Читать книгу The Best Of February 2016 - Catherine Mann - Страница 18
ОглавлениеHE HAD HIS answer, Cesar thought dimly as he worked up the strength to roll off his wife, reach for a tissue and discard the condom.
Prior to his accident he had gone to Diega, if not to cancel his wedding, then to at least put it off. There was no way he’d left Sorcha because he had notched his bedpost and was done with her. Once was not enough. That, what he’d just had with her, was a type of insanity.
Granted he was a possessive man and her talk of leaving him and taking Enrique had provoked him when he was already in protective mode because of Diega’s actions. He’d set out to prove she was his tonight, but even if the first time had been only half as cataclysmic as this, it was still the best sex he’d ever experienced.
What had that day been like? It bothered him that she had memories of it and he didn’t. It felt as if she had a secret. He didn’t like it.
But if he had left while she was sleeping that day, it was because he wouldn’t have been able to wake her and still walk away.
The smoke alarm could go off right now—it should be ringing like a five-alarm fire as it was—and he would be loath to climb from this bed.
And when she was looking at him like that? Mouth swollen, eyelids puffy, the orgasm flush still pinking her cheeks and that quest for reassurance turning her expression so very solemn.
No man could resist rolling back against her. He cradled the side of her face and kissed her, an inexplicable urgency bunching the muscles of his back as he did. He wanted to take her again, now, maximize the time they had—
He lifted his head and looked down at her, startled by a thought and so pleased he couldn’t help but blanket her with his weight and tug her under him, asserting his ownership with the pinning of his thigh across hers, but with a foreign kind of tenderness rolling through him. Excitement that was not fleeting, but carried deep, long-term gratification.
“I always thought there would be an expiration date on our lovemaking,” he said, hearing the husky satisfaction that was warming him as the truth sank in. “I was okay with waiting to make love to you because I knew I’d have to give you up afterward, but I don’t. I can have you for the rest of our lives.”
“At least until you’re too old to get it up.”
“Learn to bite that tongue, preciosa,” he warned with a glint in his eye. “Or I’ll do it for you.”
* * *
“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Octavia, I really don’t,” Sorcha told her friend over the tablet. She had always thought she’d done the hard part of organizing an event when she had sourced all the options, but making the final decisions was the more stressful task. “If I had to ask my mother-in-law for advice, she’d think me completely incompetent.”
“You’re not at all— Grazie,” Octavia said to someone off-screen, then showed Sorcha the cup of espresso she’d been handed. “I’m sending you some of these beans. One of Sandro’s contacts in South America got us onto it and they’re incredible.”
She was curled up in the corner of a settee and both of them were enjoying a rare conversation without at least one of them nursing or soothing a baby. Both boys had finally cut their bottom front teeth and were napping soundly.
“I thought the first time we entertained, it would be a few of Cesar’s business partners, not hundreds of strangers. His parents will be the only people I know. I wish you could come so I’d have one friend, at least!”
“Of course I can, if you want me to.”
“Are you serious? Yes, please! I would love that!”
She’d opened up to Octavia a lot since they’d met, but her friend had no real idea how out of her depth Sorcha was. She couldn’t talk to her mother about how insecure she felt as Señora Montero, either. It was like complaining about winning the lottery. And her mum wanted to believe Sorcha was living happily ever after.
She was, to some extent. They were settled in their new home and Cesar had fallen into working a couple of long days at the office in the first half of the week, then working from home the rest. She and Enrique had accompanied him for a brief business trip to France and he’d delegated another to Rico so he could stay home.
Cesar took Enrique when he walked the vineyard on Saturday mornings, usually leaving her in bed, dozing off his lovemaking. They made love constantly. Inventively.
So she told herself to quit being so damned greedy. A girl like her couldn’t ask for more. Wasn’t it enough that she had a man who told her she was beautiful when she was still wearing her robe and didn’t even have her evening gown on yet?
* * *
“Can you zip me?” she asked the night of the gala, moving across to where he stood fastening his cuff links.
