Vows They Can't Escape

She shrugged into the jacket she’d taken off while Dr Epstein took her blood pressure. Time to make a dignified and speedy exit.

‘Where’s my briefcase?’ she asked, her voice more high-pitched than she would have liked, as Dane walked back towards her.

‘My office.’

He leaned against the steel banister of a staircase leading to a mezzanine level and crossed his arms over that wide chest. His stance looked relaxed. She wasn’t fooled.

‘I couldn’t scoop it up,’ he continued, his silent censure doing nothing for the pulse punching her throat, ‘because I had my hands full scooping up you.’

‘I’ll get it on my way out,’ she said, deliberately ignoring the sarcasm while marching towards the elevator.

He unfolded his arms and stepped into her path. ‘That’s not what the doctor ordered.’

‘He’s not my doctor,’ she announced, distracted by the pectoral muscles outlined by creased white cotton. ‘And I don’t take orders.’

His sensual lips flattened into a stubborn line and his jaw hardened, drawing her attention back to the dent in his chin.

She bit into her tongue, assaulted by the sudden urge to lick that masculine dip.

What the heck?

She tried to sidestep him. He stepped with her, forcing her to butt into the wall o’ pecs. Awareness shot up her spine as she took a hasty step back.

‘Get out of my way.’

‘Red, chill out.’

She caught a glimpse of concern, her pulse spiking uncomfortably at his casual use of the old nickname.

‘I will not chill out. I have a flight to catch.’ She sounded shrill, but she was starting to feel light-headed again. If she did another smackdown in front of him the last of her dignity would be in shreds.

‘You’re shaking.’

‘I’m not shaking.’

Of course she was shaking. He was standing too close, crowding her, engulfing her in that subtly sexy scent. Even though he wasn’t touching her she could feel him everywhere—in her tender breasts, her ragged breathing and in the hotspot between her thighs which was about to spontaneously combust. Basically, her body had reverted to its default position whenever Dane Redmond was within a ten-mile radius.

‘Unless you’ve got a chopper handy, you’ve already missed your flight,’ he observed, doing that sounding reasonable thing again, which made her sound hysterical. ‘Midtown traffic is a bitch at this time of day. No way are you going to make it to JFK in under an hour.’

‘Then I’ll wait at the airport for another flight.’

‘Why not hang out here and catch a flight out tomorrow like Epstein suggested?’

With him? In his apartment? Alone? Was he bonkers?

‘No, thank you.’

She tried to shift round him again. A restraining hand cupped her elbow and electricity zapped up her arm.

She yanked free, the banked heat in his cool blue gaze almost as disturbing as what he said next.

‘How about I apologise?’

‘What for?’

Was he serious? Dane had been the original never-give-in-never-surrender guy back in the day. She’d never seen him back down or apologise for anything.

‘For yelling at you in my office. About stuff that doesn’t matter any more.’

It was the last thing she had expected. But as she searched his expression she could see he meant it.

It was an olive branch. She wanted to snatch it and run straight for the moral high ground. But the tug of regret in the pit of her stomach chose that precise moment to give a sharp yank.

‘You don’t have to apologise for speaking your mind. But, if you insist, I should apologise, too,’ she continued. ‘You’re right. I should have consulted you about...about the abortion.’

The lie tasted sour—a betrayal of the tiny life she’d once yearned to hold in her arms. But this was the only way to finally release them both from all those foolish dreams.

‘Hell, Red. You don’t have to apologise for that.’

He scrubbed his hands over his scalp, the frustrated gesture bringing an old memory to the surface of running her hands over the soft bristles while they lay together on the deck of the pocket cruiser, her body pleasantly numb with afterglow from the first time they’d made love.

She pressed tingling palms against the fabric of her skirt, trying to erase the picture in her head, but the unguarded memory continued to play out—one agonising sensation at a time. Goosebumps pebbling her arms from the warm breeze off the ocean...the base of her thumb stinging from the affectionate nip as he bit into the tender flesh.

‘You sure you’re okay? I didn’t hurt you? You’re so small and delicate...’

‘I get why you did it,’ Dane continued, as the erotic memory played havoc with her senses. ‘You weren’t ready to be a mom, and I would have been a disaster as a dad.’

He was telling her he agreed with her. Case comprehensively closed. But what should have been a victory only made the sour taste in her mouth turn to mud.

She had been ready to be a mother. How could he have doubted that? Didn’t he know how much she had wanted their baby? And why would he think he’d make a terrible father? Was this something to do with all his scars, the childhood and the family he had never been willing to talk about?

Good grief, get real. You are not still invested in that fairytale.

The idiotic notion that she could rescue him by helping him to overcome stuff he refused to talk about had been the domain of that romantic teenage girl. That fairytale was part of her past. A past she’d just lied through her teeth to put behind her. This had to be the jet lag talking again, because it was not like her to lose her grip on reality twice in one day.

‘I’d really like to settle this amicably,’ she said at last, determined to accept his olive branch.

‘We can do that—but you need to stay put tonight. You took a couple of years off my life downstairs, and you still look as if a strong breeze could blow you over.’

That searing gaze drifted to the top of her hair, which probably looked as if a chinchilla had been nesting in it. Awareness shimmered, the sharp tug in her abdomen ever more insistent.

‘I feel responsible for that,’ he said, the gentle tone at odds with the bunched muscle jumping in his jaw.

‘I told you. I’m okay.’ She couldn’t stay. Couldn’t risk becoming that poor, pathetic girl again, who needed his strength because she had none of her own. ‘And, more importantly, I’m not your responsibility.’

‘Think again,’ he said, trampling over her resistance, the muscle in his jaw now dancing a jig. ‘Because until I sign those papers you’re still my lawfully wedded wife.’

