Читать книгу P.S. I'm Pregnant: Hot-Shot Tycoon, Indecent Proposal - Heidi Rice - Страница 9

CONNOR awoke with a start to the dazzle of morning sunlight. The shadows from the long, traumatic night still lingered at the edges of his consciousness.

He squinted, threw his arm up to ward off the glare, and noticed several things at once. The hammer in his head had quit banging, his muscles had stopped throbbing in time with it and he was no longer sleeping in a sauna. He eased his arm down as his eyes adjusted to the light, gazed out at the leafy old chestnut in his back garden, and the last of the dark disappeared.

Hell, it was good not to feel as if he’d gone six rounds with the champ any more.

How long had he been out? He didn’t have a clue. He caught a whiff of perfume: flowery, spicy and wildly erotic. Recollections from the night before washed over him: the pain, the heat, the terror. But more vivid was the recollection of calm words, of whispered reassurances, of firm hands soothing him back to oblivion when the cruel flashbacks had wrenched him to the surface. And all the good memories were wrapped in that enticing scent.

She’d stayed with him. Just as she’d promised.

He pushed up on his elbows as panic sprinted up his spine.

Where is she? Has she left?

His heartbeat slowed when he spotted her curled up in the armchair across the room. He drank in the sight of her—like the icy water she’d made him sip through the night—then felt like a fool.

When had he turned into such a girl? The nightmares had stalked him on and off throughout his life, always catching him at a weak moment, but he’d learned to handle them a long time ago. They didn’t bother him now the way they once had. It was good of her to stay last night, to see him through the fever and the familiar demons it had brought with it, but he didn’t need her here.

But as he gazed at her a smile curved his lips. He might not need her, but she was still grand to look at in the daylight.

He folded his arms behind his head, relaxed into the pillows and indulged himself.

She’d changed her cat-burglar outfit, which was kind of a shame. The creased summer dress did amazing things for her figure, but the hint of satin at the plunging neckline, which he guessed matched her panties, meant her nipples were no longer clearly visible. Still, the pale, plump flesh of her cleavage was some compensation.

Her rich red hair, which had been springing out all over her head last night as if she’d had an electric shock, fell in soft unruly curls to her shoulder, framing high cheekbones. His lips quirked as his gaze wandered to her feet, which were folded under her bum, and he spotted a pair of battered blue basketball boots tied with lurid green laces.

The funky mix of styles suited her. From the little he could remember of last night, before he’d passed out, she’d been headstrong and prickly as hell—with a surprisingly soft centre when her angel-of-mercy tendencies had come charging to the rescue.

He sat up and swung his legs off the bed, glad that they didn’t even wobble as he stood up. He wrapped the sheet around his waist, and his smile widened as he spotted his sweat pants neatly folded at the end of the bed. She must have stripped him. The smile became a grin. What he wouldn’t give to have been conscious at that moment.

He stretched, yawned and rubbed his throat—pleased to discover the rawness gone—but kept his eyes on his angel of mercy.

Jesus, but she was pretty, in a cute, off-the-wall way. Not his usual type for sure, but then he considered himself very flexible where women were concerned.

Despite the horrors of the previous night, desire stirred. Then his stomach growled, interrupting the erotic direction of his thoughts—and reminding him all he’d eaten in the last twenty-four hours was her brownies.

The memory of the rich chocolate squares—crusty on the outside with a luxuriously moist centre—had his senses stirring again and his stomach giving another loud rumble of protest. She didn’t move, her breasts rising and falling in steady rhythm. Connor’s heart stuttered. She really had exhausted herself on his behalf. No one had ever done that before.

Once you factored in the gift of the brownies and her mad mission to save her landlady’s cat, it occurred to Connor his sweet and captivating neighbour was quite the little Good Samaritan. Definitely not his type, then. But he still ought to thank her for being so neighbourly. At the very least he should show her there were no hard feelings for sneaking over his garden wall.

He chuckled. What he’d like to do was scoop her up and give her a long, leisurely kiss to show his appreciation. He resisted the urge. He doubted she’d thank him for the attention until he’d had a shower.

He strolled to the French doors, and closed the drapes. He’d let her sleep a while longer. Once he’d cleaned up and staved off starvation he’d wake her. He could offer her breakfast and then maybe they could get to that thank-you kiss if she wanted. No harm in seeing if they couldn’t celebrate his recuperation together before she took the cat and its kittens and headed home. If he remembered correctly she hadn’t been completely immune to him before he’d fallen on his face.

He began to whistle softly as he left the room. He felt a little shaky, probably from lack of food, but his other symptoms were as good as gone. It looked like another scorcher of a day outside, the morning sun making the garden’s showy blooms look bright with promise. He’d call the French deli round the corner, get them to send over some fresh pastries and coffee and they could eat on the terrace. He fancied finding out a bit more about the intriguing Miss Daisy Dean before he sent her on her way.

