Читать книгу More Than A Vow: Vows of Revenge / After Their Vows / Vows Made in Secret - Michelle Reid, Dani Collins - Страница 11

CHAPTER FOUR

MELODIE HAD JUST wanted to see, that was all. See if he really did make her feel like this. See if something special existed between them.

But, oh, things raced out of control quickly. As their lips met and the kiss took hold, she stopped thinking, only vaguely aware that no man had ever run his hands over her skin like this. Such strong hands. Such an amazing feeling to be petted and shaped, firm fingers digging in as he pinned her tightly to his naked chest, then explored her with a touch like velvet.

Her body’s reaction was a study in biology, skin growing so sensitive his touch was almost abrasive, yet inciting at the same time. She could feel the scrape of his chest hair through the light shirt she wore, could feel the burn of his body heat, and even though she could barely stand the conflagration, she wanted to be closer and closer still. Her arms went around his neck so she was belly to belly with him, loins to—

He was hard.

His hands cupped her buttocks and his teeth closed on her nape, making her bones turn to sand while she rubbed instinctively against that hard ridge. Something deeper than desire, a craven need, punched like a blow right there, where she felt him against her most private flesh. The ache was hurtful and demanding. Nothing like she had ever felt. Never had sensations overwhelmed her like this. It was stunning, absorbing, erasing all thoughts except primal want. Please. More. Now.

Her fingers went into his hair. She was pure reflex, wanting his mouth over hers, wanting to open and give and take.

He smothered her with his passionate, hungry kiss, hands smoothing up the contracting muscles in her belly to cup her breasts, making her sob with relief at the pressure of his touch on those tender, aching orbs. The cups of the bathing suit went askew and then he had her bare breasts in his palms, massaging, fondling, rubbing at her nipples so streaks of white-hot arousal shot straight into her loins.

She whimpered, seeking pressure where desire was pooling like thick lava. She didn’t know how to tell him, only knew that his skin was as taut as a drum under her searching hands, his tongue erotic as he played with hers. A distant part of her wondered how this was happening, but another part didn’t care, only wanted him to keep touching her, keep playing with her nipples, keep stirring and stimulating her.

His hand went to her hip and eased the bathing suit down. He stepped back to look as the bottoms dropped around her ankles. Watching his own hand, he slid his touch to the front of her thigh, up to her belly, then down, fingers combing, pressing—

“Oh!” she gasped, never having felt her body respond like this. Sharp and wicked and wanton sensations prickled through her as he sought with a fingertip and toyed with her, pulling her in for another kiss with a hand behind her neck, utterly devastating her with the waves of pleasure he was rocketing through her.

She caressed him with restless hands, wanting to touch everywhere at once, wanting to fill her palms with him, wanting to excite him the way he was doing to her. She no sooner cupped his hard shaft through linen, though, and his hand bumped hers, ceasing to caress her so he could release his drawstring.

His pants fell and he stepped out of them, completely naked. He was ferociously aroused, dark and thick and ready. She hadn’t got a proper glimpse of her first lover, and Roman wiped all thoughts of the past from her mind. He fascinated her.

She wasn’t frightened. No hint of hesitation struck. She was pure eagerness and excitement as she took in his nude frame, so perfect he was like a statue sculpted by a master, formidable and flawless, rampant and ferociously masculine.

Catching her up hard against his front, he lifted her as he moved, muscles shifting under her hands as he held her nose to nose, feet off the ground and dangling. His mouth nipped at hers, inciting her to kiss him back. She curled her arms around his neck, ran her tongue over his bottom lip, then drew on it, sucking flagrantly, liking the way his hands hardened on her. He took the few steps to his bed where he followed her to the mattress, spreading her legs as he came down over her.

Yes, she thought. It was the only word in her head. Her body was in a state of undeniable demand. Her entire being yearned for the feel of Roman’s hard muscles and his weight and yes. The feel of his aroused flesh rubbed against hers, parting and arousing, teasing and dampening. Seeking.

Her arms cradled his head, her mouth pulled at his parted lips, licking and panting as he breathed raggedly along with her, breaths mingling, their gasps and growls carnal and unfettered.

With a blind, startled shake of his head, he drew back. “I didn’t—”

“Don’t stop,” she cried, arching to offer herself where she could feel him ready to penetrate, needing him inside her. She was so aroused she would die, actually die, if he didn’t keep pressing right there. “Please, Roman, please.”

He groaned and the insistent pressure increased. Her tight flesh gave way, parting and accepting.

Oh. It had been a long time and this was... Burning. Intimate. So much more like she’d always wanted it to be. His length pushed in, filling her, making her hold still to savor, wanting all of him...

