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Sitting there on the couch, hands clasped over their child, lashes fluttering to rest on her cheeks, she was so damn beautiful, the epitome of what a mother should be—soft, protective, kind. Despite his threat in her kitchen about giving him sole custody, he’d never act on it. Having been deprived of a mother’s love for most of his childhood, he knew its value.
His hand reached out, almost of its own volition, then retracted. It seemed an intimacy too far. Strange, when they were married and would be lovers again as soon as she stopped fighting it. And this was his baby.
Yet something still kept him from forcing this intrusion on her without invitation. Something about her now, perhaps the glow radiating from her skin, which made her look like the Madonna portrait that had hung in his childhood schoolroom.
She was high above him, he with his blackened heart. He was under no illusions about the darkness that consumed him inside, a consequence of being raised by an instrument of the devil. A man who had no boundaries on the methods he used—even on a child. Cruelty, humiliation, violence, thievery.
Damon had always prided himself that no matter how low he sank, he never stooped as low as Travis. But now, looking down on Lily, untainted by darkness, he could see his own true colors.
God knew, it was too late for him. The only way to save himself now was to have her purity beside him, part of him. She’d give him an heir, BlakeCorp and personal salvation.
He needed to have her, now more than ever.
Decision made beyond question, he smiled, using all his charm. “The color’s returned to your cheeks. You look well enough for that shower now. I’ll order up some food while you’re in there.”
Her eyes drifted open, a cool green gaze landed on his for a moment, lingered, then she turned away and nodded.
Unsettled but determined, he watched her go and made a vow to himself.
He would have her. Tonight.
Four
Lily lay across the bed in the dusk-darkened room. She stretched, feeling the slide of her satin pajamas on her skin, listening to the shower running, knowing Damon was in there, soapy, warm and beautiful. The open-plan room design only made things worse—no lock separated them, he stood just out of sight, literally around a white-tiled corner.
And he knew it, had planned it this way.
Being this close was playing havoc with her mind and body, and he knew that, too. Wherever she was, part of her focus always seemed to be reminiscing about their lovemaking, trying to block those memories, or wondering about making new memories….
She could walk into that bathroom now, drop her pajamas and robe and slip into the shower. He’d welcome her, pull her close under the spray, perhaps languidly soap her up, running a hand over her glistening skin, and she’d slide her tongue along his strong jaw, down his throat, then—
No. She groaned as she faced away from that side of the suite and dragged herself back from the brink. That would only increase her involvement—and more than instinct told her she was too deep already. She couldn’t fall in love with him again. It almost destroyed her last time. Never again would she fall for a man as self-serving, morally bankrupt, and as much of a workaholic as Damon Blakely.
She sighed and slid a glance toward the bathroom. Of course, she had to admit she loved the way he looked at her as if she were a rare delicacy. Loved the way he walked into a room and his presence instantly dominated it. Loved his troubled heart that he kept so guarded and hidden, even from himself. Loved the way his skin felt under her hands, under her mouth.
But, regardless of whether her heart remained intact this time or not, she knew one thing for sure: contrary to popular wisdom, love was not nearly enough.
Her mother had loved her father and the results had been devastating, for both of them and for her, their only child. She’d been notified a week after her fifteenth birthday that they’d died in a road accident. They said her mother fell asleep at the wheel and ran off the road.
Lily’s hand went to her mother’s silver heart pendant hanging on a fine silver chain around her neck. It was the sum total of her inheritance from her parents—the only item of value in their possessions.
She gripped the silver heart tighter as she wondered again if her mother had reached breaking point and seen no other way out. She’d cried for them and herself, but had been grateful they’d sent her to live with Gran three years earlier.
Supposedly the change had been to give her a chance to stay in one place, but Lily had always known that her grandmother had demanded she be sent to her. Her parents, like two kids on an adventure, lacked the will to disobey Gran, whose own backbone was pure steel. Lily had been offered occasional sympathy over the years as the girl given up by her parents. But even at twelve Lily had seen the situation clearly—Gran had rescued her and Lily would be forever grateful.
The years with her parents had been unpredictable and confusing, and had left her craving stability. They said one thing but meant another. Their well-meaning inconsistency was one of the reasons she understood the way Damon’s mind worked. He’d promise her the world, but he always ended up getting what he wanted.
Words were easy for her parents, for Damon. Actions told the real story. Damon’s priorities were the only ones that mattered to him.