All the stresses and strains of the last few days, the torments of the night, lifted as he bounded up the wide sweeping staircase to his bedroom suite. It felt good to be alive and back to his usual self. Anticipation lightened his steps, making him feel like a kid let loose from school on the first day of summer.

An hour later, Connor had indulged in a scalding hot shower, pulled on his favourite worn jeans and Boston Celtics T-shirt and stuffed down the last two brownies and a cup of steaming black coffee.

He peeked into the spare room and frowned. Angel Face hadn’t moved. He padded into the room and squatted in front of her. Thick lashes rested on her pale cheeks and her breath scythed out in the gentlest of snores.

He caught a curl of hair that had fallen over her face, breathed in the spicy scent and then tucked it behind her ear. He skimmed his thumb over her cheek, felt the soft downy skin as smooth as a child’s and fought the urge to kiss her awake. Still she didn’t budge.

He cocked his head. Damn, but that position had to be uncomfortable, she’d have a crick in her neck when she came round and probably wouldn’t thank him for it. She’d be better off sleeping in his bed. The sheets were fresh and she could lie down flat. It was the least he could do after all she’d done for him.

Never a man to second guess himself, Connor threaded one hand under her bum and the other beneath her shoulders and hefted her into his arms. She murmured something, then cuddled into his chest, her flyaway hair tickling the underside of his chin. Her scent drifted up and he breathed it in. She smelled delicious. So delicious he had a hard time controlling the rush of blood to his groin as he walked from the room.

She was surprisingly light, even in his weakened state it took him less than a minute to carry her up to his bedroom. As he placed her gently in the middle of the deluxe king-size bed it struck him how tiny she was. Probably no more than five feet two or three. Funny he hadn’t noticed that the night before—no doubt the indignant scowl on her face had made her seem taller. He grinned again, his hands braced on his hips. He certainly hadn’t managed to intimidate her much—and he’d been in a bad enough mood to give her a very tough time.

She stirred, squinting in her sleep. He strolled to the large floor-to-ceiling windows, where sunlight flooded the room, to close the curtains.

‘Where am I?’

He turned at the soft murmur, to find his guest propped up on her elbows. She gazed at him out of those large mossy eyes, looking confused and wary—and good enough to eat.

‘You were out cold,’ he said as he finished closing the curtains. ‘I figured you’d be better in bed.’

Her eyes popped wide. ‘Mr Brody! What are you doing up?’

He sat on the edge of the bed, and smiled, touched by her concern. ‘I’m right as rain, thanks to you.’ He traced his thumb over the pulse in her throat, resting his fingers on her collarbone, and felt her shiver of response. ‘And seeing as you’ve seen me naked, Daisy Dean, I think you best be calling me Connor, don’t you?’

Colour flooded her cheeks, giving her pale skin a pretty pink glow. He chuckled, desire stirring again, but a lot more forcefully this time. No, she wasn’t immune to him at all.

What the hell? Why not let breakfast wait until after that thank-you kiss?

Daisy blinked, the last of the sleepy fog clearing from her brain. Goodness, those eyes, that face were even more devastating spotlighted by the shaft of daylight beaming through the curtains.

And his comment had brought back dangerous memories: of how delicious he’d looked naked—and just how thoroughly she’d assessed all his assets.

She pulled back, sat up. Did he know about that? Maybe he hadn’t been as delirious as she’d thought.

‘I’m so glad you’re feeling better,’ she said. She breathed in the scent of freshly washed male and was hit by another alarming jolt of memory. ‘Sorry to pass out like that but it was a long night.’

‘It was,’ he said, the confidential curve of his lips doing very strange things to Daisy’s heart rate.

‘Right, well…’ she edged back ‘… I should shoot off. You obviously don’t need me here any more and I—’

He leaned over and grasped her upper arm, halting her retreat in mid-scramble.

‘You’ll not be running off,’ he said, ‘before I’ve a chance to thank you.’ The mesmerising blue gaze dipped to her lips as the Irish in his voice became more pronounced. ‘Properly.’

Heat flooded between her thighs. But instead of saying the polite denial her mind was screaming at him—something else entirely popped out of her mouth. ‘How do you intend to do that?’

His eyes flared and he cradled her cheeks in his palms. His hands felt rough but unbearably erotic as he threaded his fingers through her hair, pushed the heavy mass back from her face. ‘How about we start here?’ he murmured, still smiling that devastating smile, his breath feathering her cheeks.

Then he slanted his lips across hers. The warm, wet heat was so shocking, and so unexpected, Daisy gasped. His tongue probed, firm and possessive, and her mind disengaged completely as the reckless thrill, the spike of adrenaline shimmered through her bloodstream.

