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“You might still marry Jaycee and ruin her life,” she lied.
“Impossible, now that I’ve met you.”
Kira’s breath quickened. Dimple or not, he was still the enemy. She had to remember that.
“Do you really think I’m so callous I could marry your sister when I want you so much?”
“But what are you going to do about Jaycee?”
“I told you. She became irrelevant the minute I saw you standing inside my office this afternoon.”
“She’s beautiful … and blonde.”
“Yes, but your beauty affects me more. Don’t you know that?”
She shook her head. “The truth isn’t in you. You only date blondes.”
“Then it must be time for a change.”
“I’m going to confess a secret wish. All my life I wished I was blonde … so I’d look more like the rest of my family, especially my mother and my sister. I thought maybe then I’d feel like I belonged.”
“You are beautiful.”
“A man like you would say anything …”
“I’ve never lied to any woman. Don’t you know how incredibly lovely you are? With your shining dark eyes that show your sweet, pure soul every time you look at me and defend your sister? I feel your love for her rushing through you like liquid electricity. You’re graceful. You move like a ballerina. I love the way you feel so intensely and blush when you think I might touch you.”
“Like a child.”
“No. Like a responsive, passionate woman. I like that … too much. And your hair … it’s long and soft and shines like chestnut satin. Yet there’s fire in it. I want to run my hands through it.”
“But we hardly know one another. And I’ve hated you …
“None of the Murrays have been favorites of mine either … but I’m beginning to see the error of my ways. And I don’t think you hate me as much as you pretend.”
Kira stared at him, searching his hard face for some sign that he was lying to her, seducing her as he’d seduced all those other women, saying these things because he had some dark agenda. All she saw was warmth and honesty and intense emotion. Nobody had ever looked at her with such hunger or made her feel so beautiful.
All her life she’d wanted someone to make her feel this special. It was ironic that Quinn Sullivan should be the one.
“I thought you were so bad, no … pure evil,” she repeated.
His eyebrows arched. “Ouch.”
If he’d been twisted in his original motives, maybe it had been because of the grief he’d felt at losing someone he loved.
“How could I have been so wrong about you?” Even as she said it, some part of her wondered if she weren’t being naive. He had dated, and jilted, all those beautiful women. He had intended to take revenge on her father and use her sister in his plan. Maybe when she’d walked into his office she’d become part of his diabolical plan, too.
“I was misguided,” he said.
“I need more time to think about all this. Like I said … a mere hour or two ago I heartily disliked you. Or at least I thought I did.”
“Because you didn’t know me. Hell, maybe I didn’t know me either … because everything is different now, since I met you.”
She felt the same way. But she knew she should slow it down, reassess.
“I’m not good at picking boyfriends,” she whispered.
“Their loss.”
His hand closed over hers and he pressed her fingers, causing a melting sensation in her tummy. “My gain.”
Her tacos came, looking and smelling delicious, but she hardly touched them. Her every sense was attuned to Quinn’s carved features and his beautiful voice.
When a musician came to their table, Quinn hired him to sing several songs, including “La Paloma.” While the man serenaded her, Quinn idly stroked her wrist and the length of her fingers, causing fire to shoot down her spine.
She met his eyes and felt that she had known him always, that he was already her lover, her soul mate. She was crazy to feel such things and think such thoughts about a man she barely knew, but when dinner was over, they skipped dessert.
An hour later, she sat across from him in his downtown loft, sipping coffee while he drank brandy. In vain, she tried to act unimpressed by his art collection and sparkling views of the city. Not easy, since both were impressive.
His entrance was filled with an installation of crimson light by one of her favorite artists. The foyer was a dazzling ruby void that opened into a living room with high, white ceilings. All the rooms of his apartment held an eclectic mix of sculpture, porcelains and paintings.
Although she hadn’t yet complimented his stylish home, she couldn’t help but compare her small, littered apartment to his spacious one. Who was she to label him an arrogant upstart? He was a success in the international oil business and a man of impeccable taste, while she was still floundering in her career and struggling to find herself.
