Читать книгу The Beaumont Brothers: Not the Boss's Baby - Sarah M. Anderson - Страница 15

Nine

Chadwick had never really believed the old cliché about being so mad one saw red. Turns out, he’d just never been mad enough, because right now, the world was drenched in red-hot anger.

“How could he?” he heard himself mutter. “How could he just buy a horse for that much money without even thinking about the consequences?”

“Because,” a soft, feminine voice said next to him, “he’s not you.”

The voice calmed him down, and some of the color bled back into the world. He realized Serena was standing next to him. They were in a nearly empty side gallery, in front of one of the Remington sculptures that made the backbreaking work of herding cattle look glorious.

She was right. Hardwick had never expected anything from Phillip. Never even noticed him, unless he did something outrageous.

Like buy a horse no one had ever heard of for seven million damn dollars.

“Remind me again why I work myself to death so that he can blow the family fortune on horses and women? So Frances can sink money into another venture that’s bound to fail before it gets off the ground? Is that all I’m good for? A never-ending supply of cash?”

Delicate fingers laced through his, holding him tightly. “Maybe,” Serena said, her voice gentle, “you don’t have to work yourself to death at all.”

He turned to her. She was staring at the statue as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.

Phillip had done whatever the hell he wanted since he was a kid. It hadn’t mattered what his grades were, who his friends were, how many sports cars he had wrecked. Hardwick just hadn’t cared. He’d been too focused on Chadwick.

“I...” He swallowed. “I don’t know how else to run this company.” The admission was even harder than what he’d shared over dinner. “This is what I was raised to do.”

She tilted her head to one side, really studying the bronze. “Your father died while working, didn’t he?”

“Yes.” Hardwick had keeled over at a board meeting, dead from the heart attack long before the ambulance had gotten there. Which was better, Chadwick had always figured, than him dying in the arms of a mistress.

She tilted her head in the other direction, not looking at him but still holding his hand. “I rather like you alive.”

“Do you?”

“Yes,” she answered slowly, like she really had to think about it. But then her thumb moved against the palm of his hand. “I do.”

Any remaining anger faded out of his vision as the room—the woman in it—came into sharp focus.

“You told me a few days ago,” she went on, her voice quiet in the gallery, “that you wanted to do something for yourself. Not for the family, not for the company. Then you spent God only knows how much on everything I’m wearing.” He saw the corner of her mouth curve up into a sly smile. “Except for a few zeros, this isn’t so different, is it?”

“I don’t need to spend money to be happy like he does.”

“Then why am I wearing a fortune’s worth of finery?”

“Because.” He hadn’t done it because it made him happy. He’d done it to see her look like this, to see that genuine smile she always wore when she was dressed to the nines. To know he could still make a woman smile.

He’d done it to make her happy. That was what made him happy.

She shot him a sidelong glance that didn’t convey annoyance so much as knowing—like that was exactly what she’d expected him to say. “You are an impossibly stubborn man when you want to be, Chadwick Beaumont.”

“It has been noted.”

“What do you want?”

Her.

He’d wanted her for years. But because he was not Hardwick Beaumont, he’d never once pursued her.

Except now he was. He was walking a fine line between acceptable actions and immoral, unethical behavior.

What he really wanted, more than anything, was to step over that line entirely.

She looked up at him through her thick lashes, waiting for an answer. When he didn’t give her one, she sighed. “The Beaumonts are an intelligent lot, you know. They’ll learn how to survive. You don’t have to protect them. Don’t work for them. They won’t ever appreciate it because they didn’t earn it themselves. Work for you.” She reached up and touched his cheek. “Do what makes you happy. Do what you want.”

She did realize what she was telling him, didn’t she? She had to—her fingers wrapped around his, her palm pressed against his cheek, her dark brown eyes looking into his with a kind of peace that he couldn’t remember ever feeling.

What he wanted was to leave this event behind, drive her home, and make love to her all night long. She had to know that was all he wanted—however not-divorced he was, pregnant she was, or employed she was by him.

Was she giving him permission? He would not trap his assistant into any sexual relationship. That wasn’t him.

God, he wanted her permission. Needed it. Always had.

“Serena—”

“Here we are.” Matthew strode into the gallery leading Miriam Young, the director of the Rocky Mountain Food Bank, and a waiter with a tray of champagne glasses. He gave Serena a look that was impossible to miss. “How is everything?”

She withdrew her hand from his cheek. “Fine,” she said, with one of those beautiful smiles.

