with him. He held her there against his chest more with the force of his desire than the strength of his arms. She could have pulled away, could have been out of the room in a heartbeat. Instead she lay there, looking down into his dark, solemn eyes, feeling the thick, strong surge of her own blood and the heat of his need.

  “Make love with me,” he whispered.

  She stared at him helplessly before he tilted his head and set his mouth to hers. Warm and heavy, his hands splayed across her back. It felt completely natural, comfortable and yet strangely exciting. For a long while he seemed to be apportioning the kiss, keeping it at a certain level and taking it no deeper. The moment she realized that he was giving her a last chance to pull away, he suddenly flipped her onto her back and rose above her, grinning with delight.

  An unexpected gladness shot through her. He seemed so happy in that moment, and she couldn’t help feeling good about it. What would it hurt to give in? She wondered. He spoke of love, but it was only sex, and when he had what he wanted, he would go. Wouldn’t he?

  Straddling her hips, he bent his head and gently nipped at her, catching her bottom lip lightly with his teeth before melding their mouths again. His tongue slipped inside, and he spent a long, delicious while exploring and stroking with leisurely thoroughness until finally he sprawled full-length atop her, pinning her to the bed with his weight and plundering her mouth with ruthless efficiency, his hands trapping her head in place. He seemed to be trying to draw her soul from her, and she wrapped her hands around his wrists, but not to discourage him, only to ground herself as desire rapidly swelled.

  Finally, he broke the kiss and laid his face in the curve of her neck, his breath hot against her throat, his hands sliding beneath her as he took her into his arms. He simply held her as long as she allowed it, but the poignancy was too great, and she soon felt tears start behind her eyes. Reflexively, she shook off her emotions, and pushed at him with her body until he rose above her once more and sat back on his heels, astride her lower legs.

  The certain knowledge of what she wanted shone in his dark eyes, and he reached down to pull her up by her robe, which he then peeled slowly off her shoulders and shoved down her arms until it lay puddled around her hips on the bed. He pulled her gown up to her knees, slipped his hands beneath it and slid them up her thighs, taking the gown with it. Brushing against her quivering belly with his fingertips, he began methodically to cover her face with light, reverent kisses. Then, reaching around her, he yanked the tail of the gown free and drew it up her body and over her head, leaving her naked.

  His hungry gaze roved her body as she slowly lowered herself to the mattress again. Tossing aside the gown, he let his hands follow his eyes. When his fingers slipped between her legs, she pulled one from beneath him to give him greater access, rolled her eyes closed and lost herself in the magic. Again and again he stroked and teased with fingers and thumb until desperate need clawed at her, and still he toyed, making her frantic and heedless. Finally, she took matters into her own hands, shoving down his silk pants, wrapping her legs around his hips and pulling him fully atop her with her arms about his neck.

  “Yes, yes,” he whispered into her ear, “whatever you want, simply take it.”

  She couldn’t think beyond the need to be filled, joined, so she reached down between them and positioned him as she wanted him, then pushed upward, impaling herself. He sank down onto her body with a hiss of pure pleasure, driving her into the mattress as he thrust deeply.

  “How I’ve missed you, missed this.”

  She squirmed beneath him, needing more even as the pressure inside her made her giddy. “Luc, help me.”

  “Like this?” he asked, pulling back and driving into her again. She cried out, senses reeling, as he repeated the process. “Is this what you want?”

  “Yes!” Had he felt this good before? She wondered, riding a crest of bliss. Could she have forgotten even an instant of such rapture?

  He pulled her leg up, holding it high in the crook of his arm as he thrust. “Is this enough?”

  “No!” she wailed, thrashing against him. How could it ever be enough?

  He lifted her leg even higher and began driving into her like a piston until she spun away from the world and all its fears, until she wept with euphoria, aching with the beauty of it, and lay boneless beneath him. After another moment, he moaned and wrenched free. She felt the hot spurt of his climax on her belly and then the welcome weight of him as he collapsed. Only gradually did she realize that this time they had not used protection—and that only he had stayed sane enough to keep them both free of the surest trap of all.

