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Forbidden Passion
Emilie Rose
Sometimes not even the forbidden can be denied…No sooner had his brother been laid to rest when a moment of grief and confusion exploded into passion for Sawyer Riggan and his newly widowed sister-in-law, Lynn. It was an earthshaking encounter neither could forget, but had it left more than memories behind…?Lynn believed empty bank accounts and cruel jibes in her late husband's diary were his only legacy to her, but there may be another growing in her womb. With the father of her child in question, the marriage of convenience Sawyer suggested might be all too convenient given the fires that still burned between them. For when the true paternity was revealed, what future might they share?
He Collapsed Against Her, Sandwiching Her Body Between The Scorching Heat Of His And The Hardness Of The Staircase.
Floating on a haze of satiation, she pressed her lips to his throat and tasted the salty tang of his skin.
She laid a hand over Sawyer’s pounding heart and struggled for comprehension. What had just happened? And why now with Sawyer? Every cell in her body pulsed with life. Her heart thundered, and the numbness she’d known for years had vanished. Her late husband’s lovemaking—if you could call it that—had never moved her the way his brother’s desperate coupling had. Even in the midst of madness, Sawyer had ensured her pleasure, but even before her body cooled, regrets forced themselves forward.
Dear heavens, what had she done?
Forbidden Passion
Emilie Rose
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
EMILIE ROSE
lives in North Carolina with her college sweetheart husband and four sons. This bestselling author’s love for romance novels developed when she was twelve years old and her mother hid them under sofa cushions each time Emilie entered the room. Emilie grew up riding and showing horses. She’s a devoted baseball mom during the season and can usually be found in the bleachers watching one of her sons play. Her hobbies include quilting, cooking (especially cheesecake) and anything cowboy. Her favorite TV shows include Discovery Channel’s medical programs, ER, CSI and Boston Public. Emilie’s a country music fan because there’s an entire book in nearly every song.
Emilie loves to hear from her readers and can be reached at P.O. Box 20145, Raleigh, NC 27619 or at www.EmilieRose.com.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
One
Her husband. She’d loved him. She’d hated him. And now he was gone. Guilt and pain seeped through Lynn Riggan, chilling her to the bone. She’d wanted to end her marriage, but not this way. Never this way.
Eager to shed her painful four-inch heels and a dress so tight she hadn’t been able to sit down all day, she closed the front door behind the last of the mourners and sagged against it. God, she hated this dress, but it was the only black one she owned that wasn’t cut to reveal more cleavage than she felt comfortable displaying at a funeral, and Brett had liked it. She took comfort in the fact that today was the last time she’d have to dress to impress someone else.
“Are you all right?” Her brother-in-law’s quiet baritone scraped over her raw nerves.
She clenched her teeth, swallowed hard and opened her eyes. Straightening, she folded her hands at her waist and forced a smile she did not feel. Her lips quivered, and she knew she hadn’t fooled Sawyer when his dark brows dipped with concern.
He crossed the cool marble foyer and stopped in front of her. “Lynn?”
“I thought you’d left.” She wished he had because she hated for him to see her this way. Weak. Needy. Her world was falling apart, and she didn’t have the strength to pretend everything would be all right—not even for Sawyer’s sake.
“I stepped out back for a minute.” Losing his beloved baby brother had been hard on him. Grief filled his cobalt-blue eyes and deepened the laugh lines fanning from the corners. A muscle ticked in the tense line of his chiseled jaw. His ruggedly handsome features were drawn and pale, and his shiny dark hair looked as if the late-spring breeze or restless fingers had tumbled it. The rigid set of his broad shoulders beneath his black suit revealed how tightly he held his emotions in check.
“You should go home and rest, Sawyer.” Please leave before I crumble.
“Yeah. Probably. But I feel so damned…empty.” He shoved a hand through his inky hair, mussing it even more. A lock curled over his forehead, making him look more like a college boy than the thirty-two-year-old CEO of a privately owned computer software company. “I keep waiting for Brett to come through that door laughing and shouting, ‘Gotcha.’”
Yes, Brett had liked cruel jokes. She’d been the butt of several. His worst joke yet was the financial mess he’d left for her to unravel. But even he couldn’t have faked the fiery car accident that had taken his life.