Matthew made the introductions and Serena politely declined the champagne. Chadwick only half paid attention. Her words echoed around his head like a loose bowling ball in the trunk of a car.

Don’t work for them. Work for you.

Do what makes you happy.

She was right. It was high time he did what he wanted—above and beyond one afternoon.

It was time to seduce his assistant.

* * *

Standing in four-inch heels for two hours turned out to be more difficult than Serena had anticipated. She resorted to shifting from foot to foot as she and Chadwick made small talk with the likes of old-money billionaires, new-money billionaires, governors, senators and foundation heads. Most of the men were in tuxes like Chadwick’s, and most of the women were in gowns. So she blended in well enough.

Chadwick had recovered from the incident with Phillip nicely. She’d like to think that had something to do with their conversation in the gallery. With the way she’d told him to do what he wanted and the way he’d looked at her like the only thing he wanted to do was her.

She knew there was a list of reasons not to want him back. But she was tired of those reasons, tired of thinking she couldn’t, she shouldn’t.

So she didn’t. She focused on how painful those beautiful, beautiful shoes were. It kept her in the here and now.

Shoes aside, the evening had been delightful. Chadwick had introduced her as his assistant, true, but all the while he’d let one of his hands rest lightly on her lower back. She’d gotten a few odd looks, but no one had said anything. That probably had more to do with Chadwick’s reputation than anything else, but she wasn’t about to question it. Even without champagne, she’d been able to fall into small talk without too much panic.

She’d had a much nicer time than when she used to come with Neil. Then, she’d stood on the edge of the crowd, judiciously sipping her champagne and watching the crowd instead of interacting with it. Neil had always talked to people—always looking for another sponsor for his golf game—but she’d never felt like she was a part of the party.

Chadwick had made her a part of it this time. She wasn’t sure she’d ever truly feel like she fit in with the high roller crowd, but she hadn’t felt like an interloper. That counted for a great deal.

The evening was winding down. The crowd was trailing out. She hadn’t seen Phillip leave, but he was nowhere to be seen. Frances had bailed almost an hour before. Matthew was the only other Beaumont still there, and he was deep in discussion with the caterers.

Chadwick shook hands with the head of the Centura Hospital System and turned to her. “Your feet hurt.”

She didn’t want to seem ungrateful for the shoes, but she wasn’t sure her toes would ever be the same. “Maybe just a little.”

He gave her a smile that packed plenty of heat. But it wasn’t indiscriminately flirtatious, like his brother’s. All night long, that goodness had been directed at only one woman.

Her.

He slid a hand around her waist and began guiding her toward the door. “I’ll drive you home.”

She grinned at this statement. “Don’t worry. I didn’t snag a ride with anyone else.”

“Good.”

The valet brought up Chadwick’s Porsche, but he insisted on holding the door for her. Then he was in the car and they were driving at a higher-than-average speed, zipping down the highway like he had someplace to be.

Or like he couldn’t wait to get her home.

The ride was quick, but silent. What was going to happen next? More importantly, what did she want to happen next? And—most importantly of all—what would she let happen?

Because she wanted this perfect evening to end perfectly. She wanted to have one night with him, to touch the body she’d only gotten a glimpse of, to feel beautiful and desirable in his arms. She didn’t want to think about pregnancies or exes or jobs. It was Saturday night and she was dressed to the nines. On Monday, maybe they could go back to normal. She’d put on her suit and follow the rules and try not to think about the way Chadwick’s touch made her feel things she’d convinced herself she didn’t need.

Soon enough, he’d pulled up outside her apartment. His Porsche stuck out like a sore thumb in the parking lot full of minivans and late-model sedans. She started to open her door, but he put a hand on her arm. “Let me.”

Then he hopped out, opened her door and held his hand out for her. She let him help her out of the deep seats of his car.

Then they stood there.

His strong hand held tight to hers as he pulled her against his body. She looked up into his eyes, feeling lightheaded without a drop of champagne. All night long, he’d only had eyes for her—but they’d been surrounded by people.

Now they were alone in the dark.

He reached up and traced the tips of his fingers over her cheek. Serena’s eyelids fluttered shut at his touch.

“I’ll walk you to your door,” he said, his voice thick with strain. He stroked her skin—a small movement, similar to the way he’d touched her on Monday.

But this was different. Everything was different now.

This was the moment. This was her decision. She didn’t want sex with Chadwick to be one of those things that “just happened,” like her pregnancy. She was in control of her own life. She made the choices.

