Читать книгу The CEO's Christmas Proposition / His Expectant Ex: The CEO's Christmas Proposition - Catherine Mann, Merline Lovelace - Страница 12

After a day filled with dazzling sunlight, the night brought darkness, isolation and a swift escalation of the sexual tension that had been building between Devon and her client since their first meeting.

An intense awareness of his every move nipped at her nerves as he adjusted the gas fire. Housekeeping had been in sometime during the day and set it to burn low and steady. Cal soon had the flames leaping higher, shedding some light but little warmth beyond a radius of a few feet.

He solved that problem by dragging the heavy sofa closer to the fireplace. While he angled the sofa to catch the maximum heat, Devon lit the candles the hotel had provided its guests, along with extra blankets and a complimentary bottle of schnapps.

The schnapps she left on the sideboard but the extra blankets and two plump pillows came with her when she joined Cal on the sofa. Draping one of the blankets around her shoulders, she eyed a cordless phone nesting in its cradle on a nearby table.

“Do you think the house phones still work? I really should call my office and let them know what’s happening. Or rather, not happening.”

Her cell phone was in the purse stuffed in the pocket of her ski jacket. Unfortunately, she hadn’t charged it before leaving for dinner last night and the freezing temperatures today had drained what little was left of the battery. Cal’s mobile phone had taken a similar cold-weather hit. Between the weak signals and the saturated airways caused by so many landlines going down, he hadn’t been able to place any calls, either.

“You can give it a try,” he replied, “but the cradle charger requires electricity. I’m guessing it’s dead, too.”

He guessed right.

They might have been alone in the universe. No TV blaring the latest financial news. No music to disturb the stillness. No phones or laptops to connect them with the rest of the world. Just the two of them. Together. With hours of quiet isolation ahead.

“This is so weird,” Devon muttered, hiking the blanket up around her ears. “I never realized how much we depend on electricity. Heat, light, cooked food, hot water, every form of communication…They’re all gone or severely restricted.”

“Makes you appreciate the things we take for granted every day,” Cal agreed.

Kicking off his boots, he stretched his stocking feet to the fire. Devon admired his seemingly philosophical acceptance of the situation even as she worried about its impact on his business. And hers.

“You told Herr Hauptmann you need to finalize arrangements with your bankers in Berlin before you fly back to the States on Friday. That’s three days from now. What if we’re still stranded here in Dresden, without any way to communicate with the banks?”

“With this much money on the line, the banks will be more than happy to work with me.”

“So you were bluffing to force his hand?”

“I was taking a calculated risk. As you heard at the meeting yesterday, Templeton Systems also made Hauptmann an offer, but they haven’t locked in the financing yet. I want this deal signed, sealed and delivered before they do.”

She blew out a silent whistle. She’d left that meeting convinced the banks had Logan’s back to the wall.

“Remind me not to get into any high-stakes poker games with you.”

His rich chuckle carried across the crackle and spit of the gas-fed flames. “And here I was thinking a little five-card stud might be one way to pass the time tonight. Guess we’ll have to resort to Plan B.”

“Which is?”

“We talk politics. We try to guess each other’s favorite movies. We wrap up in these blankets and share our body heat. We have wild, uninhibited sex.”

Her jaw dropped.

“We don’t have to follow that precise order,” he informed her solemnly. “We could start with the sex and work our way backward.”

The sheer audacity of it took her breath away. Then she saw the laughter glinting in his blue eyes, and her lungs squeezed again. Despite the wicked glint, she knew he wasn’t kidding.

More to the point, she knew darn well she wanted what he was offering. Devon didn’t even try to deny it. The mere thought of stretching out beside him, of feeling his body press hers into the cushions, had her heart ping-ponging against her ribs.

“What do you think, McShay?” He reached across the back of the sofa. Burrowing under the blanket draped over her shoulders, he curled a palm around her nape. “Are you up for Plan B?”