Sawyer’s eyes lasered in on hers. “Will you be all right here alone?”
Alone. Already the walls of this mausoleum of a house closed in on her. Right now she needed a hug more than anything, but she’d learned how to survive without that simple comfort a long time ago. She chewed her lip, wrapped her arms around her middle and avoided his probing gaze. “I’ll be fine.”
Her eyes burned from lack of sleep, and her muscles ached from pacing the floor all night. She wished she’d never found that key in the plastic bag of personal effects the hospital personnel had given her. If she hadn’t found the key, she wouldn’t have opened the safe. And if she hadn’t opened the safe… She took one shaky breath and then another trying to ward off panic.
What was she going to do?
She’d been searching for a life insurance policy to cover the funeral costs, and instead she’d discovered statements from empty bank accounts and a private journal in which her husband had written that he’d never loved her, that he found her such a dud in bed that he’d turned to another woman for pleasure. He’d catalogued her faults in excruciating detail.
“Lynn?” Sawyer lifted her chin with the warm tip of his finger. “Do you want me to stay tonight? I could bunk in the guest room.”
No, he couldn’t. She’d moved to the guest room months ago, and if he saw her personal belongings in the room he’d know that all wasn’t right in the Riggan household. She didn’t want to tell Sawyer that she and Brett had been having trouble for months, and she’d suspected her husband might be having an affair. She’d even consulted a lawyer about a divorce, but Brett had blamed their problems on his workload and charmed her into giving him one more chance. Against her better judgment, she’d allowed him to convince her that a baby would bring them closer, and they’d slept together one last time—just moments before she’d found proof of his infidelity, lost her temper and kicked him out of the house. Minutes later he’d died in the car crash.
“No, I’m okay.” Her voice cracked over the last word and a tremor worked through her. She had no money, no job, and no way to pay for this extravagant house Brett had insisted they buy. The house and car payments were due, and she had no idea how she’d make them. As if that weren’t enough…
Her nerves stretched to the breaking point. She pressed a hand to her belly and prayed that the intimacy with her husband three nights ago wouldn’t result in a child. She loved children, and she’d always wanted a large family, but she didn’t know how she’d take care of herself right now, let alone a baby.
Sawyer pulled her into his arms, breaking her train of self-pity. After a stiff moment, she laid her head on his shoulder and selfishly allowed herself to savor the comforting warmth of the strong arms enfolding her and the softness of his suit against her cheek. A sob hiccuped past the knot in her throat. She mashed her lips together, clenched her teeth and stiffened her spine. She was not a quitter. She would survive this.
“Shhh,” he murmured against her temple. The whisper of his breath swept her skin, and his hands chafed her spine. The spicy scent of his cologne invaded her senses. A shiver of another kind worked over her. Appalled, she tried to pull free, but his arms held fast. His chest shuddered against hers, and a warm, wet trail burned down her neck. Sawyer’s tears.
Her throat clogged and her heart squeezed in sympathy. Sawyer had stood beside her through identifying Brett’s body and every step of the funeral arrangements. The fact that he’d hidden his grief and been strong for her up to this point made his loss of control more heart-wrenching. She focused on his pain rather than her own. It was safer that way, because hers was tied up with so many other emotions. Disappointment. Failure. Anger. Betrayal. Guilt.
“It’ll be okay.” She parroted the meaningless words she’d heard a dozen times in the past three days. “We’ll get through this, Sawyer, one day at a time.”
Wanting to offer him the comfort she sorely needed herself, she wrapped her arms around his middle, held him close and patted his back. She whispered soothing nonsense into his ear, but nothing she could say or do would change the past. She couldn’t bring Brett back.
Sawyer’s arms tightened around her and his chest pressed against her breasts in a warm, solid wall. He lowered his head and tucked his face into the side of her neck. His breath heated her skin. A spark flared in her midsection. She tried to ignore it, but it had been years since she’d been held tenderly, and she’d been frozen inside for so long by her husband’s callous treatment. It wasn’t Sawyer’s fault that her needy body misinterpreted his consoling gesture.