She could thank him for the lovely evening and tell him she’d see him bright and early Monday morning. She could even make a little joke about seeing him in a towel again. Then she could walk into her apartment, close the door and...

Maybe never have another moment—another chance—to be with Chadwick.

She made her choice. She would not regret it.

She opened her eyes. Chadwick’s face was inches from hers, but he wasn’t pressing her to anything. He was waiting for her.

She wouldn’t make him wait any longer. “Would you like to come in?”

He tensed against her. “Only if I can stay.”

She kissed him then. She leaned up in the painful, beautiful shoes and pressed her lips to his. There was no “kissing him back,” no “waiting for him to make the first move.”

This was going to happen because she wanted it to. She’d wanted it for years and she was darn tired of waiting. That was reason enough.

“I’d like that.”

The next thing she knew, Chadwick had physically swept her off her feet and was carrying her up to her door. When she gave him a quizzical look, he grinned sheepishly and said, “I know your feet hurt.”

“They do.”

She draped her arms around his neck and held on as he took the stairs, carrying her as if she were one of the skinny women from the party instead of someone whose size-ten body was getting bigger every day. But then, she’d seen all his muscles a few days before. If anyone could carry her, it was him. His chest was warm and hard against her body.

Things began to tighten. Her nipples tensed underneath the gown, and that heavy weight between her legs seemed to be pulling her down into his body. Oh, yes. She wanted him. But the thing that was different from all her time with Neil was how intense it felt to want Chadwick.

Obviously, it’d only been a few months since the last time she’d had sex with Neil. Just about three months. That was how far along she was. But she hadn’t felt the physical weight of desire for much, much longer than that. She couldn’t remember the last time just thinking about sex with Neil had turned her on this much. Maybe it was her crazy hormones—or maybe Chadwick did this to her. Maybe he’d always done this to her and she’d forced herself to ignore the attraction because falling for her boss just wasn’t convenient.

He set her down at the door so she could get her key out of the tiny purse. But he didn’t let her go. He put his hands on her hips and pulled her back into his front. They didn’t talk, but the huge bulge that pressed against her backside said lots of things, loud and clear.

She got the door open and they walked inside. She kicked off the pretty shoes, which made Chadwick loom an extra four inches over her. He hadn’t let go of her. His hands were still on her hips. He was grabbing her in a way that was quickly going from gentle to possessive. The way he filled his palms with her hips didn’t make her feel fat. It made her feel like he couldn’t get enough of her—he couldn’t help himself.

Yes. That was what she needed—to be wanted so much that he couldn’t control himself.

He leaned down, his mouth against her ear. “I’ve been waiting for you for years.” The strain of the wait made his voice shake. He pulled her hips back again, the ridge in his pants unmistakable. “Years, Serena.”

“Me, too.” Her voice came out breathy, barely above a whisper. She reached behind her back and slid her hand up the bulge. “Is that for me?”

“Yes,” he hissed, his breath hot against her skin. One hand released a hip and found her breast instead. Even through the strapless bra, he found her pointed nipple and began to tease it. “You deserve slow and sensual, but I need you too much right now.”

As if to prove his point, he set his teeth against her neck and bit her skin. Not too hard, but the feeling of being consumed by desire—by him—crashed through her. Her knees began to shake.

“Slow later,” she agreed, wiggling her bottom against him.

With a groan, he stepped away from her. She almost toppled over backward, but then his hands were unzipping her dress. The gown slid off her one shoulder and down to the ground with a soft rustle.

She was extra glad she hadn’t gone with the Spanx. Bless Mario’s heart for putting her in a dress that didn’t require them. Instead, a matching lacy thong had arrived with the bra. Which meant Chadwick currently had one heck of a view. She didn’t know if she should strut, or pivot so he couldn’t see her bottom.

Once the gown was gone, she stepped free of it. Chadwick moaned. “Serena,” he got out as he slid his hands over her bare backside. “You are...amazing.” His fingers gripped her skin, and he pressed his mouth to the space between her neck and her shoulder.

Strut, she decided. Nothing ruined good sex like being stupidly self-conscious when he already thought she was amazing. She pulled away from him before he could take away her power to stand.

“This way,” she said over her shoulder as she, yes, strutted toward the bedroom, her hips swaying.

Chadwick made a noise behind her that she took as a compliment, before following her.

She headed toward the bed, but he caught up with her. He grabbed her hips again. “You are better than I thought,” he growled as his hands slipped underneath the lace of the thong. He pulled the panties down, his palms against her legs. “I’ve dreamed of having you like this.”

“Like how?”