“I wanted to be alone with you like this the minute I saw you today,” he said.
She shifted uneasily on his cream-leather sofa. Yet more evidence that he was a planner. “Well, I didn’t.”
“I think you did. You just couldn’t let yourself believe you did.”
“No,” she whispered, setting down her cup. With difficulty she tried to focus on her mission. “So, what about Jaycee? You’re sure that’s over?”
“Finished. From the first moment I saw you.”
“Without mud all over my face.”
He laughed. “Actually, you got to me that day, too. Every time I dined with Jacinda and your family, I kept hoping I’d meet you again.”
Even as she remembered all those dinner invitations her parents had extended and she’d declined, she couldn’t believe he was telling the truth.
“I had my team research you,” he said.
“Why?”
“I asked myself the same question. I think you intrigued me … like I said, even with mud on your face. First thing tomorrow, I will break it off with Jacinda formally. Which means you’ve won. Does that make you happy? You have what you came for.”
He was all charm, especially his warm, white smile. Like a child with a new playmate, she was happy just being with him, but she couldn’t admit that to him.
He must have sensed her feelings, though, because he got up and moved silently toward her. “I feel like I’ve lived my whole life since my father’s death alone—until you. And that’s how I wanted to live—until you.”
She knew it was sudden and reckless, but she felt the same way. If she wasn’t careful, she would forget all that should divide them.
As if in a dream, she took his hand when he offered it and kissed his fingers with feverish devotion.
“You’ve made me realize how lonely I’ve been,” he said.
“That’s a very good line.”
“It’s the truth.”
“But you are so successful, while I …”
“Look what you’re doing in the interim—helping a friend to realize her dream.”
“My father says I’m wasting my potential.”
“You will find yourself … if you are patient.” He cupped her chin and stared into her eyes. Again she felt that uncanny recognition. He was a kindred soul who knew what it was to feel lost.
“Dear God,” he muttered. “Don’t listen to me. I don’t know a damn thing about patience. Like now … I should let you go … but I can’t.”
He pulled her to him and crushed her close. It wasn’t long before holding her wasn’t enough. He had to have her lips, her throat, her breasts. She felt the same way. Shedding her shirt, scarf and bra, she burst into flame as he kissed her. Even though she barely knew him, she could not wait another moment to belong to him.
“I’m not feeling so patient right now myself,” she admitted huskily.
Do not give yourself to this man, said an inner voice. Remember all those blondes. Remember his urge for revenge.
Even as her emotions spiraled out of control, she knew she was no femme fatale, while he was a devastatingly attractive man. Had he said all these same wonderful things to all those other women he’d bedded? Had he done and felt all the same things, too, a thousand times before? Were nights like this routine for him, while he was the first to make her feel so thrillingly alive?
But then his mouth claimed hers again, and again, with a fierce, wild hunger that made her forget her doubts and shake and cling to him. His kisses completed her as she’d never been completed before. He was a wounded soul, and she understood his wounds. How could she feel so much when they hadn’t even made love?
Lifting her into his arms, he carried her into his vast bedroom, which was bathed in silver moonlight. Over her shoulder she saw his big, black bed in the middle of an ocean of white marble and Persian carpets.
He was a driven, successful billionaire, and she was a waitress. Feeling out of her depth, her nerves returned. Not knowing what else to do, she pressed a fingertip to his lips. Gently, shyly, she traced his dimple.
Feeling her tension, he set her down. She pushed against his chest and then took a step away from him. Watching her, he said, “You can finish undressing in the bathroom if you’d prefer privacy. Or we can stop. I’ll drive you to your car. Your choice.”
She should have said, “I don’t belong here with you,” and accepted his gallant offer. Instead, without a word, she scampered toward the door he’d indicated. Alone in his beige marble bathroom with golden fixtures and a lovely, compelling etching by another one of her favorite artists, she barely recognized her own flushed face, tousled hair and sparkling eyes.
