Читать книгу The Best Of February 2016 - Catherine Mann - Страница 17
ОглавлениеCESAR WASN’T USED to being angry. Not at this level. If he’d thrown tantrums as a toddler, they’d been reasoned out of him by the time he had made permanent memories of his earliest self. Yes, he had moments of frustration and irritation. He had a low tolerance for incompetence, disliked people who played politics and was never happy if his brother happened to win against him at anything.
The most incensed he’d been as an adult had been waking to the infuriating loss of a week and the long recovery his injuries demanded. Still, he’d kept that to merely a lousy mood that had clung stubbornly right up until, hell, he supposed it had finally started to dissipate sometime between holding his son for the first time and necking with Sorcha in the solarium.
But even as miserable as he’d been stuck in the hospital, staring down a marriage he didn’t want, he’d kept his cool.
Not tonight.
Sorcha worked hard. He knew few people who worked as hard as she did with as few complaints. Her work ethic was only surpassed by the quality of her work, which was why he’d always respected her.
He’d seen how modestly her family lived, too. He had known pretty much from the start that she sent money home and knew she was still squeezing funds for them from her savings. He had padded the account he’d set up for her to ensure she could keep helping out at home without denting anyone’s pride. He admired her even more since their marriage, now that he’d seen how far she’d come from her disadvantaged beginning to the position she’d held with him.
And she was kind. Warm and cheerful and never one to strike back at rudeness with equal harshness. He liked to keep the pressure on. Not everyone responded well to that. Aside from the occasional dark look, she’d always sucked up his demands with a smile.
Sorcha was that rare creature: a good, solid, hardworking person.
To see her devastated like that, eyes hollow, calling herself trash...
Cesar wound his way through the crowd until he spotted Diega, then reminded himself to keep his hands by his sides, rather than forcibly remove her from the home she so coveted.
She was holding court with his parents and Rico, her smile smug.
He leaned in from behind and spoke through his teeth next to her ear. “Leave. Now. You know why.”
Rico sent him a startled glance. “Mind your manners, big brother.”
Diega paled, turned her head and looked past him for Sorcha before her mouth tilted into a disdainful smile. “I don’t know what she told you—”
“Just as I will never know exactly what I said to you, when I saw you before I crashed. Was I really proposing, Diega? Was I?”
She held his gaze, but her eye twitched. It might have been the confrontation. He’d never come at anyone with this much animosity, but it might have been a tell. He scented a lie.
“Cesar.” Rico brought up the back of one firm hand to press it against Cesar’s chest, obviously reading his dangerous mood.
But he wouldn’t soil himself by touching that viper.
“Our family does not attack itself,” he told Diega. “You won’t be invited to join it. Leave. Quietly. Don’t make a scene. You will regret it.”
“Cesar!” his mother protested in a shocked whisper.
“She leaves or my wife and I do, Mother. Take your pick.”
His mother was speechless for about half a second. “An explanation would be nice!”
“Diega gave up ‘nice’ months ago, when she hired someone to follow Sorcha. Didn’t you? You weren’t surprised she was pregnant. You knew and didn’t tell me. I’ve often wondered how I went through that rail. Did you slip me something, trying to keep me at your house?”
Rico swore under his breath and his hand dropped from Cesar’s chest.
“No!” Diega gasped. “That’s a repulsive accusation!”
Cesar wanted to believe that was earnest horror, but bringing Tom here set a high bar on how ugly she played. “You just took advantage of the situation once I’d crashed?”
“I will leave,” she said with a lift of her chin. “I won’t stand here to be insulted.” She scanned the crowd.
“See her into her car,” he said to his brother, barely staying inside his skin, he was so livid. “I’ll find Tom.”
* * *
They arrived at his penthouse late. It hadn’t been a long drive from his parents’, but Sorcha had fallen asleep in the car, sliding on the leather seat so she wound up slumped into Cesar’s shoulder.
Disconcerted by his stiff, silent air of threadbare tolerance, she settled Enrique for the night, then moved to the bedroom to begin undressing.
She really didn’t know how to take his mood. He was sipping a whiskey, standing at the door to the small terrace off the master bedroom.
“Mother expected Diega to help her organize a fund-raiser for May. She mentioned as we were leaving that it might be better if we host it at the new house, take the focus off the fact that Rico and Diega won’t be marrying after all.”
“Um, okay.” She removed her earrings. He’d given her the pretty yellow sapphires before they left the house. She picked at the catch on the matching bracelet, trying to open the clasp. “I’ll call her tomorrow to ask the details?”
“Give it a few days. She’ll need to regroup after tonight.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, voice wispy. It wasn’t just the lateness of the hour. She was worn thin from hours of tension.
