Читать книгу Baby for the Tycoon: The Tycoon's Temporary Baby / The Texas Billionaire's Baby / Navy Officer to Family Man - Emily McKay, Emily Forbes - Страница 18

His mouth was hot and firm on hers. It only took a second for her to lose herself in the sensation of being kissed by him. No, not just kissed, devoured. She felt completely swept away by it. By him. By the sensation of his hand gently cupping her jaw. By his arm at her back, pressing her body to his. The feel of his lips as they moved over hers in a hundred delicate kisses.

“This is not easy,” he pulled back just long enough to say. And then he kissed her again. “It’s never been easy.” Another kiss. “Not once in five years.” And another kiss. “Not once has it been easy.” And another. “To stay away from you.”

And then his tongue was in her mouth, seducing her with long, slow strokes, stirring heat in her body. Making her all but tremble with need. She felt as though her skin was overheated. Tingly and antsy. As if she was on fire. Her nipples prickled, demanding to be touched and she arched against him, pressing her breasts to his chest, desperate for some kind of contact. And still it wasn’t enough.

Wrapping her arms around him, she twined her fingers into his hair and pulled him back just enough to ask, “Then why did you stay away?”

He gazed down at her, his eyes foggy with lust. “I don’t know.”

And for the life of her, she didn’t know either. Honest to God, she couldn’t think of one damn reason why they shouldn’t be together. It had nothing to do with Peyton or the marriage. Nothing to do with her family or the rebellious tendencies she’d thought were long dead. This was about them. It had always been about them. And now that she was kissing him—now that his hands were all over her, making her tremble—she couldn’t think of any reason why they should stay apart. When it was so obvious that they were meant to be together.

His lips moved from her mouth down to her neck, leaving a delicate trail of red-hot nibbles. She arched into his lips, all but praying he’d move lower and take her breast into his mouth.

“Oh, Jonathon,” she murmured. “Please…”

She wasn’t sure what exactly she was pleading for. Not when there were so many things she wanted him to do to her. So many places on her body she wanted him to touch and explore. All she knew was she wanted more. All of him.

Then abruptly, he let go of her and stepped away. Her body sagged with mounting desire, her legs limp and barely able to hold her up.

Thank goodness, she didn’t need to support her own weight for long. His hand grasped her bottom, lifted her firmly against him and she automatically wrapped her legs around his waist. The position was perfect. Exquisite. As if her body had been precisely designed to wrap around his.

Her leggings were thin enough that she could feel the denim of his jeans through the delicate fabric. She felt every seam, every ridge. The hard line of his erection beneath his zipper pressed against the very center of her. She rocked her hips, increasing the pressure against her core, sending fissures of pleasure rocketing through her body.

He groaned low in his throat, still kissing her. Then he pulled his mouth away from hers. “You’re killing me here.”

She grinned, brimming with pure feminine pride. “Am I?” she asked, shifting her hips again, delighting in tormenting him. But the sensation was too divine and she shuddered as well.

He muttered a curse that was half exasperation, half pride. “I shouldn’t do this,” he muttered. “I should be stronger than this, but I can’t…” He nipped at her neck in a primal, animalistic sort of way that sent a shower of pleasure radiating across her skin. “I can’t stay away any longer.”

A second later, she felt him bump against the edge of his desk. He lowered her slowly down the length of his body. She didn’t have even a moment to miss his warmth or the pressure against her sensitive skin, because he reached under the hem of her shirt and hooked his thumbs under the waistband of her tights and pulled them down her legs in one smooth movement, stripping away her panties as he did so.

She kicked off her shoes as she stepped out of her leggings, naked from the waist down. Her shirt hit her mid-thigh, but the fabric was gossamer thin and left her feeling scandalously exposed. Standing in her boss’s office, half-naked, trembling with desire.

He stepped back to look at her. The heat in his gaze made her skin prickle. Suddenly she was very aware of her hardened nipples pressing against the thin cotton of her bra. Of the moisture between her legs and the cool air on her thighs.

A feeling of vulnerability started to creep in under the heat of desire. Then she looked up and saw the expression on Jonathon’s face. It was part dumbstruck awe and part reverent glee. Like a little boy standing in front of a Christmas tree, staring at the presents, wondering which one was his.

She brought her hands to the buttons running down the front of her shirt. Then flicked them free, one by one. His gaze stayed glued to the progression of her hands. He didn’t move an inch. Except for his hands, which slowly curled into fists. As if it was all he could do not to reach for her and rip the shirt off her body himself. As if she was his deepest fantasy come to life.

For all she knew, maybe she was.

She wanted to think so. Needed to believe it. Because he was certainly hers.

It wasn’t a fantasy she’d consciously entertained. Never something she dwelled on. Nevertheless, the idea of being with Jonathon, of seeing exactly this expression in his gaze… it had always been there. Right beneath the surface of her thoughts. Niggling at the edge of her awareness. She’d pushed it aside countless times. But now she pulled it from the depths of her mind and let it out into the light of day.

She wanted this. For years she’d wanted this. And now he was about to be hers.