The radiant girl in his tall mirror was as beautiful as an enchanted princess. She looked expectant, excited. Maybe she did belong here with him. Maybe he was the beginning of her new life, the first correct step toward the bright future that had so long eluded her.
When she tiptoed back into the bedroom, wearing nothing but his white robe, he was in bed. She couldn’t help admiring the width of his bronzed shoulders as he leaned back against several plumped pillows. She had never dated anyone half so handsome; she’d never felt anything as powerful as the glorious heady heat that suffused her entire being as his blue eyes studied her hungrily. Still, she was nervy, shaking.
“I’m no good at sex,” she said. “You’re probably very good … Of course you are. You’re good at everything.”
“Come here,” he whispered.
“But …”
“Just come to me. You could not possibly delight me more. Surely you know that.”
Did he really feel as much as she did?
Removing his bathrobe, she flew to him before she lost her nerve, fell into his bed and into his arms, consumed by forces beyond her control. Nothing mattered but sliding against his long body, being held close in his strong arms. Beneath the covers, his heat was delicious and welcoming as she nestled against him.
He gave her a moment to settle before he rolled on top of her. Bracing himself with his elbows against the mattress, so as not to crush her, he kissed her lips, her cheeks, her brows and then her eyelids with urgent yet featherlike strokes. Slowly, gently, each kiss was driving her mad.
“Take me,” she whispered, in the grip of a fever such as she’d never experienced before. “I want you inside me. Now.”
“I know,” he said, laughing. “I’m as ravenous as you are. But have patience, darlin’.”
“You have a funny way of showing your hunger.”
“If I do what you ask, it would be over in a heartbeat. This moment, our first time together, is too special to me.”
Was she special?
“We must savor it, draw it out, make it last,” he said.
“Maybe I want it to be over swiftly,” she begged. “Maybe this obsessive need is unbearable.”
“Exquisite expectation?”
“I can’t stand it.”
“And I want to heighten it. Which means we’re at cross-purposes.”
He didn’t take her. With infinite care and maddening patience he adored her with his clever mouth and skilled hands. His fevered lips skimmed across her soft skin, raising goose bumps in secret places. As she lay beneath him, he licked each nipple until it grew hard, licked her navel until he had all her nerve endings on fire for him. Then he kissed her belly and dived even lower to explore those hidden, honey-sweet lips between her legs. When she felt his tongue dart inside, she gasped and drew back.
“Relax,” he whispered.
With slow, hot kisses, he made her gush. All too soon her embarrassment was gone, and she was melting, shivering, whimpering—all but begging him to give her release.
Until tonight she had been an exile in the world of love. With all other men, not that there had been that many, she had been going through the motions, playing a part, searching always for something meaningful and never finding it.
Until now, tonight, with him.
He couldn’t matter this much! She couldn’t let this be more than fierce, wild sex. He, the man, couldn’t matter. But her building emotions told her that he did matter—in ways she’d never imagined possible before.
He took her breast in his mouth and suckled again. Then his hand entered her heated wetness, making her gasp helplessly and plead. When he stroked her, his fingers sliding against that secret flesh, she arched against his expert touch, while her breath came in hard, tortured pants.
Just when she didn’t think she could bear it any longer, he dragged her beneath him and slid inside her. He was huge, massive, wonderful. Crying out, she clung to him and pushed her pelvis against his, aching for him to fill her even more deeply. “Yes! Yes!”
When he sank deeper, ever deeper, she moaned. For a long moment he held her and caressed her. Then he began to plunge in and out, slowly at first. Her rising pleasure carried her and shook her in sharp, hot waves, causing her to climax and scream his name.
He went crazy when she dug her nails in his shoulder. Then she came again, and again, sobbing. She had no idea how many climaxes she had before she felt his hard loins bunch as he exploded.
Afterward, sweat dripped off his brow. His whole body was flushed, burning up, and so was hers.
“Darlin’ Kira,” he whispered in that husky baritone that could still make her shiver even when she was spent. “Darlin’ Kira.”