“Here.” He came across to remove the bracelet, poured it into her hand, then indicated she should turn so he could open her necklace.
His touch was gentle, but the vibes radiating off him were dangerous.
She’d never seen him like this and didn’t know how to interpret it. After saying, “I’ll be right back,” he’d disappeared from the bedroom at his parents’ then returned thirty minutes later.
“Tom was shocked,” he’d stated. “He said his grandfather on his mother’s side held the purse strings and had a solicitor who was equally ruthless. He’ll review how everything was handled. I said my lawyers will be in touch for a full examination of the will and probate, too. He and Diega are gone now. Will you fix your makeup and come downstairs? Mother would appreciate if we pretend nothing has happened.”
It had taken her several heartbeats to comprehend what he’d said. Then she’d numbly done what he asked. With a fresh mask of makeup in place, she’d circulated on her husband’s arm. He’d been quiet, not unlike the contained businessman she’d worked for. The only difference was that he was in physical contact with her the entire time. Whether it was holding her hand, setting a heavy hand against her back, or drawing her arm through his, he kept her very close to his side.
But it hadn’t been the sort of solicitous affection she craved. It had been protective, but intimidating. Possessive.
Catching her necklace before it slid into her cleavage, feeling her dress loosen as he lowered the zip, she kept her eyes on the floor and said huskily, “I thought it was enough that you knew we were poor and my mother wasn’t married. I should have told you the rest. I’m sorry. I know you’re disappointed. It’s only because your respect means so much to me that I...”
She had cried enough earlier. She wouldn’t let another sob release now.
“I didn’t want to lose your good opinion,” she continued in a strained voice. “And I know I have. What do you want me to do? I can’t leave without Enrique. I can’t.”
Her heart twisted inside her chest. She started to move away, but a warm hand closed over her upper arm, strong and firm, keeping her from stepping away. His fingers began searching her hair to release the pins that held it up.
“You are not trash. Do not ever let me hear you call yourself that again.”
His voice was so at odds with his light touch in her hair, she froze. She told herself it was the pull of pins tugging tiny strands of hair as he gently dragged them free that made her eyes sting. She tried to be indignant that he did this so proficiently because he’d removed pins and jewelry and evening gowns from countless women.
But when her hair fell, soft and tickling around her bare shoulders, he hooked his forearm across her collarbone and drew her back against his front, big chest expanding, breath hissing as he settled his jaw against her temple.
It was a quiet, tender moment that she couldn’t help but savor.
“I’m furious,” he admitted in a low growl. “Furious that it happened and furious that Diega, someone our family trusted, deliberately tried to humiliate you. I want you so much I can hardly breathe and I’m afraid to touch you because I’m in a mood I don’t know how to control.” His thumb stroked her skin below her shoulder while his forearm sat heavy across her front, pinning her before him.
He was hard. Not just aroused against her bottom, but tense all over.
She touched the sleeve of his jacket and felt his rigidity through the layers.
“I’ve never had anyone defend me,” she said, turning her face into the fabric of his jacket, letting herself sink against him in gratitude. “Thank you.”
She tried to turn, but he resisted, easily keeping her facing forward, then released a ragged curse and pivoted her into him. Her arms went around him as though he was the one in need of comfort when she felt so exposed and fragile she could hardly bear it.
He wrapped strong arms around her, one hand dragging through her hair to pull her head back so he could scrape his teeth against her throat.
“Stop me now if you’re having second thoughts,” he said against her skin, tongue painting a line to her nape.
“I’m not,” she gasped, transfixed by a kind of paralysis as he conquered her with the simple act of opening his mouth against her neck.
It was basic animal dominance and submission. Her nape was sensitive and his strength disciplined. She folded as any living creature would, succumbing to that strength, trust blooming when he could harm her yet didn’t. She was rewarded by tiny exquisite shivers of pleasure that raised goose bumps down her arms.
He drew back and the look in his eyes belonged to a marauder claiming spoils. His gaze didn’t waver as he pushed down her loosened dress.
She gasped, started to catch at the bodice, but he stopped her, holding her hands in the air as the dress slithered into a puddle around her feet. He kept her hands up as he slowly and thoroughly studied what he’d revealed. Pale skin, heavy breasts that had been supported by the bodice and were bare now. Hips plump enough to give definition to a waistline she’d only begun to start finding again. Thighs that—
All thought stopped as he put her wrists together in one of his hands and dropped his free hand to slide a finger beneath the top of her underwear, slowly working them down. The back of his knuckle grazed her folds.
She jerked, catching her breath.