His breath shuddered in and out as if he struggled for control. He loosened his arms, straightened and drew back an inch. Swiping a hand over his face, he grimaced. “I’m sorry. I just needed a minute.”
“It’s okay.” Seeing this strong man break nearly undid her. She rose on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, but he turned his head unexpectedly. Their cheeks and noses brushed and her pulse skittered. Drawing a sharp breath, she eased back on her heels. The lapels of his suit coat scraped across the thin fabric of her snug dress, and the resulting tingle in her breasts and belly alarmed her. Shamed her. How could her body respond to Sawyer’s, but not to her own husband’s?
Brett’s last damning words, Frigid bitch, echoed in her ears. She hadn’t been frigid until he’d hurt her, selfishly taking what he wanted without concern for her pleasure. After that something had curled up inside her each time he’d touched her. She’d dreaded the intimate side of their marriage because it represented her failure as wife and a woman.
“I want to forget.” Sawyer’s anguished whisper shredded her heart and weakened the emotional dam she’d built around her fragile emotions.
“I know. Me, too.” She traced the deep groove grief had etched in his cheek with an unsteady hand. His afternoon beard stubble abraded her fingertips. The raspy sensation traveled up her arm like a mild electric current. She yanked her hand away and wiped her tingling palm against her hip.
Scant inches separated their lips, and their breaths mingled. The pain in Sawyer’s eyes slowly changed into surprise and then into something else—something that warmed her, scared her, made her heart race and her muscles tense, but she couldn’t look away. She wet her lips and searched in vain for the words to end this awkward, forbidden moment.
Sawyer’s dark lashes swept down to conceal his expression. Before she could step back, his hands cupped her elbows and his mouth crushed hers in a desperate kiss. Shock held her rigid, but what stunned her more than the unexpected kiss was her reaction to it. A heady rush of desire transported her back to the night of her last date with Sawyer when she’d thought he might be “the one.” Back to the time before her heart had been broken and Brett had come into her life, when she’d felt beautiful and desirable instead of ugly and unresponsive, and she’d still held hope for her future instead of despair.
Sawyer withdrew and their gazes locked for one paralyzing moment. He lifted an unsteady hand to gently stroke her face and cup her jaw in the warmth of his palm. His thumb skated over her damp bottom lip and her breath hitched. Moving slowly, as if giving her the option to object, he bent over her again, peppering kisses over her forehead and cheeks.
Stop this insanity, she thought. But her body had been numb for so long, and Sawyer’s touch awakened her as if he’d pushed the stone away from the entrance to the cave where her soul had been entombed for the past four years. Heat seeped through her, thawing the parts of her that her husband had numbed with his caustic comments.
Sawyer’s lips touched hers again, this time gentling and clinging before withdrawing a scant inch. His breath hissed in and out, once, twice, sweeping over her skin like a dense seductive fog, before he took her mouth hungrily.
Lynn’s blood swept through her veins like a hot desert wind, warming her, stirring her, and her lips parted in a stunned gasp. His tongue found hers. During her marriage she’d become accustomed to Brett’s gagging, conquering kisses, but she had no clue how to handle Sawyer’s gentle persuasion. Her skin grew damp and tingly instead of crawling with revulsion. She tentatively touched her tongue to the slick heat of his, and his grip on her arms tightened, though his embrace wasn’t painful. She wouldn’t bear bruises once this lunacy ended. And it should end. Now. But she didn’t have the will or the strength to break away.
His hands skimmed gently over the sides of her breasts and the curve of her waist before settling on her hips. Her senses rioted and her head spun.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispered against her lips, but even though his words urged her away, the hands splaying over her bottom pulled her closer.
The heat of his body permeated the fabric of her dress from her knees to her shoulders. His hard planes fused to her soft curves, and the thick ridge of his arousal pressed against her belly, shocking her. Arousing her. She couldn’t have pushed him away if her life depended on it, and without his supporting arms, her weak knees would have folded. Curling her fingers into the lapels of his jacket, she held fast and tipped her head back to gasp for air.