She swiped her tongue over suddenly dry lips. Her fast-disintegrating common sense shrieked at her to end this dalliance, right here, right now.

Because that’s all it was. All it could be. She’d fallen for a stud like Cal Logan once and still had the scars to show for it. No way she was going to set herself up for another tumble.

So don’t.

The blunt admonition came compliments of her alter ego. The one with shivers rippling down her spine from the slow stroke of his thumb on her nape.

Have some fun, dummy. Enjoy a mind-blowing orgasm or two. Then you and Logan can go your separate ways, no harm, no foul.

Since every hormone in Devon’s body was screaming at her to agree, she wet her lips again.

“I, uh, think we should start with a modified Plan B.”

His thumb stilled. The gaze that had been locked on her mouth lifted to hers.

“I’m listening.”

“We conduct the experiment you suggested last night. See what happens. Take it a step at a time from there.”

A slow grin spread across his face. Devon’s alter ego was whooping with joy even before he agreed to her proposed modification.

“Sounds good to me.”

His hand tightened on her nape and tugged her closer. In the flickering light of the fire, his face was like a painting by one of the old Flemish masters, all strong planes and intriguing shadows. Then Devon’s lids drifted shut, his mouth came down on hers and all thoughts of old masters, Flemish or otherwise, flew out of her head.

This kiss was slower than yesterday’s. More deliberate. Despite that—or maybe because of it—the sensual movement of his lips over hers packed even more of a wallop. Devon angled her head to give him better access before surrendering to the urge she’d been battling since her first glimpse of the man shirtless.

Tugging down the zipper on his ski jacket, she flattened her palms against the broad expanse of his chest. She could feel his pecs under his turtleneck, and the jackhammer beat of his heart.

Or was that her heart pounding like a rock drummer on steroids? At this point, Devon wasn’t sure and didn’t particularly care. All she knew was that her other self almost wept when Cal broke the contact and lifted his head.

To her profound relief, his breath came as hard and fast as hers. The hand at the back of her neck held her steady. His eyes burned into hers.

“Well? What’s the verdict? Do we progress to the next step?”

“Yes!”

She flung her arms around his neck, shedding the blanket draped over her shoulders along with any and all remaining doubts.

Cal made a sound halfway between a growl and a grunt of fierce satisfaction. His free hand tunneled under her hips. With one quick maneuver, he had her flat on her back.

His mouth was harder now, more demanding, but Devon’s hunger matched his. She locked her arms around his neck and strained against him. Hip to hip, mouth to mouth, they explored the feel, the taste, the texture of each other.

He didn’t ask for permission to progress to step three. Probably because Devon was already there. Fighting free of her ski jacket, she relieved him of his, then yanked up the hem of his turtleneck and silky thermal shirt. Her hands were hot and greedy as she planed them over his back and waist and the hard, taut curve of his butt.

He wasted no time in following suit. Her lavender sweater and black silk long-john top came up and over her head with a couple of swift tugs. Her boots hit the floor next. With a speed that left her breathless, Cal peeled off her ski pants and long-john bottoms.

His hot, hungry gaze roamed from her breasts to her belly. The flesh mounded so enticingly by her black lace demi-bra brought an appreciative growl, but the matching thong stopped him cold.

“Were you wearing that thong under your dress when we went to dinner with the Hauptmanns?”

“Yes.”

“And you slept it in last night?”

“Since I couldn’t get back in my room, I didn’t have anything else to sleep in.”

“Good thing I didn’t know that,” he said, his voice rough, “or you wouldn’t have made it out of bed this morning.”

That drew a husky laugh from Devon. She wasn’t any more immune to flattery than the next girl, and the expression in Cal’s eyes as they devoured her nearly naked flesh was extremely gratifying. It almost made up for the goose bumps popping out all over her skin.