His gaze came up, holding hers as he deliberately brushed against her again while easing the stripe of green lace so it was a tight line across the tops of her thighs.
“Cesar,” she protested. Hot pressure flooded into her loins, making her ache.
“How close are you?” he asked in gruff Valencian, turning his hand so the pad of his fingertip lightly traced her seam, gently parting and sliding easily in the evidence of exactly how aroused she was.
She flinched with sensitivity, biting her lip and closing her eyes against how intimate this was.
“Look at me,” he said in a rasp. “Open your eyes or I’ll stop.”
She opened her eyes to slits, begging him with her gaze to give her some privacy as she dealt with what he was doing to her. She tried to pull her hands free, but he didn’t let her.
“I have wanted and wanted and wanted,” he said, tracing low then covering her with his hand in a warm blanket of heat so she throbbed with reaction, breath stuttering.
He held her in his hot palm and it was too flagrant, yet not nearly enough. Not after those first teasing caresses.
“Do you want me? This?”
She nodded shakily.
“Show me.”
She didn’t know what he meant, but pressed into his hand, lost in the passion that turned his eyes a vivid green. He held his hand steady for her undulations. Flutters of excitement rose through her belly and trembled in her thighs.
He praised her in Valencian, telling her she was beautiful, that what she was doing was nice. Exciting. “You’re so wet. I always knew you would respond to a firm hand in the bedroom,” he said, looking at where she was rocking against his palm.
She sobbed, thinking that he’d said something like that the first time, but he pressed a finger inside her and her mind blanked.
“Keep moving,” he coaxed. “Do you like that?” His thumb swept and a lightning bolt of intense pleasure contracted in her abdomen, making her shudder. “You do.”
“I can’t stand,” she gasped.
“I won’t let you fall. I’m trying to be gentle. Is this too rough?”
“No. It’s not...”
“Not enough? Move with me. Show me how you want it.”
She did. She stood there and let him watch her and pleasure her until her thighs were shaking and her muscles contracted and cries of release broke from her parted lips.
He gathered her in as her knees weakened, damp hand slipping free to catch behind her thighs as he picked her up. She quivered in his arms, clinging, stunned as he carried her to the bed.
He peeled her underwear away as he left her on the mattress, then stood looking at her.
She threw her arm over her eyes, mortified at how uninhibited she’d just been.
“Oh, corazón, if you’re feeling shy after that, you are in for some shocks. I have a lot of fantasies to fulfill.”
“You’re not supposed to have dirty thoughts about your employees.” She peeked from beneath her arm in time to see a wolfish grin flash.
He stood at the side of the bed to drop away his cummerbund, then tore his shirt open before he yanked it from his pants and off his golden shoulders. Muscled arms wrenched out of sleeves and one cuff link hit something across the room with a ping.
“I don’t have dirty thoughts about all of them. Just you. I mentally bent you across my desk daily,” he confessed casually.
Her jaw slackened. “That’s...bad!”
He jerked open his pants, efficient as he stripped.
Last time... She stopped thinking about last time. It was too much like a dream. This time felt like the first time all over again, even more profound.
If possible, he was even more perfect than he had been then. He was flawless, from the rope-like muscles across his chest to his neatly muscled arms. An arrow of hair dissected his perfectly delineated abs and a pale tan line accented the crease at the tops of his long, taut thighs.
And then there was the long, thick, darkly flushed organ that barely moved as he skimmed his shorts away and leaned toward the night table.
“I never acted on those thoughts,” he said. “My favorite was the blue skirt that was just a little too short for the office.” He brought a box out of the drawer. “You always wore it with that prim little shirt with the round collar that had a button that strained just a little bit, right here.” He pointed to the spot on his breastbone between his nipples. “I wanted to rip open that shirt and push that skirt up to your waist so badly.”
“I’m beginning to wonder if I did all the work and you were just sitting there thinking about sex.”
“I multitask.”
Didn’t he? In one motion he tore open a blue packet and applied the condom while arousing her with a few naughty remarks and the blaze of sexual hunger in his gaze as he visually traversed her nude form.
She wanted to show some modesty and shield herself, but there was a brazen part of her that enjoyed his obvious hunger. She thought about the way he’d taken her apart and wanted to have the same effect on him.
Giving a little writhe on the coverlet, she watched for reaction, surprised when he reached out and stilled her knee. His gaze flashed into hers and she thought, Oh.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, voice a breathy taunt. “You told me that day that I needed a man who would take control because I have too much of it. Do you still think that?”
His expression shuttered as he covered her with his hot body, hard legs moving between hers to push them apart and make space for himself. His hips lowered against hers, firm shaft pressing against tender flesh.