With a growl, he opened his mouth against her neck, drawing a love bite up to the surface of her skin. She practically levitated off the bed, pressing up into him, surrendering utterly to the experience. His tongue licked against the artery pounding in her throat and he shuddered as his body came flush against hers, pressing tight, possessing her to the limits of their joined flesh.

She closed her trembling legs around his hips, astonished, beyond aroused. Mindless. She was pure sensation, her only dim thought that she was happy it was like this. Pure, abject passion infused the moment.

He lifted his head and looked at her, eyes fogged with passion. Something clouded his gaze, as if he was becoming aware of how fast they’d arrived at this point.

She didn’t care about that. It was supposed to be like this. Animalistic, but with both of them caught up in overwhelming desire. She licked her lips.

His gaze followed the signal and his head bent.

They were lost again. Kissing deeply. Her body eased its tight grasp on his, inviting him to move. He did, muscles trembling, and his excitement fueled hers. She stroked his back and rubbed her thighs against his sides and lifted her hips to accept the return of his, seeking pressure where she ached for it most.

He made a feral noise and moved with more deliberation, making her gasp at the sensation of friction and something that strummed the very heart of her. It was the most instantly addictive feeling she’d ever encountered. She made a noise of female ardor and encouraged him with primal arches and a grind of her hips. The more he moved, the more reality fell away. All she cared about was the next thrust and the next.

More. Now. Please. Please.

They writhed in ecstatic struggle, fighting to hold on to the moment, lascivious sounds filling the air as the intensity grew, as he moved faster, as climax approached with merciless demand.

The paroxysm struck her suddenly, holding her in a hard grip, mouth open in a silent scream. Sensations detonated then reverberated through her, rocking her to her core.

Roman’s arms locked straight, a ragged cry of triumph tearing through the air as his hips sealed to hers and pulses of heat met her clasping orgasm, strengthening and prolonging her pleasure.

They were wholly attuned, joined in body and involvement. It wasn’t happening to him or her. They were the experience.

With broken cries, they collapsed into weakness, sweaty and wrung out, panting and shaking. Tears of deep emotion leaked to dampen Melodie’s lashes as she kept her eyes clenched shut, so shaken by the wildness of her actions she could barely face what they’d just done.

That had been...

She didn’t have words.

* * *

That was—

Roman lifted off Melodie and pushed clumsily to his feet, arms weak, knees shaking. The friction of leaving her was a pleasurable stroke that turned to the chill of loss. He had to turn away to keep from falling under her spell all over again.

No condom. He turned away, aghast at his carelessness. He never forgot, never lost his head. He liked sex, but he was always, always aware of protection.

He’d started to pull away as he felt her naked flesh against his pulsing erection. She was the one who’d yanked him back into the act, begging. Offering herself with such abandon he’d discarded all cares but getting inside her.

He shot a wary look her way, genuinely shaken by the way she’d slithered past his shields.

She’d rolled onto her side, but was still diagonal on the bed, knees together now, shirt pulled low to hide her nudity, head pillowed on her curled arm. Her big eyes blinked in sensual shock as she offered him a tentative smile.

“I’ve always wanted to be swept away by passion.” Her languid tone was a caress and an invitation, as alluring as a drug to an addict. She made him want to join her, to lock out the world and let her become everything he needed.

Which was probably what she had planned. First, dull his senses with the kind of sex that reset the bar. Then lower his guard so he’d let her wander his home so she could, what? Dig through his files while he slept?

He had not meant to touch her. He hated himself for being weak enough to do so. He’d been on the verge of coming downstairs to spell out exactly how he was taking his revenge, but she’d come to him and coldcocked him with seduction.

A mix of emotions rose in him: contempt for both of them, fury, disappointment, a kind of defeat that took him back to a time when he’d been completely powerless... He hated feeling these things, especially all at once. With ruthless discipline, he shut himself down, refusing to be drawn by her sultry afterglow. Women were as vulnerable after sex as they were during, but he closed himself off to that, too.

Melodie must have read something in his look. Her lashes quivered and one hand tugged her shirttail down a little more. “Maybe it’s always like that for you,” she murmured self-consciously.

“It is,” he lied flatly, unable to stomach how he’d let lust, for her, sweep him completely beyond himself. “I know who you are,” he continued, before her flinch of defenselessness could have an impact on him. He strode across to gather his pants and stamped his feet into them, straightening to tie them into place with jerky movements. “You’re wasting your time.”

“What...? What do you mean?” She tucked her legs to the side as she sat up, brow furrowing.