  Alarmed, she lifted a hand to her head just as he groaned, rolled onto his side and gathered her close.

  “You astonish me,” he murmured against the crown of her head. “How have I lived without that, with you these past days, hmm?”

  “You seem to have managed,” she pointed out, and heard the echo of another voice, a voice from the past.

  You say he needs you, but he’s managed just fine until now. I see nothing honorable in you throwing your life away for him!

  At the time she’d reasoned that her brother had spoken in anger about her affair with Kenneth, but Wendel had been right, terribly right. Dear heaven, was history repeating itself? What was she doing? Why couldn’t she be smart for once?

  “Poorly,” Luc was saying, “and I’m not ashamed to say so, though perhaps I should be.”

  The telephone on her bedside table rang, and she reached for it with equal measures of trepidation and relief, half expecting to hear her brother’s voice telling her what an eternal disappointment she was to him, half hoping that she would find herself awakening from yet another erotic dream. The voice that answered her soft greeting was only vaguely familiar.

  “Mrs. Lorimer. Sorry to intrude. Lofton here. Lucien isn’t answering his phone, and I must speak with him.”

  “Hold on.”

  Frowning, she passed the phone to Luc, who seemed unsurprised, but then why would he be? Surely his staff knew exactly where to find him at any given moment. He put the cordless receiver to his ear.

  “Hello?” He listened a few seconds and sat up, bracing his back against the headboard. Avis pulled up the bedcovers and began struggling into her robe. She hadn’t a clue where her gown had ended up. “Damn. The ambassador himself?” Luc sighed. “No, it’s not convenient, but it is important.” He nodded at something Lofton said and pushed a hand through his hair. “Very well. Call the pilot, and get a car out here before you make the other arrangements. Oh, and send me a copy of that speech via this phone line. Yes, yes, within the hour.” He disconnected and looked at her apologetically. “I’m sorry, darling. It’s a political situation well outside Lofton’s expertise.”

  She nodded and tossed back the covers. “I understand.” She swivelled, setting her feet to the floor. “Don’t worry. We’ll muddle through without you.” Just as she stood, he twisted and caught her by the wrist.

  “I don’t want to be away from you.
Come with me. To Prague.”

  Prague. She shook off a treacherous thrill of excitement. “I have work to do here.”

  “Pete can handle TexBank for a few days.”

  She pulled free of him. “I can’t leave with you.”

  “Why not?”

  “I-I have friends who would worry about me.”

  “Call them on the way.”

  “I can’t do that. That’s your life. That’s how you operate.”

  “But you’re part of my life now,” he argued.

  “I am not! My life is here. It’s always been here! And I need more space than this.”

  Disappointment darkened those dark eyes. He rolled off the bed and onto his feet, heedless of his nudity. “Space?”

  “Yes, space. I’m used to living alone, you know.”

  “But you don’t have to be alone now.”

  She shook her head. “You just don’t get it, do you? I am not turning my life inside out for a temporary thing like…this.”

  “Temporary?” Anger sparked off him. “That’s still how you think of us? Temporary?”

  She turned her back on him, uncertain why tears were suddenly gathering in her eyes. “Yes, of course. I’ve always said so, haven’t I?”

  “Fine!” he snapped, rustling cloth. He marched around the bed, and she hastily dashed her hands across her eyes. “Then let it be temporary in Prague. Or Tokyo. Seattle. Wherever.” Seizing her by the shoulders, he turned her to face him. “Just come with me for now. Better yet, commit the next few weeks to wherever this takes us.”

  A few weeks of this sweet torture? Longing assailed her, but just that she wanted it so much was reason enough to shake her head. “No.”

  He cupped her chin in his hand and lifted her face to his, plumbing her eyes with his gaze. She closed them. “You’re afraid I’ll change your mind,” he pronounced softly. She denied it, as she must. “Yes, you are,” he refuted gently, “and you should be. Because I will.”