She would never live that way again—it was soul-destroying to feel valueless.
More important, she would save her baby from that environment. Already, she loved this tiny person too much to subject it to the emotional torment a life with Damon would surely bring.
The water stopped and she sat bolt upright, listening to the sounds of Damon moving about in the bathroom. A cold sweat broke out over her skin. The man in the bathroom was her husband. The thought hit her with sickening force. She’d gone through with it. She’d married Damon Blakely. They’d exchanged vows of love, fidelity and commitment. Vows neither of them intended to honor.
Jitters all the way to her fingers and toes replaced her fatigue. She’d really done it.
A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts.
“Room service.” The call made her stomach rumble. How long since she’d eaten? Too long. She stood and padded out to open the door.
Three men in maroon-and-gold uniforms stood waiting behind multilayered trolleys. Lily’s jaw dropped. What in the name of heaven was this? There must be enough food here to feed the entire floor! She stood back to let them pass.
The first two men pushed their deliveries past her, parked their trolleys beside the pale pink marble table and began laying out linen and cutlery. The third man gave her a slight bow on the way past and left his trolley a little behind the others.
“Dessert,” he said, looking at her and then at a spot over her shoulder.
Lily turned to see Damon coming through the bedroom doorway, tying the sash on the large white hotel bathrobe that draped his frame, midnight hair damp, feet bare on the thick carpet. She remembered how her hands followed the trail of hair down his chest, hard stomach and lower. Dizzy with lust, she could do no more than lick her dry lips.
How would she resist this man if, when, he made that inevitable concerted effort to seduce her? He would try and she must resist no matter how much she craved his touch. It would be difficult, if not impossible, to reestablish her ground rules after they made love even once. She had to remember that he had an ulterior motive. She was his ticket to BlakeCorp.
“Ah, the food’s arrived.” His voice was a low rumble that soaked in and touched her deep in her bones.
Damon reached into the robe’s pocket and withdrew several folded notes, which he gave to the men in turn. The first two bowed and left the room; the third looked down at the tip and grinned. “Thanks, Mr. Blakely.”
Damon closed the door behind them, then leaned back against it, a hungry smile stretching his features. But his eyes were on her, not the food.
An answering quiver raced through her body. She couldn’t let the false intimacy created by their paper marriage alter her decision to not sleep with him. And from the look on his face, he would turn every inch she gave him into a mile and then some.
Trembling, she turned back to the food, fussing with the place settings with unmanageable fingers.
“No need to be scared of me, sweetheart.” She imagined—felt—him walking up behind her. When he spoke next, he was right behind her, his breath lifting the sensitive hairs by her ear. “I’m not the big bad wolf.”
Oh, how wrong he was.
The heat from his body seeped into hers, turning her bones to warm honey. If only their relationship was un-fettered—as it’d been before the will, before her pregnancy, before he’d broken her heart—she would be free to lean back into him and take what he offered. The pleasures he could bestow went beyond anything she expected to experience again. She shuddered with the desire her body remembered too clearly. If only she could have just one more sample—
As if reading her thoughts, Damon placed a butterfly kiss behind her ear, sending a delicious shiver across her skin. Then another kiss and another shiver. She opened her mouth, knowing she should protest, but before she could speak, he nipped at her earlobe and sucked it into the decadent heat of his mouth.
Lily stifled a groan, almost lost, barely able to form the thought that she should move away, but his warm breath rippled sideward to her cheekbone, and she caught the fragrance of toothpaste—fresh mint mingling with his own scent.
“God, what you do to me,” he whispered.
What she did to him? Within short minutes of his ministrations she was ready to fly to the moon with him. She leaned back against his body, desperate to learn he was as affected as her. Just for a moment, she told herself. And, oh, he was. His arousal pushed against the small of her back.
“Damon, I—”
He raised a finger and placed it over her lips but it did more than silence her. The pad of his finger traced a leisurely path across her bottom lip before dipping into her mouth. Breathing choppy, body aflame, she welcomed the finger, closed her lips around it, sucked ever so lightly, intensifying the mounting tension pulling at her core.
Light-headed, she grasped for his arm in an attempt to steady herself so as not to miss a single delicious moment.
He swore under his breath then slowly withdrew the finger and placed a chaste kiss on the top of her head. “First things first,” he rasped before clearing his throat. “I need to feed you.” He took her elbow and guided her to one of the ornate white lacquered chairs. “Sit.”