Her ensuing shiver could have been caused by the cold air. Or the liquid fire that spread through her when he got rid of his own ski pants and long johns. Or the erection that pushed against the front of his shorts.

Her groan of dismay, however, was most definitely due to the latter. Cal’s startled look prompted another groan from her, this one of embarrassment.

“I didn’t mean…It’s not you…Well, it is but…” As flustered now as she was aroused, she blurted out the problem. “Oh, hell! I don’t have a condom. I hope you do.”

“No, I don’t.” His lips twisted in a rueful grin. “I don’t usually pack a supply for short business trips.”

Unlike her ex, Devon couldn’t help remembering. Blake had never left home without an emergency stash.

“I could make a quick trip down to the lobby,” Cal commented. “Or…”

“Or what?”

The wicked glint returned. “We could improvise.”

Devon’s pulse stuttered and skipped. Oooh, boy! She was asking for trouble if the mere thought of taking him in her mouth could turn her on and her common sense off.

“You want to improvise first?” Her voice husky, she rose up on her knees and pressed her palm against his rock-hard erection. “Or shall I?”

His breath hissed out. That was all the answer she needed.

“Me,” she murmured, sliding her hand inside his shorts. “I’ll go first.”

With a small grunt, he reached for the blanket, whipped it around them both and followed her back down onto the sofa cushions.

They were cocooned in darkness and a heat fueled by desire. Devon used her hands and teeth and tongue, licking him, teasing him, driving him almost to the brink.

His salty taste was on her lips when she felt his body go taut. The engorged shaft in her hand seemed to pulse and swell even more. She bent her head, intending to finish what she’d started. Cal stopped her by the simple expedient of pulling free of her hold.

“Not yet,” he rasped. “Not until I have my turn.”

With the blanket still tented around them, he rolled her onto her back and inched downward. Slowly. As Devon had moments ago—or was it hours?—he used his hand and teeth and tongue on her eager flesh. Her nipples ached when he finished with them. Her belly quivered under his nipping kisses.

Then he spread her legs and found her hot, wet center. Once again he moved slowly. So slowly. His tongue rasped her sensitive flesh. His fingers worked sensual magic. Soon waves of exquisite sensation streaked through every part of Devon’s body.

She could feel the climax coming. She tried to delay it, fought to contain the spiraling tension. She might as well have tried to contain the snow and sleet that had stranded them. Despite her determined efforts, her vaginal muscles coiled tight, then tighter still. Her head went back. A groan ripped from far back in her throat. Giving up the fight, she rode the burst of blinding pleasure.

For the second day in a row, Devon woke to dazzling sunlight. Only this time she wasn’t lying in a bed topped by a majestic crown. Nor was she swathed like a mummy in a warm, insulating duvet. This time the warmth emanated from the very large, very heavy body squashing her against sofa cushions.

She lay on her side, she discovered when her sleepy haze cleared. Her back was tucked against Cal’s front, with her knees bent and her bottom cradled on his thighs. Sometime during the night they’d both dragged on their thermal silk long johns. After her second earth-shattering orgasm, Devon thought lazily. As memories of the night just past came rushing back, her mouth curved into a smile. The little huff that escaped her lips was part sigh, part mewl of remembered pleasure.

As soft as it was, the sound produced a rumble in the solid wall of chest pressed against her back.

“’Bout time you woke up, Cinderella.”

The blanket covering them rustled. Calloused fingertips brushed the tangled hair from Devon’s cheek. Prickly whiskers rasped against her cheek as Cal scrunched around to nibble on her earlobe.

“Or was it that Snow White chick who slept for a thousand years?” he muttered between bites.

Laughing, she hunched a shoulder against the invasion of his hot, damp breath in her ear. “Someone with nine nieces and nephews should know that was Princess Aurora, aka Sleeping Beauty. And it was a hundred years, not a thousand.”

“Yeah, well, Disney lost me after I had to watch a talking teapot and candlestick do their thing a half-dozen times one long, agonizing weekend.”