It was an insane thing to say. But much more insane was the stutter in her pulse, the fluttering sensation deep in her abdomen at the conviction in his voice.

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Dane. We are not actually married and we haven’t been for over ten years. What we’re talking about is an admin error that you wouldn’t even know about if I hadn’t come to see you today.’

‘About that...’ He hooked a tendril of hair behind her ear. ‘Why did you come all the way to Manhattan when you could have gotten your attorney to handle it?’

It was a pertinent question—and one she didn’t have a coherent answer for.

The rough pad of his fingertip trailed down her neck and into the hollow of her throat, sending sensation rioting across her collarbone and plunging into her breasts.

She should tell him to back off. She needed to leave. But something deeper and much more primal kept her immobile.

‘You know what I think?’ he said, his voice hoarse.

She shook her head. But she did know, and she really didn’t want to.

‘I think you missed me.’

‘Don’t be silly. I haven’t thought of you in years,’ she said, but the denial came out on a breathless whisper, convincing no one.

His lips lifted on one side, the don’t-give-a-damn half-smile was an invitation to sin she’d never been able to resist.

‘You don’t remember how good it used to be between us?’ he mocked, finding the punching pulse at the base of her throat. ‘Because I do.’

His thumb rubbed back and forth across her collarbone, the nonchalant caress incinerating the lacy fabric of her camisole.

‘No,’ she said, but they both knew that was the biggest lie of all.

A wad of something hard and immovable jammed her throat as his thumb drifted down to circle her nipple, the possessive, unapologetic touch electrifying even through the layers of silk and lace.

The peak engorged in a rush, poking against the fabric and announcing how big a whopper she’d told.

She needed to tell him to stop. He had no right to touch her like this any more. But the words refused to form as her back stretched, thrusting the rigid tip into his palm.

He dipped his head as his thumb traced the edge of her bra cup, rough calluses rasping sensitive skin as it slid beneath the lace. His lips nudged the corner of her mouth, so close she could smell coffee and peppermint.

‘You were always a terrible liar, Red.’

She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Certainly couldn’t speak.

So objecting was an impossibility when he eased the cup down to expose one tight nipple and blew on the sensitive flesh.

‘Oh, God.’

Her lungs seized and her thigh muscles dissolved as he licked the tender peak, then nipped at the tip. She bucked, the shock of sensation bringing her hip into contact with the impressive ridge in his trousers. She rubbed against it like a cat, desperate to find relief from the exquisite agony.

He swore under his breath, then clasped her head and slanted his lips across hers. She opened for him instinctively and let his tongue plunder her mouth, driving the kiss into dark, torturous territory.

Her fingers curled into his shirt to drag him closer, absorbing his tantalising strength as the slab of muscle crushed her naked breast.

Her sex became heavy and painfully tender. Slick with longing. The melting sensation a throwback to her youth—when all he’d had to do was look at her to make her ready for him.

How can I still need him this much?

Her mind blurred, sinking into the glorious sex-fogged oblivion she’d denied herself for so long. Too long. Her tongue tangled with his, giving him the answer they both craved.

He kissed the way she remembered. With masterful thrusts and parries joined by teasing nips and licks as he devoured her mouth, no quarter given.

The day-old beard abraded her chin. Large hands brushed her thighs, bunching the skirt around her waist until he had a good firm grip on her backside.

Excitement pumped through her veins like a powerful narcotic, burning away everything but the sight, the sound, the scent of him.

He boosted her up—taking charge, taking control, the way she had always adored.

‘Put your legs round my waist.’

She obeyed the husky command without question, clinging to his strong shoulders. Her heartbeat kicked her ribs and pummelled her sex as their tongues duelled, hot and wet and frantic.

Her back hit the wall with a thud and the thick ridge in his trousers ground against her panties, the friction exquisite against her yearning clitoris.

Holding her up with one arm, he tore at her underwear. The sound of ripping satin echoed off the room’s hard surfaces, stunning her until he found her with his thumb. She moaned into his mouth, the perfect touch charging through her system like lightning.

His answering groan rumbled against her ear, harsh with need. ‘Still so wet for me, Red?’

Blunt fingers brushed expertly over the heart of her, then circled the swollen nub, teasing, coaxing, demanding a response. Everything inside her drove down to that one tight spot, desperate to feel the touch which would drive her over. The coil tightened like a vice and propelled her mindlessly towards the peak.

‘Please...’ The single word came out on a tortured sob.

Dane was the only man who knew exactly what she needed and always had.

Suddenly he withdrew his fingers, sliding them through the wet folds to rest on her hip. Leaving her teetering on the edge of ecstasy.

She panted. Squirmed. Denied the touch she needed. The touch she had to have.

‘Don’t stop.’

He buried his face against her neck, the harsh pants of his breathing as tortured as her own. ‘Have to,’ he grunted.

‘Why?’

Her dazed mind reeled, her flesh clenching painfully on emptiness. Desire clawed at her insides like a ravenous beast as he left her balanced brutally on the sharp edge between pleasure and pain.

‘No way am I taking you without a condom.’

As the sex fog finally released its stranglehold on her brain the comment registered and horrifying reality smacked into her with the force and fury of an eighteen-wheeler. The nuclear blush mushroomed up to her hairline.

Did you actually just beg him to make love to you? Without protection?

If only there was such a thing as death by mortification.

This was now officially the most humiliating moment of her life. The trashy novel swoon had merely been a dress rehearsal.

She scooped her breast back into her bra, its reddened nipple mocking her.

She had to get away from here. Sod the divorce papers. She’d deal with them later. Right now saving herself and her sanity was more important than saving Carmichael’s.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.