The room slanted at his change of direction but she sank down and let Damon push her chair in, trying to counter her disorientation. How had that happened? She bit down on her lip. Thank heaven now she had time to rebuild her defenses—make them impenetrable.
He sat in his own chair, toweling robe displaying a proud V of solid chest dusted with hair, golden forearms peeking out his rolled-back sleeves letting her see their muscles contract and flex as he lifted the lid off the first dish. The spicy aroma filled her senses and she reluctantly dragged her gaze from Damon to the food, still a touch dizzy.
“I ordered a selection. This one’s Asian stir-fry vegetables.” He held out his hand for her plate. She complied, realizing how hungry she was, and not just for Damon, then took the plate back after he’d spooned a portion onto it.
After scooping vegetables onto his own plate, he lifted the second lid revealing a cheesy topping covering something enticing underneath.
Again he held his hand for her plate. “I ordered the three dishes on the menu with cheese—you need calcium. But I made sure there was none of the soft cheese you can’t have while pregnant.” He looked up, one corner of his mouth curved in a lazy grin when he saw her surprise. “I’ve done some research.”
Touched that he’d given so much thought to the ordering, she watched as he lifted lid after lid, working through the dishes he’d ordered for her. A lump grew to fill her throat.
By the time he came to the sixth dish, her plate was piled so high it resembled more a small mountain than dinner.
She laughed and threw up her hands. “That’s enough. I’ll never be able to eat all of this.”
He nodded and continued piling new dishes onto his plate. “Just eat what you can. You and the baby need sustenance.”
She waited for him to finish serving himself before tasting. The food was divine, just like the other five-star places Damon had taken her when they’d dated. But more than the food affected her.
Watching Damon eat, dressed only in a bathrobe, kept her blood simmering and her senses on high alert. The robe’s wide gap at his chest gave her an unobstructed view of his strong, cleanly shaven throat, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.
He held out his fork to her. “Try this. It’s one you don’t have.”
Lily hesitated, breath catching in her chest. He’d fed her from his fork before, and occasionally from his fingers, like the night he’d fed her mango slices in bed. The memory of the sensual delights that night had brought dropped her mouth open and she accepted his fork.
The light-as-air pumpkin soufflé melted on her tongue. “Mmm, fabulous.” Her eyes drifted closed to make the most of the flavor, licking her lips for any remnants.
“I’ll tell you what’s fabulous,” Damon said in a husky voice. “That licking noise you’re making. Here, try this one.”
Her eyes flew open as she realized how it must look from his position. She felt the blush creep up her neck. “Ah, no thanks. I have enough here.” It wasn’t fair to tease him, lead him on, when she had no intention of sleeping with him. Heaven knew, she certainly shouldn’t have let him kiss her ear earlier. Her guard had to stay in place.
Then again, a voice taunted in her mind, Damon never needed encouragement. He always knew what he wanted and right now he wanted her.
“Well, let me try some of yours. I didn’t get any of that creamy cheese dish,” he said, pointing to the side of her plate. “I left it in case you wanted seconds.” His lips sat parted for a second before he added, “Just a taste.”
The rasp in his voice called to her and without thinking, she lifted her fork to his mouth. She instantly regretted it when his lips clamped around her fork. He held it between his teeth, his eyes intense as they captured hers as surely as he’d captured the fork.
Then he let the clean fork slide free, chewed leisurely and swallowed. “I’ve dreamed of tasting you again. Your lips … your skin. Your essence.”
Lily couldn’t speak, could barely breathe. She was baking inside, melting, needing his touch. She’d never had so skilled a lover as Damon, one who so thoroughly reveled in her body and in her pleasure. What she wouldn’t give to experience that again. Just for one night.
No! She flinched at the physical pain of breaking eye contact, as if she was being torn in two. It took everything she had to take another mouthful and chew, pretending she was unaffected when she was ready to combust. Damon knew her weakness for his body. She suspected he knew that any woman would have a weakness for his skills once they’d experienced them. And one thing she knew about her new husband—he wouldn’t hesitate to use any means at his disposal to get what he wanted.
And what he wanted was his father’s company … and that meant keeping her with him until their baby was born so it would be legitimate. He’d use any means at his disposal—including seduction—to keep her in the marriage until then. Her heart clutched tight. She must be strong. Not put one night’s passion ahead of her baby’s needs, or she’d risk her child’s future, the chance for her baby to have a stable and secure childhood—something that meant more to her than anything.