She barely had time to draw a breath before Sawyer devoured her mouth with an unleashed hunger that should have frightened her. Instead it made her yearn for more. His hands kindled a fire within her, stroking her waist and then the sensitive skin beneath her breasts. A moan bubbled in her throat when he gently cupped her flesh and teased her taut nipples with his thumbs. His thigh nudged hers apart as much as her snug dress would allow, and hard, hot muscle pressed against her core.
Her belly ached with need—a need she hadn’t felt in years. Her knees shook. What was she doing? Was she crazy? She couldn’t bring herself to answer the questions. Brushing aside his jacket, she flattened her hands over the thin cotton of his shirt. His heart pounded against her palm, and hers raced just as fast.
He shrugged out of his suit coat with abrupt, jerky movements, tossed it aside and reached for her again. His cobalt gaze locked with hers. She couldn’t look away. The fiery passion in his eyes made her tremble. Inside. Outside. All over.
His fingers tunneled through her upswept hair, sending pins pinging onto the marble floor seconds before the long, cool strands of her hair tumbled against her neck and shoulders. Sawyer took one audible breath and then another.
“Lynn.” His rough voice pleaded, but for what she didn’t know, and it didn’t matter because her voice—along with her sanity, evidently—had left her. She couldn’t think beyond the fact that Sawyer wanted her.
She touched a finger to the muscle ticking in his jaw. He angled his head, pressing his lips to her wrist, and then his lips parted and his tongue swirled an intoxicating pattern over her skin. Liquid fire surged through her.
His hands skated over her hips and then tunneled beneath the hem of her dress. Her breath lodged in her throat. His fingers burned against the back of her thighs and then through the thin silk of her panties. He kneaded her bottom once, twice. Cool air swept her thighs and then her buttocks as he hiked up her skirt and eased her panties down. His hot, long-fingered hands cupped and caressed bare skin with a gentleness that made her melt. Her entire body flushed and her head fell back. A hollow ache formed in her belly and a moan rose from her chest.
Sawyer nibbled her neck, her jaw, her earlobe. He nudged her backward until the first stair riser pressed her heels. When he urged her to sit she let her weak knees fold. The roughness of carpeted stair runner abraded her tender skin. Sawyer whisked her panties over her ankles, knelt between her knees and reached for his belt buckle. Her insides combusted and her heart jumped to her throat. She dug her nails into the carpet and struggled for sanity.
A fragment of her mind acknowledged what was going to happen if she didn’t put an end to this madness. She should stop him, but her body tingled with awareness, and her pulse and the juncture of her thighs throbbed with life for the first time in years. She felt like a woman instead of a block of wood. She remained mute.
Rather than shove Sawyer away, she reached for him, helping him push his trousers over his lean hips, and then she burrowed her fingers beneath the hem of his shirt and clasped the supple skin at his waist. His body heat scorched her palms. Her pulse raced faster, and she gulped one lungful of air after another.
His breath whistled through clenched teeth, and his hands tightened on her thighs, easing them farther apart. He urged her back against the carpeted stairs and consumed her mouth with hot, intoxicating, sanity-robbing thoroughness. The thick head of his erection parted her folds, finding her wetness, and then he thrust deep. Air gushed from her lungs at the feeling of fullness.
It didn’t hurt, a surprised voice echoed in her head before the brush of his thumb at the juncture of their bodies chased all rational thought from her mind. He thrust deep and stroked her, suckled her neck and caressed her bottom, pushing and chasing her on an uphill climb until she reached the top and tumbled over in a freefall of unfamiliar sensation.
Surprised, she dug her nails into the firm muscles of his buttocks as her body clenched around his in involuntary spasms. His teeth scraped against her collarbone, and then he groaned her name against her pounding pulse point.
Sawyer lunged and withdrew again and again. Twining her arms around him, Lynn held him tight and let the tide of sensation sweep her away. Her loosened muscles gave way and her thighs spread wider, allowing Sawyer to rock deeper inside her—deep enough to reach the portions of her soul that she’d hidden away. Cradling her face in his hands, he slammed his lips against hers, devouring her mouth and tangling tongues like a starving man. A responding hunger rekindled within her. He shifted the angle of his hips, creating a new friction against the sensitive flesh he’d plied so skillfully, and Lynn found herself climbing again. She arched to meet his thrusts. Sawyer shuddered and shivered, pulsing deep inside her core, and she tumbled over the precipice again.