Her gown was a simple, strapless black with a ruched waist that gathered on her hip, disguising those last few pounds she was still fighting to lose. A scalloped, off-the-shoulder lace overlay of three-quarter sleeves would lend it a Spanish flair and her hair was pulled to one side in a rope of straight gold that had fallen behind her left shoulder.
Cesar’s warm fingertips smoothed her hair to the front, baring her back to him, making her shiver.
“Like that?” he murmured, stroking her exposed spine down the length of the open zipper. “I can’t stop thinking about your mouth around me the other night.”
“Cesar,” she gasped, clutching at where her heart almost leaped out of her chest. “Why do you always talk about it?”
“Because it turns you on,” he said, tone heavy with smug amusement. He continued to caress her nape and set a kiss where her neck met her shoulder. “Doesn’t it?” he demanded against her skin.
She was blushing, flushed with pleasure at knowing he enjoyed their lovemaking as much as she did.
He lifted his head and something cool and smooth and surprisingly heavy slid across her upper chest.
He clipped the necklace into place, then zipped her dress before touching her shoulder to turn her.
“Oh! I didn’t know I’d be wearing it.” She moved so she could see herself in the mirror. The pendant on the thick platinum chain was a teardrop-shaped blue sapphire set in a splash of platinum rays accented with glittering diamonds. Cesar had arranged with the jeweler to have it included as part of her silent auction fund-raiser. “It’s so beautiful.”
“On you, very,” he agreed, appearing behind her and smoothing her hair back behind her shoulder again. “And that clinches it.”
“Clinches what?” She met his gaze in the mirror.
“I’ll make the final bid. There are earrings to match.” He nodded at the open velvet box on the side table.
She was only touching the edges of the stone, not wanting so much as a fingerprint to dull its sparkle, but she looked up at him with a kind of admonishment.
“I don’t expect this, you know.” She’d already picked up on the great pride his mother took in showing off things her husband purchased for her, but Sorcha didn’t see how Javiero’s buying a red convertible for his wife translated into anything but a conversation starter over lunch.
“The part where you married me and come home to us is the part that matters,” Sorcha told Cesar.
“I know,” he said, something like tenderness softening his hard features. His caress on her jaw was light and sweet. “I’ve never understood that about you.”
“That I would value a person over a thing?”
“That you don’t expect anything for the amount of yourself that you give up,” he explained.
“What does that mean? That if I could afford the right item, I could have more of you?” She kept her tone a light tease, reminding herself that his world had never been like hers, where all she and her family had had was love, but his remark made it sound as if he would never love her. That shook her.
“What more do you need?” he asked with a light frown, as if he couldn’t imagine what he was failing to provide.
Oh, Cesar.
She was glad to have the distraction of the party to take her mind off the fact he couldn’t see she wanted his heart.
* * *
Cesar’s world had always been one where status mattered. He didn’t buy in to it the way his mother did, but he still felt his youthful failure as more than just a financial disaster. It was his greatest embarrassment that he’d let personal feelings get the better of him, lowered his guard and left himself open to becoming a mark.
His parents’ disappointment had been nothing compared to his disgust with himself.
Sleeping with Sorcha, getting her pregnant, crashing and calling off his wedding... That was more weak, mortal behavior where he’d allowed passion and other emotions to govern him. Even his conversation with her earlier, over the necklace, was niggling at him, making him discontent.
He was reserved for a reason, damn it. He couldn’t afford to be emotionally vulnerable.
So his mother’s approval of Sorcha’s party meant very little to him one way or another. Sorcha, however, felt things deeply. He knew that, which was what he’d been getting at earlier. She shouldn’t put so much of herself on the line for things like this party.
She was so invested in its success.
While he might not trust easily, he’d been more than confident she would pull off a stellar event. Could she see now that she was showcasing their home beautifully and everyone was enjoying themselves?
See? he wanted to say to his parents. Marrying Sorcha had made sense. She was smart, made a charming hostess, had sophisticated tastes...