“Charmaine Parnell-Gautier,” he pronounced without inflection, as though they were exchanging information over a boardroom table. “I know your father and brother sent you here. Whatever you thought you could do to me isn’t working. I’m three steps ahead of all of you.” He picked up her discarded bikini bottom and brought it to the bed, placing it near her knee. “It’s time for you to leave.”

Her plump lips parted and her skin went so pale he thought she might faint. His heart lurched with alarm.

But she gathered herself quickly, drew a shaken breath and straightened her spine, shoulders going back.

“You think my father sent me here?”

“I know he did.”

“You’re wrong.” Tilting her head at him in an admonishing stare, she looked him right in the eye. “My birth certificate says Garner Gautier is my father, but I don’t have anything to do with him.” Bitterness flashed in her expression. “I’m not surprised you might have a bone to pick with him. He buys friends and makes enemies, but whatever he’s done to you has nothing to do with me.”

Wow, he thought distantly. She certainly knew how to shuffle her hand and play a new card. He was supposed to be reassured, he imagined, by her pretending they had a common adversary.

“What he did was steal my work and lose me my home. I might believe you had nothing to do with his crimes if I hadn’t spent yesterday afternoon reviewing recent photos of you two together.”

Her lip curled in revulsion. She shook her head. “That’s not what—”

“Melodie,” he interrupted coldly. “This isn’t a conversation. I don’t care what you have to say. I’m simply telling you that your idea to use my PA to infiltrate my home has failed.”

“I’m not infiltrating! I’m planning her wedding—”

“No. You’re not,” he informed, oddly empty of feeling as he served up the next slice of his revenge. This should feel good, but it just made him bitter. “I’ve instructed Ingrid to fire you. If she wants to hold her wedding here, which she does, she will find another planner. One who actually does this sort of thing for a living.”

* * *

Melodie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Clammy fear was pulsing through her, killing her afterglow and beginning to make her feel dirty and cheap. She was sitting here half-naked, a very personal tenderness reminding her of what they’d been doing a few short minutes ago.

Snatching up the bathing-suit bottom, she tucked her feet into it and worked it up her legs, giving Roman her back as she pulled it into place. Her skin felt flayed under his regard, her inner self yanked into the open, kicked and spat on.

It was such a shock her mind could hardly make sense of it. All she knew was that this had something to do with her father and Anton. She knew all too well what a bitter taste they left in one’s mouth. She clung to reason with her fingernails, tried to regain her poise and some semblance of control over this crazed situation.

She didn’t sleep with strangers. She didn’t—

Think, Melodie.

“You can’t fire me,” she said firmly. “I have a contract.” She reached through the neckline of the shirt to straighten the bikini top. Where was her power suit when she needed it?

“Do not charge any cancellation fees,” he warned. “If you try to recover any costs from this trip, if you so much as contact Ingrid to plead your case, I will make this worse than a job loss and eviction. Now go home, tell your father you failed and never come after me again.”

“Stop,” she insisted, spinning to confront him with an upraised hand, barely able to process what he was saying—eviction? She knew the cold fury and bloodlust that came of dealing with her father and half brother. Better than he ever would. She just needed to make him realize they were on the same side. “Roman, listen. I have nothing to do with him or Anton. Firing me will not impact them at all.”

“It’s time to leave,” he said with quiet frost.

“They’re not even going to know,” she asserted, hearing the crack of growing emotion in her voice and clawing hard to keep her cool. It was really hard when voices in the back of her head were saying, They’re still doing it. They’re still able to hurt you. “What you’re doing impacts me, not them.”

“You’re all one and the same.” The Gautier lack of mercy left a virulent flatness behind his eyes. Broader understanding began to hit. He really thought she was some kind of spy. That she had been put up to this by her father and brother.

Oh, she vaguely knew what her brother did for a living. She’d never understood how. He was the furthest thing from a techno-genius, and now pieces were falling together. Of course Anton would have stolen the product that had filled his bank account. Of course her father would have covered for him and profited along with him.

“I don’t know how to convince you, but you’re wrong. Before you go through with all this, stop. Think about what you’re doing. Give me a chance to explain.”

“There’s no stopping. It’s done,” he said matter-of-factly.

She swallowed, barely breathing, not wanting to believe him.

“You’ve already told Ingrid—”

“I emailed her before you reached the top of the stairs.”

She shook her head, absorbing the magnitude of losing this contract. This wedding was supposed to put her on the map. She was finally starting a real job. A career she could feel excitement about. No more juggling two or three minimum-wage jobs at makeup counters or bistros. Her aspirations of finally moving into a decent apartment, maybe traveling because she wasn’t tied down by her mother and debt, dimmed and doused like a candlewick gutting out, leaving only a wisp of smoke to sting her nostrils.