He nimbly undid her bra, tossing it aside. She was naked. He was not.

He directed her forward, but not toward the bed. Instead, he pushed her in the direction of her dresser.

The one with the big mirror over it.

Serena gasped at the sight they made. Her, nude. Him, still in his tux, towering over her.

“This. Like this.” He bent his head until his lips were on her neck again, just below the dangling earrings. “Is this okay?” he murmured against her skin.

“Yes.” She couldn’t take her eyes off their reflections, the way her pale skin stood out against his dark tux. The way his arms wrapped around her body, his hands cradled her breasts. The way his mouth looked as he kissed her skin.

The driving weight of desire between her legs pounded with need. “Yes,” she said again, reaching one arm over her head and tangling her fingers in his hair. “Just like this.”

“Good. So good, Serena.” Without the bra, she could feel the pads of his fingertips trace over her sensitive nipple, pulling until it went stiff with pleasure.

She moaned, letting her head fall back against his shoulder. “Just like that,” she whispered.

Then his other hand traced lower. This time, he didn’t pause to stroke her stomach. His fingers parted her neatly trimmed hair and pressed against her heaviest, hottest place.

“Oh, Chadwick,” she gasped as he moved his fingers in small, knowing circles, his other hand stroking her nipple, his mouth finding the sensitive spot under her ear—his bulge rubbing against her.

Her knees gave, but she didn’t go far. Her wet center rode heavy on his hand as his other arm caught her under both breasts.

“Put your hands on the dresser,” he told her. His voice was shaking as badly as her knees were, which made her smile. He might be pushing her to the brink, but she was pulling him along right behind her. “Don’t close your eyes.”

“I won’t.” She leaned forward and braced herself on the dresser. “I want to see what you do to me.”

“Yeah,” he groaned, a look of pure desire on his face as he met her gaze in the mirror. A finger slipped inside. So much, but not enough. She needed more. “You’re so ready for me.” Then she felt him lean back and work his own zipper.

“Next time, I get to do that for you.”

“Any time you want to strip me down, you just let me know. Hold on, okay?” Then he withdrew his fingers.

She watched as he removed a condom from his jacket pocket. It wasn’t like she could get more pregnant than she already was, but she appreciated that he didn’t question protecting her.

He rolled the condom on and leaned into her. She quivered as she waited for his touch. He bent forward, placing a kiss between her shoulder blades. Then he was against her. Sliding into her.

Serena sucked in air as he filled her. And filled her. And filled her. In the mirror, her eyes locked onto his as he entered her. She almost couldn’t take it. “Oh, Chadwick,” she panted as her body took him in. “Oh—oh—oh!”

The unexpected orgasm shook her so hard that she almost pulled off him—but he held her. “Yeah,” he groaned. “You feel so beautiful, Serena. So beautiful.”

He gripped her hips as he slid almost all the way out before he thrust in again. “Okay?” he asked.

“Better than okay,” she managed to get out, wiggling against him. The boldness of her action shocked her. Was she really having sex with Chadwick Beaumont, standing up—in front of a mirror?

Oh, hell yes, she was. And it was the hottest thing she’d ever done.

“Naughty girl,” he said with a grin.

Then he began in earnest. From her angle, she couldn’t see where their bodies met. She could only see his hands when he cupped her breasts to tweak a nipple or slid his fingers between her legs to stroke her center. She could only see the need on his face when he leaned forward to nip at her neck and shoulder, the raw desire in his eyes when their gazes met.

She held on to that dresser as if her life depended on it while Chadwick thrust harder and harder. “I need you so much,” he called out as he grabbed her by the waist and slammed his hips into hers. “I’ve always needed you so much.”

“Yes—like that,” she panted, rising up to meet him each time. His words pushed her past the first orgasm. She couldn’t remember ever feeling this needed, this sexual. “I’m going to—I’m—” Her next orgasm cut off her words, and all she could do was moan in pleasure.

But she didn’t close her eyes. She saw how she looked when she came—her mouth open, her eyes glazed with desire. So hot, watching the two of them together.

A roar started low in Chadwick’s chest as he pumped once, twice more—then froze, his face twisted in pleasure. Then he sort of fell forward onto her, both of them panting.

“My Serena,” he said, sounding spent.

“My Chadwick,” she replied, knowing it was the truth.

She was his now. And he was hers.

But he wasn’t. He couldn’t be. He was still married. He was still her boss. One explosive sexual encounter didn’t change those realities.

For tonight, he was hers.

Tomorrow, however, was going to be a problem.