He collapsed against her, sandwiching her body between the scorching heat of his and the hardness of the staircase. Their labored breaths echoed in the two-story foyer. Floating on a haze of satiation, she pressed her lips to his throat and tasted the salty tang of his skin. His chest hair tickled her lips, tantalized her cheek.
She laid a hand over Sawyer’s pounding heart and struggled for comprehension. What had just happened? And why now with Sawyer? Every cell in her body pulsed with life. Her heart thundered, and the numbness she’d known for years had vanished. Brett’s lovemaking—if you could call it that—had never moved her the way Sawyer’s desperate coupling had. Even in the midst of madness, Sawyer had ensured her pleasure, but even before her body cooled, regrets forced themselves forward.
Dear heavens, what had she done?
Sweat dampened Sawyer’s skin, adhering his shirt to his back. His heart hammered and he panted for breath.
Lynn shoved at his chest. The combination of panic and regret in her sky-blue eyes knotted his stomach, and then she looked at her wedding band, tightly closed her eyes and tucked her softly rounded chin to her chest.
What had he done? Regret hit him like a dagger in the heart. How could he have taken advantage of his brother’s grieving widow? Stone-cold sober, he staggered to his feet, but his legs quivered beneath him as unsteady as a newborn colt’s. Ashamed of his loss of control, he yanked up his pants and shoved in his shirt-tails. In his haste he nearly maimed himself with his zipper. He swore, and she flinched, biting her plump bottom lip until he expected to see blood. Her posture grew tenser by the second.
“I’m sorry, Lynn. That shouldn’t have happened.” He sounded as if he’d swallowed a bucket of rocks, but it was a miracle he got any words past the knot in his throat.
Looking everywhere but at him, she struggled to her feet and batted the hem of her dress over her long legs. She finger combed the tangles from her mussed golden hair with trembling hands.
He fisted his hands on the urge to help tame her silky tresses, and followed her horrified gaze to the black panties on the white marble floor by the front door. Self-disgust crawled over his skin. He’d lost control, yanked her skirt above her waist and taken her like some damned frat boy. Hell, they were both fully dressed except for her panties.
Ass. Idiot. What were you thinking?
“It’s okay, Sawyer. We were both hurting and wanted—needed—to forget for a moment. It won’t happen again.” The tightness of her voice and the pallor of her creamy skin belied her casual words.
“You want to forget what just happened?” Impossible. How could he forget the silkiness of her skin beneath his palms, the sweet taste of her mouth or the satiny, wet folds that had surrounded him?
“Yes, please.” Her whispered plea destroyed him.
“Unless you’re on the pill, forgetting might not be an option. I didn’t use protection. I’m sorry. If it’s any consolation, I’ve never been careless before.”
She closed her eyes and swallowed visibly. Her thin black dress molded every tantalizing curve of her body, making the rise and fall of her breasts on shaky breaths hard to miss.
Get with the program, Riggan. She’s your brother’s wife. “Lynn, are you taking contraceptives?”
She mashed the bow of her lips into a flat line. Her chin quivered. “I’m tired. Would you excuse me?”
His gut knotted, and sweat beaded on his upper lip. “Lynn?”
Her finely arched brows dipped, and her eyes clouded. “I can’t tell you what you want to hear. I’m not taking contraceptives and the timing…the timing isn’t the best.”
Hell. He caught her by her upper arms. “What are you saying? You could get pregnant now? How can you be sure?”
Every vestige of color faded from her delicate features, accentuating the dark circles under her eyes. A fine tremor worked its way through her body. The urge to pull her closer made him tighten his fingers before common sense rallied. Comforting her, taking comfort in her, had already gotten him into a world of trouble. He’d crossed the line. Releasing her, he shoved his fists into his pockets and stepped back.
She lifted a trembling hand to cover the pulse leaping at the base of her throat. Her other hand spread over her flat belly, where even now their cells could be merging to create a new life. He couldn’t even begin to put a name to the emotions the knowledge stirred inside him, and fighting the need to lay his hand over hers took everything he had.