Her hands reached the last button. She slipped it free of the buttonhole, letting the shirt fall open.

With a sweep of his arm, Jonathon knocked everything off his desk except for the blotter. Then he set her down carefully on the desk.

“You can’t imagine the times I thought about doing this.” He pressed a hot kiss to her neck as he nudged her shirt off one shoulder. “Every day.” He nipped at her collarbone, sending hot spikes of desire radiating down through her chest. “I pictured you sitting here.” His fingers popped open the front closure of her bra and peeled back the cups to reveal her bare breasts. “Right on my desk.” Her bra dropped off and she arched her back as he trailed the tip of one finger from her collarbone down to her nipple. “Completely naked.”

With a groan he dropped to his knees in front of her. As if he could no longer resist the temptation she presented. He parted her thighs, moved her bottom right to the edge of the desk and placed his mouth at the very core of her.

He devoured her in tantalizing licks. She dropped back onto her elbows, her eyes almost closed as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her. He was patient and thorough.

The pleasure was so intense that her eyes nearly rolled back in her head, but she couldn’t make herself look away from the sight of his head between her legs, his close-cropped dark hair in such sharp contrast to her pale, quivering thighs.

Just when she thought she couldn’t take it anymore, he focused his relentless attention on the tiny bundle of nerves so central to her pleasure, stroke after stroke, until she could hardly catch her breath. Then she felt his hand at her entrance. One finger, then two, plunged into her. She dropped onto her back, arching off the desk. As her climax crashed over her, she cried his name.

It felt like more than five years. Maybe his whole life he’d been waiting to see her like this. Spread out before him on the very desk that had so often been between them. She was the most delectable treat he’d ever sampled. Hot and moist with desire. Trembling from the aftereffects of a climax. His name still a whisper on her lips.

Now, here she was. Just like he’d always wanted. And he couldn’t find a damn condom.

He had them here. Somewhere in the desk. Because he’d known for years how much he wanted her. And that some day he might act on it. Hell, there had been no “might” about it. With only the slightest hint of interest from her, he’d have acted on it. She needn’t have stripped naked for him here in his office, though that certainly had been a dream come true.

And now he couldn’t find the damn things.

He pulled one drawer out completely, dumping the contents on the floor. And then he did the same with the next drawer. And the next. Finally he found them, just when he thought the sight of her might make him come in his pants, just when his erection was twitching with the need to be inside of her.

When she saw what he’d been looking for, she was as eager as he was. He ripped open the package with trembling fingers, even as she unbuttoned his jeans and shoved them down around his hips. Then a second later, he was inside of her, her legs spread wide, her arms outstretched as she leveraged herself against the desk. Her hips bucked off the surface as he plowed into her over and over again. The feel of her body clenching around him was exquisite. The taste of her, still on his lips, was divine. But it was the sound of her cries of pleasure that sent his own climax rocketing through his body.

He knew in that moment, that he wanted her—just like this—forever. And that scared the hell out of him.

As soon as Wendy was able to move again, she sat up, pressing her face against his chest and wrapping her arms around him. She breathed in the musky scent of him. Relished the feeling of his taut muscles beneath her fingers and of his warm skin beneath her cheek. She wanted to sit like this forever, wrapped around him. Clinging to him. Her body still thrumming with pleasure. The feeling of complete and utter contentment cocooning her from the rest of the world.

But the world was out there and it wouldn’t stay away forever. So when he stepped out of her embrace, she let him go, when what she really wanted to do was hold on fast.

She moved slowly, pulling her bra back on and then her shirt. Her fingers were still fumbling with the buttons when he spoke.

“This can’t happen again.”

Her head whipped up and she stared at him. He’d turned away from her, but she could read the tension in his back as he zipped up his jeans. “Why not?”

“It’s not a good idea.” His voice was terse.

She felt that tension like a solid wall between them. She could feel him building it up. One brick at a time. One brick with each word. Part of her screamed that this wasn’t the time for an argument. That the more they talked about it, the higher the wall would become, but she just couldn’t let it go. It wasn’t in her nature to back down from a fight.

“Not good for whom?” she asked.

“For anyone.” He paused, then turned back to face her. His gaze drifted to her shirt, which hung open, her fingers having stilled midway up on their progress. “I’m afraid it’ll be bad for you.”

“Um, then you weren’t paying attention,” she said snarkily as she hopped off the desk. “Because that was extremely good for me.”

She was naked from the waist down. True, her shirt was long enough that it hit her mid-thigh, but she still felt extremely exposed. Twenty minutes ago, before he’d rocked her world off its axis, that had been a good feeling. Now, not so much.

She swiped her tights off the ground, uncomfortably aware of how his gaze followed her every movement.

“Exactly. And good sex is addictive. You’ll have a problem with that.”

That cool, clinical tone of his made her blood pressure creep up. How the hell did he sound so calm? So rational?

“What kind of problem am I supposed to have with this… this extremely addictive sex?” And damn it, her tights were inside out. She rammed her hand down one of the legs, trying to snag the ankle hem so she could right them, but anger made her clumsy.