He tasted of coffee and chocolate and danger. Forgetting everything but the feel of his lips on hers, Daisy sank shaking fingers into the silky black curls at his nape and drew him in as a drowning woman draws breath.

He didn’t need any more encouragement. The kiss went from coaxing to demanding as he hauled her against him, his palm sweeping down her back. The weight of his long, strong body pressed her into the mattress as he pushed her down. She gave a staggered moan. This was madness, supreme folly and she couldn’t summon the will to care.

As his lips stoked her into a frenzy she heard the hiss of her zipper. He reared back, breaking the kiss. Their eyes locked, his stormy with passion, the gleam of desire so intense she felt as if she’d been branded.

‘You’re beautiful, Daisy Dean,’ he said, his thumbs stroking her nipples through the fabric as his eyes met hers. ‘I want you naked.’ The gruff statement was both question and demand.

She drew in ragged breaths, her arousal painful, as he tugged down the bodice of her dress, unsnapped the hook of her bra and bared her breasts.

She should have been shocked; she should have pushed him away. This was all wrong and she knew it. She’d been telling herself all night, she didn’t even like this man—that he was not her kind of guy. But the time spent tending him, caressing fever-drenched flesh, hearing the broken cries of his nightmares, had formed a strong bond of intimacy that she couldn’t seem to shake.

She’d looked into his soul last night, was looking into it now. They’d connected on some primal level and this was the only way to break the spell.

She wanted him naked too. She wanted him inside her.

His legs straddled hers and she looked down to see the ridge of his erection pressed against faded denim. Her fate was sealed as all her common sense dissolved to leave nothing but raw need clawing at her gut.

She shifted, but couldn’t budge, pinned to the bed under him.

‘You’ll have to get off me if you want me naked,’ she said.

‘Good point.’ His grin dazzled her. ‘I’ll race you,’ he said, bounding off the bed.

She lurched into a sitting position, and watched mesmerised as he whipped his T-shirt over his head and his six-pack rippled. She looked away, determined not to be distracted from the task at hand by the muscular chest she’d spent most of the night memorising by touch. Anticipation surged through her. She was going to win this race.

She grappled with her shoelaces, cursing her choice of footwear. If only she’d stuck with the sandals. Finally she freed her feet, toed off the boots and flung them off the bed. She heard the thud as his jeans hit the floor, concentrated on wriggling her dress over her hips.

Heat blasted through every nerve ending as she looked up to see him standing before her, gloriously naked and his erection looking even more magnificent than she remembered it.

She bit into her bottom lip; her breath clogged her throat as excitement and trepidation seared her insides like a flashfire. He mounted the bed, grasped her ankle and gave a sharp tug. ‘Come here,’ he said, dragging her beneath him.

‘Wait.’ She braced her hand on his chest. ‘I want to touch you.’

‘Same here,’ he said, cupping her chin. ‘Let’s negotiate.’

Then he kissed her, moulding their mouths together and crushing her body into the mattress. The coarse hair of his chest abraded swollen nipples. She dragged in a breath, let it shudder out as his lips trailed over her collarbone. His tongue slid fire across the swell of her breast and then his teeth nipped at the rigid peak and tugged. Rough hands kneaded her buttocks as his lips found hers again, the kiss so wildly erotic she thought she might be consumed by the flames.

She reached down, shaking with suppressed desire, and cupped his powerful erection in her palm. He shuddered as her fingers wrapped around the pulsing length.

She revelled in the feel of him, everything she’d imagined and more. His forehead touched hers, his whole body vibrating, his breathing harsh as she stroked and caressed him, learning the shape and texture as she had yearned to do all through the night. Velvet over steel. So solid, so warm, so responsive to her touch.

She ran her thumb over the thick head, felt the tantalising bead of moisture. He cursed softly and grasped her wrist, jerking back.

‘You’ll have to stop, or this’ll be over before it’s begun,’ he rasped.

‘I don’t want to stop,’ she cried, desperation edging the words.

Don’t make me stop. Don’t make me think, her mind screamed.

I don’t want to think, I just want to feel.

‘Are you sure?’ he asked. ‘I don’t want to rush you.’

She’d never been more sure of anything in her life.

‘I want to rush. I’m ready,’ she said, alarmed, need overwhelming her. She had to do it now, before the delicious fog of sensation cleared.

‘Let’s see how ready, then,’ he murmured.

Before she could figure out what he meant, his fingers delved into the curls at her sex. She shuddered as he circled her clitoris and probed. She cried, gripped his shoulders, slick juices flooding out as she bucked against those knowing fingers, primed to explode.

He chuckled. The sound deep, husky and self-satisfied. ‘Hell, you’re incredible.’ His fingers pushed inside her, his thumb grazing the hard nub. She moaned, clinging to the edge of control. ‘But you’re a bit tight, Angel Face,’ he said, sounding regretful.