She didn’t see all that she was, of course. She was the most humble person he’d ever encountered. While tuxedoes and evening gowns mingled in the sparkling lights of the garden, and everyone conversed happily in and out of the silent auction tent, his wife stood beside him holding her breath, pretending she wasn’t straining her ears, waiting for his mother to pronounce judgment.
Finally his mother nodded to indicate an Italian couple. “They seem interesting. His mother is marrying the Count of Valdavia. Did you know that, Cesar? He was very generous with his bids in the auction, too. You might break my record,” she added in a chiding tone aimed at Sorcha that nevertheless held a note of admiration.
If his mother was bested, it had better be in a way that put a larger plaque on a wall with their name in grander letters.
“I only had the chance to say hello when the Ferrantes arrived. Do you mind if I go speak to them now?” Sorcha asked him, loosening her grip on his arm.
“I’ll come,” he said, excusing them from his parents before his mother asked how Sorcha knew them. He had never mentioned how he’d come to learn Sorcha was in hospital with his baby and the hospital had kept a lid on the scandal as well.
Cesar might have refused to let Sorcha invite the Ferrantes given how they met, but he understood all too well how one could trust by mistake. Diega’s recent betrayal was still casting a shadow.
He wouldn’t have brought up the baby switch with Alessandro Ferrante, either, but the moment Sorcha left with Octavia to check on the boys, Ferrante apologized for his cousin’s perfidy. He wore such an air of self-recrimination, Cesar understood the man felt these sorts of failures as deeply as he did.
As furious as Cesar was that the man’s cousin had nearly stolen Enrique from him, he had read the reports. Ferrante wasn’t letting sentiment keep him from encouraging the law to do their job.
A shred of something he suspected was Sorcha’s influence, put a positive spin on it, prompting him to confide, “I wouldn’t know I had a son if it hadn’t happened. Don’t apologize. I’m grateful.”
Ferrante nodded, seeming to relax a little. It clearly wasn’t a surprise to him that Cesar hadn’t known about his son. That told him Sorcha had confided that detail to Octavia.
He suffered a moment of exposure, realizing his private life wasn’t as private as he had assumed. He took a fresh measure of Ferrante, thinking it might behoove him to know him better if their wives were gossiping.
“The ladies have plans to lounge by the pool tomorrow, but I’ll be spending the morning in our vineyard. I understand you have a private label as well? Would you like to join me? Our vintner would love to pick your brain on your methods.”
Ferrante took a moment to consider. “Sounds more interesting than working from my hotel room. What time?”
It turned into a more pleasant day than Cesar expected. Sandro Ferrante might not have his depth of scientific education, but he was very sharp, brought a knowledge of the process that was almost second nature and had an excellent palette. They wound up joining the women at the pool for the afternoon, sampling bottles from the existing stores, discussing improvements and debating modern versus traditional methods of winemaking.
Cesar even held the other man’s son when Sandro moved inside to return a call he couldn’t ignore. Octavia was in the pool and Lorenzo woke abruptly and started to cry.
Cesar couldn’t ignore him while his mother dried off and put on her wrap.
He picked up the tyke and the boy felt oddly similar to his own sturdy son, his little hand resting on Cesar’s shoulder in an endearing way.
He stopped crying and stared at Cesar, trying to decide what he thought of a stranger holding him. He didn’t even have tears on his cheeks. He wasn’t upset, just letting the world know he was awake.
Cesar couldn’t help grinning at that.
The boy returned a crooked smile so quick and beaming, it made Cesar chuckle.
Octavia took him and sat to nurse so he turned away, catching his wife watching him from the water. “I might have gone home with him. Isn’t that something to imagine?”
And he wouldn’t have known. He would be married to Diega, living in the city. Working nonstop to keep his mind off the turn his life had taken.
As opposed to now? When work was something he resented a little because it took him away from his family? When had that happened?
Did his wife realize how much of himself he did give her?