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea. It’s not good for Peyton.”

Watching Wendy’s frustration grow as she wrestled with her tights, Jonathon wondered if perhaps he should have taken a different route.

“We’re her parents now,” she snapped, clearly exasperated. “I can’t see how it would possibly hurt her for us to sleep together.”

“You can’t?” Why did she have to be so strongheaded?

Why couldn’t she just make it easier on both of them and agree with him for once?

“No. I can’t. In fact, since we agreed that this marriage could last up to two years, I actually think it’s a good idea.”

“Then you haven’t thought it through.”

Of course, nothing was ever that easy. Not with Wendy.

One of the things that made her such a great assistant was that she never hesitated to give her opinion. No mindless agreeing for her. If she had a better idea, she said so. If she spotted a problem he’d overlooked, she pointed it out. Unfortunately, right now, it made her a pain in the ass.

Because what he really wanted—no, damn it, what he needed—was for her to stop talking about sex.

“Okay, maybe I didn’t think it through.” Finally—thank God—she got her tights right side out and stepped into them. “But now that I am, I don’t know that I see a downside. Two years is a long time. And—” She broke off, appearing to grit her teeth before spitting out her next words. “And I’m not going to tell you that you can’t see other people while we’re married.”

“Wendy—”

“No. Just let me say this, okay?” She swallowed visibly, not quite meeting his gaze, though he could tell she was mustering the gumption to do so. “I’m not going to forbid you from… doing what you need to do. But goodness knows, I’m not going to be registering on eHarmony anytime soon. So, maybe it’s not a bad idea to—”

“What?” he asked. “To hook up anytime either one of us has an itch?”

She rolled her eyes. “What is wrong with you? Are you purposefully being the biggest jerk in history for a reason?”

“What is wrong with me? What’s wrong with you?'” He swept a hand toward his desk, as if displaying the destruction they’d done. “Five minutes ago we were having sex on that desk and now you’re talking about me being with another woman? How is that normal?”

This had to be the most awkward conversation in his entire life. And considering that he sometimes talked to complete strangers about their finances, that was saying something.

She looked stricken by his words. Not for the first time either. She gave a little rapid blink, her eyes not quite reaching his gaze, and then swallowed. “I’m trying to be logical here. Two years is a long time and—”

“And you don’t think I can keep my zipper up?”

Her gaze snapped to his face. “Let’s just say, given that I’ve had a front-row seat to your dating practices for the past five years, I’m skeptical.”

“Trust me. I can keep my zipper up.”

She gave him a searing once-over. “All evidence to the contrary.”

He gave her an icy, wolfish smile. “Is that really a stone you want to throw?”

“What do you want me to say? That I’m so impressed by your monkish fortitude?”

What did he want her to say?

He wanted her to say that she didn’t want anyone else. That she wanted only him. And that she wanted him for some reason other than he was going to be convenient for the next two years.

“Okay, you want the truth? I don’t think we should sleep together again, even if it means two years of celibacy. For both of us. I don’t want you to get hurt, and you’re too emotionally involved already.”

“I’m too emotionally involved?” she scoffed, her voice dripping with sarcasm, but he could see the flash of pain in her gaze and knew he’d nailed it on the head. “I am? That’s funny, because I wasn’t the one just now who couldn’t stop talking about how much I wanted this for the past five years. About how desperately I needed this.”

Of course it would come back to that. He’d sounded like a lovesick fool. But neither of them would benefit from imagining he was some romanticized hero.

“Right,” he said, bitterness seeping into his voice. “I talked about how I wanted your body. How much I wanted you physically. Not how much I loved you.” As he spoke, the tear that had been clinging to her lashes, finally gave up its battle and dropped down onto her velvety cheek. He gently brushed it off with his thumb, then held it up as evidence. “And I’m not the one crying now.”

“You bastard. I can’t believe you said that.” She stepped back, putting some distance between them. “And you’re wrong about one thing. I won’t be begging to sleep with you again anytime soon. Not now.”

She stormed off, but made it only as far as the office door before turning around. Propping her fists on her hips, she said, “I need to know now. Are you in or out?”

“What?”

“Are you in or are you out? Do you still want to do this, or are you wigging out on me?”

“I’m in,” he said slowly. Undoubtedly deeper in than he should be.

“Are you sure? Because two years is a long time. And I’d rather know now if you’re having second thoughts.” “I said I’m in.”

“Good. My family wants to meet yours. They’re planning a reception for us. We leave for Palo Verde on Friday.”

She didn’t wait for his reply. It probably wouldn’t have occurred to her that two years without sex wasn’t nearly as off-putting as the idea of going to visit his family. A second later he heard the door to her office slam as she stormed out.

All alone in the office, he sank into his desk chair. Everything that had once been on his desk now lay scattered on the floor as well as the contents of three drawers. Years of keeping his life meticulously under control, of keeping his emotions neatly compartmentalized, and he’d blown it all in one reckless act.

He propped his elbows on his desk and dropped his head into his hands, ignoring the fact that his own cheeks felt suspiciously damp.