“You can’t do this,” she insisted numbly. Her mind leaped to wondering if she could start over somewhere, but as he’d pointed out, there was an investment in starting up a business like this. Without Ingrid’s payment, she was in a very deep hole. Then there was the loss of Ingrid’s circle of contacts. Starting over meant starting at the bottom, not stepping into a tony crowd with money and taste. “You’re destroying my life,” she informed him, heart beginning to tremble in her chest.

“Be sure to tell your father exactly how it feels.”

He wasn’t going to hear her on the lack of communication between her and Garner. She wouldn’t bother mentioning it again. This was happening. She could see his resolve and, if dealing with her father had taught her nothing else, she had learned to accept that there was evil in this world. The best you could do was mitigate the damage.

Exactly what was the damage?

“What...?” She was afraid to ask. “What did you say about eviction?”

He folded his arms, feet planted firmly. “I’ve made an offer to the owner of your building, one he can’t refuse. It’s on condition that your unit be made available immediately.”

Fury closed her fists into painful knots. “You can’t do that.”

He didn’t react beyond saying, “Your things are being removed as we speak.”

“To where?” she cried.

“The nearest Dumpster?” he offered with a pitiless shrug.

“You—” Her voice caught and realization began to squeeze her in its icy fingers. Fine quakes accosted her. She shook her head in convulsive denial as the buildup of emotion threatened to break the walls of her control. One thought formed and clung like a teardrop to a lash. “You’re having my mother thrown in the Dumpster. Is that what you’re saying? What the hell kind of man are you? There are laws.”

His brows jerked together, the first sign of emotion since they’d been writhing with passion. “What do you mean?”

“My mother’s ashes are in my apartment. You can’t just throw someone away like that. You can’t even—” Oh, what the hell did a man like him care about how hard it was to make the arrangements for scattering ashes?

Anxiety brought tears to her eyes, and she dashed them away, furious that she was breaking down, but this was the last straw. Losing things, starting over, having nowhere to live... Those were all problems she’d overcome before. Defiling her mother’s remains was more than she could withstand. Her breath hissed in her pinched nostrils while her mind raced through all the hours of travel it would take to get back to Virginia to save her.

“I’ll make a call,” he said.

Because the wheels were already in motion.

It hit her that he’d been making these arrangements yesterday, long before he’d kissed her in the cabana. He had set up all these horrible things, consigned her mother to the Dumpster, then had sex with her. She recoiled as she realized he’d already been filled with hatred and thoughts of revenge as he’d carried her to this bed.

Her revulsion must have shown. He reacted with a dark flinch.

“I will,” he assured her, glancing around as though he was looking for the nearest phone.

“You’ll make a call,” she repeated as she edged toward hysteria. “You’re just full of consideration, aren’t you, lover,” she spat. The word tasted like bile.

“Do you want me to do it or not?” His gaze flashed back to hers with warning.

She was ready to take him apart with her bare hands and he must have known it. He tensed with readiness, stance shifting as he balanced his weight on his planted feet, darkly watchful. His lethal air should have terrified her, but she was pulsing with the sort of protective instincts that drove people to lash out in a blind rage. Her mother’s well-being throbbed in her brain, urging her to injure and incapacitate in order to save. She wanted to hurt him. Badly. So badly.

Don’t, a voice whispered in her head. Don’t be like them.

“As if I’d trust you,” she managed, voice wavering, whole body beginning to rack with furious shakes. “I will make a call,” she said raggedly, knocking her breastbone with her knuckles. “I’ll keep her safe. I’m the only one who ever has. The only reason I went back there was for her,” she cried, throwing the truth at him like a grenade. “I swore I’d never set foot in that house again, but my father wasn’t going to let me have her ashes unless I put on a state funeral and gave him those damned photos you’re so convinced prove I’m here on his behalf. You think you’re the only person they’ve ever hurt, Roman? Don’t be so arrogant. You’re not that special!”

She spun toward the door.

“Melodie,” he ground out. “I’ll call to make sure—”

“My friends call me Melodie. You can call me Charmaine. Like they do. Because you’re just like them.”

She went through the interior of the house. It was faster and allowed her to avoid going anywhere near him as she made her exit. She ran down the hall, blind to anything but a blur of yellowed marble and red carpet, barely keeping her footing on the stairs before she shot out the front door.

She heard her name again, but didn’t look back. The paving stones were hot on her bare feet, burning her soles, but she barely felt the scorch and cut of the pebbles. Her only thought was that she needed to get away from him. Needed to get to her mother.