Sandro came back at that moment and said they’d have to head back to the hotel soon, so he could take care of some work details while Lorenzo had his siesta, but he invited them for dinner. They ended the night with promises to visit the Ferrantes in Italy at the first opportunity.
* * *
“That was such a nice day,” Sorcha said after returning from dinner, pleasantly relaxed as she readied for bed. She loved her sisters, but was beginning to feel like she had a fourth one in Octavia. “Thank you for being so gracious with them.”
“They’re easy to be around,” Cesar said, pulling off his tie and unbuttoning his shirt. “But you told them I didn’t know about your pregnancy, didn’t you? That’s not like you.”
Her conscience pinched and she finished removing her earrings before she answered. “I told Octavia when we were still in hospital. It was a stressful time, waiting for the results so they would believe us. You were so angry. She was my only friend. I honestly didn’t look at it as talking about you. I was confiding something about myself.”
He eyed her in a way that made her heart sink.
“You’re angry.”
“No,” he said firmly. “I would prefer you didn’t share our private business with others in future, but no. I’m angry that I can’t remember that day, Sorcha. My entire life took a hard right and I will never fully understand why.”
She went to him, half expecting rejection because he was not a man who appreciated compassion, but she was a woman who offered it freely when she could.
His expression remained remote as she threaded her arms around him, but he rested his arm across her shoulders, holding her loosely while that distracted frown stayed on his face. Then he looked down at her.
“Tell me again what happened.”
She did, stumbling slightly when she got to the part about him claiming not to subscribe to love, thinking about the moment yesterday over the necklace. Then she repeated his reasons for feeling duty-bound to marry Diega and blushed as she got to the bit where they had bantered about whether he would cancel his engagement if she withdrew her notice.
If you let me have you, I might.
“And then?” he prompted.
“And then we made love,” she told him.
“How?”
“What do you mean, ‘how’?” She started to draw back. “The normal way.”
His arm hardened, keeping her right where she was. “Missionary? Clothes pushed aside or completely naked? I can’t believe I leaped on you. I’d been thinking about it a lot. I must have taken my time? Start with the kiss and tell me exactly what happened.”
“No. Cesar,” she chided, shoving at his hard, flat stomach, but he only shifted her so they were face-to-face, hips-to-hips. He was becoming aroused.
So was she, not that she wanted to admit it, but she couldn’t talk about making love with him without thinking about how it felt and that just made her want to do it.
“I’m serious,” he said. “I kissed you and then what? Where in the office were we?”
“The sofa.”
He backed them to the bed and sat her next to him.
“How did I kiss you? Show me.”
“We’re not doing this,” she said, face so hot it hurt.
“We are,” he assured her, leaning forward to brush his mouth against hers. “Show me.”
She was just annoyed enough to do it. She came up on a knee so she was taller than he was, put her hand behind his head the way he’d held hers and kissed him with firm purpose.
A jolt went through him at her aggression, but he wasn’t the type to submit. He adjusted their position and took control of the kiss, as commanding as he’d been that day, consuming her as if it hadn’t been just this morning when they’d last made love.
When she was pliant and leaning into him, he lifted his head. “Then what?”
“You pulled me into your lap and we kept kissing.”
He did, hand stroking her bare thigh where the skirt of her cocktail dress dropped away in loose pleats. “What were you wearing?”
“Pants. We’d been on the bridge that morning and it was windy. I didn’t want to risk a skirt.”
“The black pair that shows off your ass really well?”
“Cesar!”
“They do.” He shrugged. “On top?”
“The sheer green over the light green cami.”
“Nice. You never wore a bra with that.”
“Because the cami had one built in.”
“I could still see your nipples when they were hard. Did I tear it?”
“No!”
“Did I suck your nipples through it? I always wanted to.”
Wicked, sexy flutters contracted her abdomen.
“I did,” he said with a lusty narrowing of his gaze before he looked down at the lined bodice of her indigo dress. One strong arm went behind her back, arching her up as his head went down.
“Cesar!” She grappled for his shoulders, bottom firmly imprinted with the thickness of his prodding erection as he opened his mouth on her breast and bit lightly at her nipple through the fabric.