With a final nibble, he disengaged and departed the sofa. A blast of cold air hit Devon’s fanny before he tucked the blanket around her again. Only then did it register that the hotel’s electricity must still be out.

“I waited for you to wake up before mounting a scouting expedition,” Cal said. “Stay here and keep warm. I’ll go downstairs and see if I can scrounge up some hot coffee or chocolate.”

She rolled over and watched while he gathered his ski jacket, pants and boots. His cream-colored silk long Johns fit him like a second skin, which made the watching a delight. As Devon’s gaze roamed his broad, tapered back and trim backside, her delight ripened to a feeling of intense, almost physical, pleasure.

The front view was even more arousing. The cool, in-command executive looked more like a rough-and-tumble hockey player. His short black hair stood up in spikes. The whiskers that had rasped Devon’s skin showed dark against his cheeks and chin. The spandex ski pants molded his muscular thighs, while the half-zipped jacket showed the strong column of his throat.

“Don’t move,” he ordered, dropping a kiss on the tip of her nose. “I’ll be right back.”

She fully intended to follow his instructions and remain huddled under the blanket until he returned. Unfortunately, the bathroom beckoned with increasing urgency. Dreading the prospect of another session on the icy toilet seat, Devon held off as long as she could. Nature finally conquered the cold. Shivering, she shoved her feet into her boots and dragged on her ski jacket, then sprinted for the bathroom.

When she went to wash her hands and face, the woman looking back at her from mirror gave a small shriek. Her hair was a bird’s nest of dark, tangled red. Her face was devoid of all color. Except, she noted ruefully, for the whisker burn on the side of her chin. She leaned forward and fingered the tiny abrasion, then dismissed it with a shrug.

What the heck. It was small enough price to pay for the mind-bending pleasure Cal had given her last night.

See, her alter ego smirked. What did I tell you? Is the man hung, or what?

“No arguments there,” Devon muttered.

And if the electricity doesn’t come back on, you and El Stud can spend another night or two between the sheets before you go your separate ways, no harm, no foul.

“No harm,” she echoed, frowning at the face in the mirror, “no foul.” Somehow that didn’t sound as bracing as it had last night.

Oh, come on! Don’t get all hung up here. One night does not a commitment make. For you or for him.

Okay, okay! She wasn’t going all gooey over the guy. Well, maybe a little, but not enough to do anything too stupid. Like fall in love with him.

She almost had herself convinced when the bathroom lights blinked on. A half second or so later, the plasma TV in the other room came to life.

“Hallelujah!”

Whooping, Devon happy-danced through the bedroom and into the sitting room. She had no idea how long it would take for the heat to kick in, but relief had to come soon. And hot water! She could shower. She could wash and blow-dry her hair. She could—

The jangle of the house phone interrupted her joyous list making. Thinking it was Cal calling from the lobby, she snatched up the receiver.

“Hello?”

A surprised huff was her only response. Maybe it was a repairman, testing the lines without expecting an answer. Someone who didn’t speak English. Swiftly, Devon switched to German.

“Hallo? Ist jemand da?”

“I’m sorry. They must have put me through to the wrong suite.” The voice was female, the accent decidedly American. “I’m trying to reach Cal Logan.”

“This is Mr. Logan’s suite.”

That produced a sharp silence, followed by an even sharper query. “Who is this?”

Uh-oh. Obviously the caller hadn’t expected another woman to answer Cal’s phone. Then again, Devon hadn’t expected to be here at this early hour of the morning answering it. Scrambling to recover, she infused her reply with crisp professionalism.

“This is Devon McShay. I’m Mr. Logan’s travel consultant.”

“Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

The sneering comment had Devon gritting her teeth. “May I ask whom I’m speaking to?”

“Alexis St. Germaine.” The reply was as glacial as the ice coating the trees outside. “Mr. Logan’s fiancée.”