‘What?’ The question shuddered out on a breath of need—and confusion. Why was he still waiting?

He groaned, holding her buttocks as he pressed his erection against the slick folds of her sex. ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’

‘You won’t,’ she gasped. ‘I want you inside me.’ How much more encouragement did he need? ‘Now.’

‘You’re sure?’ he asked again, making her want to scream.

She nodded, lifting her knees, angling her hips to accommodate him, so frantic she’d lost the power of speech. If he didn’t get on with it, she’d die of need.

She was about to tell him so when he stilled, cursed under his breath and then, to her complete astonishment, pulled away from her and climbed off the bed.

She bounced up on her elbows. Horrified.

‘Where are you going?’ she cried out on a thin wail of exasperation. Had he lost his mind?

He bent to get something out of his bedside table. ‘What’s the hurry, angel?’ he murmured.

Her eyes drifted down to that perfect rear end. Lust and frustration surged through her. She wanted to scream the house down. He’d worked her up to the point of meltdown and now he’d decided to rearrange his dresser!

‘What’s the hurry? Are you joking?’ she squeaked, embarrassed by the desperate quiver in her voice.

He turned back gripping a telltale foil packet between his fingers and heat flooded into her cheeks. Even in her rampaging nymphomania, how could she have forgotten about protection?

‘No joke,’ he said, sounding ever so slightly smug. ‘We wouldn’t want any surprises.’

He knelt back on the bed, grinning at her as he ripped open the packet with his teeth and rolled the condom on. He put his hands over her shoulders, forcing her back on the bed, caging her in.

‘Hasn’t anyone ever told you, patience is a virtue, angel?’ His eyes dipped to her tightly peaked nipples. ‘Although, it should be said, there’s not a lot of virtue in what I’m thinking right at the minute.’

Daisy’s caustic reply caught in her throat as his lips covered hers. She rose up to kiss him back, letting the need, the sensation take over. But as she wrapped her arms round him, her fingers found the ridges on his back and tenderness welled up right beside the need.

His fingers gripped her hips and in one smooth move, he thrust inside her.

She sobbed, the fullness shocking her, the fury of sensations making her cry out. Then he began to move. Slow, heavy, insistent strokes that had the orgasm coiling ruthlessly inside her.

A staggered moan wrenched from her throat as the intense pleasure sent shock waves rocketing up from her core. She anchored her legs round his waist, sweat slicking her skin as she moved to meet each of his deep thrusts with thrusts of her own, and he drove deeper still. Her high-pitched pants matched his harsh grunts. Everything clamped down, her whole body glowing and pulsating as it rode the crest of a magnificent wave. The broken sobs echoed in her head as she burst free and exploded over the top—and heard his muffled shout as he crashed over behind her.

‘That was amazing. You’re amazing,’ Connor murmured, stroking Daisy’s cheek, then winced at the cliché.

But what else was he to say? Hell, if he hadn’t been horizontal already he would have fallen over. He’d never had a stronger, more satisfying orgasm in his life. The experience had been literally mind-altering.

Using every last ounce of his strength he braced his arms to stop himself from collapsing on top of the woman responsible and crushing her. Her eyelids fluttered open as he stared down at her. He grinned as she focussed on his face. She looked as shattered as him, those round expressive eyes wide with amazement.

Then her vaginal muscles squeezed around him in the final throes of her orgasm.

‘God, sorry,’ she whispered as the pink in her cheeks darkened to maroon.

She looked horrified.

He had no clue what the problem was—but with her still wrapped tight around him he was finding it hard to give a damn. Feeling the blood rushing back to his groin, he did the decent thing—with not a small amount of regret—and lifted off her. The next round would have to wait. Something had spooked her—and he didn’t want to scare her off.

Propping his elbow beside her head, he leaned over her. His gaze swept her lush little figure and came to rest on her face. The flush of afterglow warmed her skin and dilated her pupils, darkening the deep green of her eyes, while the sprinkle of freckles across her nose defined those impossibly high cheekbones. She really was gorgeous.

She coloured even more, then looked away and tried to scoot out from under him. He locked his arm round her waist. ‘Now where would you be going? We’re not half finished yet.’

She wiggled, he held firm. Finally she looked at him, her cheeks now a deep and very becoming shade of scarlet. ‘There’s no time for anything else. I really have to be going, Mr Brody.’

His eyebrows shot up at the formal address. Then he simply couldn’t stop himself. He threw back his head and roared with laughter.

When he finally got his amusement under control, she’d stiffened like a board, her bottom lip puffed up in a defiant pout as she glared at him.

He grinned. What was she about?

Women! He gave his head a rueful shake. They really were a whole different species. But didn’t that make them all the more fascinating?

‘Angel Face,’ he murmured, loving the way her eyes narrowed, ‘as we’ve just made love like a couple of rabbits, I think you’d best be calling me Connor.’