She writhed as he aroused her very deliberately, just aggressive enough to produce sharp sensations through the material.
“Did you do that then?” he asked, looking at where she rubbed her thighs together in restless friction, trying to ease the ache between.
She swallowed. “Maybe.”
“Did I open your zipper and help you find relief?”
She shook her head, wondering where she got the nerve to talk about this, but the weeks of lovemaking they’d already enjoyed had created this safe place between them, where they could be raw and brazen and intimate. She could see he was enjoying this in his own wicked, kinky way and she wanted him to. Being the only one with the memory of that day was hard for her, too.
So she ignored the shyness that accosted her and guided his hand to her mound over her skirt. “You rubbed me through my pants and...” Her voice broke as he settled his palm into place with comfortable ownership while memory of what had happened reduced her voice to a whisper. “We kept kissing and I kind of...” She bit her lip, blushing hard, but she knew he would like it. “I had been thinking about making love with you for a long time, too.”
“You came?”
She nodded.
His nostrils flared and his arms flexed, pressing her hard into his lap, as if he needed the pressure of her bottom against his straining flesh to keep from losing control just from hearing she’d lost hers.
“I was really embarrassed, but you said it was hot.” She searched his expression. His cheekbones were flushed and carved into sharp relief, like his scalp was tight.
“So hot,” he assured her, caressing her with purpose. “Can you do it again?”
“You get so mad at me for the things I say to you, but look what you do to me.” He must have felt her trembling. “I don’t want to play games, Cesar. I want you to make love to me.” She kissed his neck.
He bared his teeth. “I like your back talk as much as you like my teasing. When did I undress you? I must have been impatient. I am now.” He smoothed his hand down her leg, then back up her bare thigh under her skirt.
“We did this...” She touched her foot to the floor long enough to press herself onto the bed and bring him over her.
He rode her lightly through their clothes as she breathily confided, “You told me if I hadn’t reacted like that, you might have been able to stop at a kiss, but—” She kissed him. “We couldn’t seem to stop.”
“I don’t want to,” he growled, kissing her passionately, hand under her skirt again so he could caress her hip and the back of her thigh as she hooked her leg around him. Curling his fingers in her underwear, he said, “These must have come off. That’s all I can think about.”
She pressed her lips together and nodded.
He lifted to skim them away and glanced into her eyes. “Then?”
She hesitated too long, not wanting to lie, but not wanting to say.
A light of understanding dawned. He grinned wolfishly. “Isn’t that interesting? It’s exactly what I’m dying to do right now. Please don’t be modest, corazón. I want you to ask me for what you enjoy. Did you like it?” He was lifting her skirt to her waist, exposing her naked thighs to the cool air.
“Yes,” she admitted, mortified. “But I didn’t— I was self-conscious and you were really turned on so you stopped before I— Oh!” The first dab of his tongue stole her voice.
“I think we can do better this time,” he said, breath hot on her mound, and he did do better, making her gasp, then moan, then cry out his name.
She was sweaty and wrung out when he stood and threw off his clothes. He dragged at her dress and bra, and said, “You could help,” as he stripped her.
“I really can’t,” she murmured, practically purring as she smoothed her arms across the covers. It was all she could to do lift her knees to bracket his hips as he settled his nudity over her. “But we were completely naked except for this—”
She touched his hard flesh covered by a condom and guided him.
He entered her, sliding deep in one thrust.
“And it was just like this. I love feeling you inside me,” she told him on a gasp, pushing her hands into his hair, arching to his thrust.
“I love being here,” he said in a low rumble, opening his mouth on her shoulder as he began to withdraw and thrust. “I can’t get enough of you.”
She ran her hands down his damp back, enjoying the flex of his muscles as he moved slowly and deliberately, watching to ensure she liked it.
“How many?” he asked.
“We don’t have to break any records.” She grinned at his arrogance.
“Tell me.”
“Two.”
“I can definitely do better than that.”