On autopilot, she kept eating—food on her fork, chew, swallow, repeat. With nerves jangling, the taste of the dishes no longer registered; all she was aware of was the man across from her. Without looking, she knew he watched her, could feel his gaze as a physical touch.
“You seem tense.” His voice was so low it was almost a growl.
She didn’t answer. Instead, she focused on her food, the only hunger she could safely assuage.
With slow, deliberate movements, Damon stood and moved behind her chair. “I can help with that tension in your shoulders.” His hands gently kneaded her shoulders, and his heat seeped through her satin pajamas and robe as if he’d touched her bare skin.
She twisted away. “Damon, we’ve talked about—”
He maneuvered her back against the chair and cut off her words. “It’s not the time for talking.”
His fingers massaged deeply, with wonderful pressure and sensuous movements, spreading heat across her tired muscles. The relaxing rhythm of his hands through the slippery material lulled her into a place of mindless, sensual bliss. No one had touched her this way since … Damon. Her body, starved for warmth, soaked up his attention.
His newly shaven jaw scraped deliciously over her ear. “Better?”
His voice flowed across her skin. Perhaps just a moment longer. She tilted her head forward. She was so tired, her muscles were in knots, and Damon’s hands were oh, so skilled. Might as well enjoy the massage he offered. She sighed and relaxed back into the intoxicating familiarity of him.
“Better,” she relented on a sigh.
He reached around and loosened her robe then, slipping his fingers beneath the collar, he let it fall from her shoulders. Consumed by his touch, she couldn’t find the wherewithal to even protest; only a distant part of her mind warned that she was inviting trouble. Inviting bliss. He parted her silky top a little and dipped his hands inside to keep rubbing her shoulders, skin on skin.
“Your muscles are so tight. You need to relax.” His voice was easy, as soothing as a friend advising a friend—a well-timed tactic, she knew. He confined his hands to her shoulders, but this was more than a platonic massage, it always was with his touch. Her breasts tightened, their tips aching for his caress, and a dull throb pulsated at her core. Against her better judgment, her body was responding to his.
“Let go of all that tension you’re holding, Lily.” This time his voice dropped to a seductive whisper. Totally absorbed in the exquisite sensations, she let her chin fall to her chest. A small moan escaped her throat.
“Just relax.” She felt his hands joined by his hot, wet mouth. He used his tongue and teeth in conjunction with his hands, amplifying the effect, dragging her deeper under his thrall.
When his hands slipped farther under her top to her breasts and ran across their tips, she almost dissolved into a pool of desire, her last remnants of self-control hanging by a frayed thread.
Yet she somehow forced the whisper out. “Damon, I’m already pregnant. We don’t need to have sex.” He was using her, she knew it, but his hands on her felt so good, their touch scrambled her brain.
She gasped when he cupped each breast and feathered moist kisses down the back of her neck. “If we’re talking about need, don’t doubt that I need you,” he ground out. “What I feel when I’m near you has always been beyond want.”
Lily bit her lip, her mind slowly waking to find itself at war with her body. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“We’re married. We want each other.” He nipped at the spot where her neck curved into her shoulders, continuing to use his knowledge of her body against her. “The question is, why wouldn’t we make love?”
Despite knowing a reason existed, with his tongue tracing circles on her shoulder blade and his hands on her breasts, she struggled to come up with her name let alone an answer.
Then his hands reached around, loosened the sash of her satin robe and any last vestiges of her earlier resolve evaporated. A moan ripped from her throat. She turned in her chair and sought his lips; she’d deal with the fallout in the morning. Forget forever. This was about here, now, tonight.
Damon needed no urging. His mouth claimed hers with the same hunger threatening to consume her whole. Without breaking their kiss, he circled around and came to kneel in front of her, between her parted knees, his hands holding her face.
Pushing his thick toweling robe to the edge of his broad shoulders, she ran her fingers over his back, luxuriating in the feel of his skin. Smooth and warm under her hands. God above, how she’d missed the feel of his skin against her body. Starving for him, she pushed the robe farther down, leaving the vast expanse of his back and shoulders free to her touch. The smell of clean, naked man—and not just any man, her man—made her light-headed with desire.
“Lily,” he groaned and pulled back a little so she could see the emotion in his ice-blue eyes. “It’s never been like this with anyone else.”
He sank back into her, the wall of his chest pressed against her breasts, as he whispered against her mouth, “Only you.”