She shivered with anticipation.
“Say my name,” he growled as he held her head in two hands.
“Why?” she asked, letting her fingers trace the bulging muscles of his arms where he caged her.
“Because I want you to.”
She smoothed the sole of her foot on his leg. The movement caused a little rock of friction where his shaft rested against her.
He let more of his weight settle on her hips, stilling her tease. His stare warned her to comply.
She smiled. “I don’t work for you anymore. I don’t have to listen to you.”
“You’re my wife. You belong to me.”
“Do I?” There was something wrong with her that she responded to that possessiveness. But he wasn’t a man who collected things for the sake of it. He was spare about the things he accumulated, but he insisted on the best. To be counted among what he valued meant something.
“You do,” he assured her, shifting so he could palm her breast. Lowering his head, he breathed hotly across the tip.
Her nipple tightened so fast it hurt.
“Cesar,” she gasped.
“Good girl,” he said, giving her a lusty, superior smirk.
She scraped her nails against his shoulder, but he only shaped and massaged her breast. “I liked watching you come against my hand,” he said gruffly. “It used to drive me crazy that you would rather take a memo than let me make love to you.” His thumb flicked across her taut nipple and she felt it as a sharp pull in her abdomen and a flood of wet heat between her legs. “I admire control, but not when it prevents me from having what I want.”
“Who wants to give up a career for a one-night stand?” she asked with a hitch of her breath that held bitterness. “I needed my job more than I needed an orgasm.”
“It was a very good orgasm, wasn’t it?” He nipped her chin then looked down at where she was rocking her hips against him. “You already want another one.”
“Don’t you? I thought you had been waiting so long,” she said, goading him.
His nostrils flared and he slid his hand down between them, exploring and making her breath catch again, finding her ready for him and smiling faintly. He guided himself to her entrance and pressed.
The penetration stung. Not bad, but enough for her to press her hand against his chest to still him.
“Hurt?” A panicked look came into his eyes.
“A little, but it’s okay.” She shifted, relaxing and inviting him to continue.
He held himself very still, swearing as he glared at her. “You’re going to kill me, Sorcha,” he warned.
“But what a way to go, hmm?” A smile trembled on her lips and she let her calf slither across his tense buttocks, encouraging him to drive deeper.
He groaned, ducked his head to cover her mouth with his and slid home, hard and fast.
He shuddered. She let out a little sob that was both pleasure and pain.
He held still again, letting her get used to him. They kissed and she wriggled under him, trying to incite him, but he only stopped her long, drugging kisses.
“Cesar,” she gasped when he let her, feeling urgent. It wasn’t just sexual frustration. It was months of wanting to feel him moving in her again. It was being convinced a few hours ago that she would lose him and having him rise to protect her. She loved him. In this moment, she loved him so deeply she wanted to pour her whole self into him. She wanted him to mark her, claim her, use her up.
“Gently, tesoro. I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, peeling her fingers from his hair to lock them over her head in a firm grip. Then he kissed her again, deeply and passionately, just this side of ravaging. And he stroked the side of her breast, caressing around and under, dancing his fingers across her nipple so she whimpered into his mouth with pleasure.
Her secret terror was that he would only want her this once. She ought to be savoring this moment, letting him take it slow, but she was hungry and greedy and eager.
“Please,” she gasped, turning from his kiss. “I need you to make love to me.” Her eyes glittered with emotion. Her breaths came in shaken pants. Her entire body trembled.
He released her hands and drew back. She dug her nails into his shoulder blades, reeling under the sudden stimulation and his incredibly possessive look. He returned with an air of luxury, each thrust and withdrawal becoming a reinforcement of his right to make love to her.
She wrapped her arms tighter around him, moaning in glory, caressing his buttocks, feeling them tighten as he pushed deep, making her scalp tingle and her loins clasp at his intrusion, eager to hold onto the delicious sensations.
“You’re mine,” he growled, asserting himself with the full weight of his hips. “Say it.”
“You’re mine,” she said, scraping her nails on his butt.
He growled and kissed her, hard, thrusting with more purpose, one hand tangled in her hair so she couldn’t move her head without feeling a pull. They both made noises of struggle and exquisite agony, enjoying the build. She thrilled as he held her on the cusp of release, both of them tense and sweaty, barely able to breathe as they kissed and clashed their hips together and reveled in the pleasure they gave each other.
When the crisis hit, she gave herself up to it, to him.
He broke away to let out a jagged cry as he climaxed, big body racked as he tried not to crush her with his strength, hips locked to hers, pulsing deep inside her.
“Mine,” he said, head hanging so his damp forehead met her collarbone. “You’re mine.”
