Hotbed of Scandal: Mistress: At What Price? / Red Wine and Her Sexy Ex / Bedded by Blackmail. Kate Hardy

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СКАЧАТЬ his feet, then looked up at Dane. ‘It would have been easier to decline your invitation. Son.’ He paused. ‘Maybe we could let bygones be bygones and move on?’

      Son. Dane wrestled with his emotions. It was the first time he could remember hearing his father acknowledge him as such. All those years when he’d wished his dad would toss him one crumb of affection. Dane had never wanted for money, privilege, social standing, but he’d have given it all away for family.

      ‘Why now, Dad? Because I saved your ass? And you know that in the end I’m the only one who gives a damn? We both know Barbara’s not going to stick around. I told her about the sale, Dad. It’s time she knew.’

      His father didn’t answer. Just continued to watch him with tired eyes.

      Despite all that had happened, deep down where it was only him and his maker, Dane yearned for the connection. But the past pain and the fear—yes, fear, dammit—of being hurt again was an impenetrable wall. Instead, he blocked all emotion and said, ‘We’ve never been big on family; you’re just getting sentimental in your old age.’ He jutted his chin towards the woman he’d just noticed standing like an ice statue at the bottom of the marble staircase. ‘Barbara’s waiting.’

      His father searched in his pocket for a handkerchief, then mopped his face. ‘I’ll be going, then. Goodnight.’ He turned and began walking towards Barbara.

      Shaken at his own callousness, Dane caught up, touched his father’s shoulder. He was shocked at the frailty he felt beneath the shirt. ‘If you need anything…’

      His dad nodded without turning. ‘I know.’

      And as Dane watched him shuffle towards the stairs that lonely little boy inside him ached.

      He’d never been so impatient for a night to end. With Mariel never far from his side, he discussed the upcoming trip north with those involved, made small talk with people he barely knew.

      Outwardly he maintained his calm, professional façade, but anticipation sharpened his focus on the night ahead to a pinpoint. He couldn’t wait to get Mariel alone upstairs.

      Finally his hand tightened on Mariel’s as the few remaining guests drifted out of the ballroom. They remained where they were while staff bustled in and out, glass and metal tinkling as they cleared tables, stacked chairs.

      He looked at her. She looked back. Awareness glimmered in her eyes, desire softened her mouth. She drew a breath, drawing his attention momentarily to the amply displayed cleavage. But it wasn’t only her body and the delights he knew that were awaiting his discovery that drew him to her and held him in thrall. It was the whole package.

      Words were irrelevant. The whole evening had been building to this moment. Tension gripped him when their linked hands accidentally brushed his trousers. His kiss, when he leaned in, was restrained and chaste. He motioned to the door with their joined hands. ‘Shall we?’

      ‘Good idea.’

      Still holding hands, they reached the door to their suite. He swiped the keycard and tugged her inside. City lights filtered through the window, casting an amber glow about the room. Even before the door clicked shut his lips were feasting on hers, and they went right on feasting as he whirled her around, pinning her against the wall. He didn’t know where to put his hands first, so went with her shoulders. Smooth and fragile-boned. He barely lifted his lips to mutter, ‘I can’t be gentle, not tonight.’

      ‘I never said I wanted gentle. Those were your words, not mine.’ She laughed, a lightly hysterical sound. ‘And you were referring to a car.’

      She didn’t object, and that was all he needed to know.

      Tonight she was his, to pleasure and enjoy. The knowledge careened through his mind, through his limbs, as he gorged himself on her sweet honey taste. Like a crazed bee in a field of clover, he left her lips to sample every patch of bared skin, finally settling to suckle the tender spot between neck and shoulder.

      Her fingers rushed up his shirt, popping buttons. Yanking the hem from his trousers, she spread the fabric wide to rub circles over his chest. The heat from her palms scorched and seduced, their impatience thrilled and tantalised.

      There was no sound in their thick-panelled room save for the sounds they made themselves. It accentuated his harsh breaths, her desperate moans, fabric abrading fabric, skin rasping skin. The urgent sounds detonated small explosions inside him that reverberated like gunfire through his limbs. What they’d begun as a foil for the press had become something else entirely.

      Or had they already known this was how it would be?

      Impatience born of desires too long denied made his hands clumsy as he pushed the dress from her shoulders, leaving her breasts dazzlingly, breathtakingly exposed. Pale, creamy flesh. Dark, erect nipples.

      Greedy now, he wanted more. He wanted all. He met her eyes, dark in the dimness. ‘How does this creation come off?’

      ‘Here.’ She guided his fingers to the zip. ‘It’s tight.’ He fumbled for a frustrating moment, then came the satisfying sound as it shirred downward. She helped him shimmy it over her hips. Her panties—if she was wearing any—went the same way as the dress. All she wore were sparkly stilettos.

      Sweet heaven.

      She reached out, flicked his belt buckle open, wrenched his zip down…In seconds he was as naked as she.

      He toed off his shoes. His pulse was jack-hammering, his heart felt so huge, so tight, he thought it might be going into cardiac arrest. Was it possible to die of anticipation?

      He twisted his fingers into her hair, pulling out pins, letting them drop wherever. Lifting her arms, she teased the silken mass out with her fingers so that it tumbled over her shoulders.

      And then she was twining herself about him like a vine, gyrating her hips against his throbbing erection. She was all lean limbs and strong lines, and if his heart didn’t give out he was probably going to spontaneously combust.

      He’d never wanted like this, never burned this way. Tomorrow, that might concern him, but at this moment the only thing in his mind was their mutual goal. All the years till now, all the women till now, had been a dress rehearsal for this command performance.

      Seemed he’d waited half a lifetime.

      She’d waited a lifetime. Dane Huntington, teenage fantasy, here. With her. Mariel rubbed her lips over his, opened her mouth and drugged herself with his taste. Heat, desire, impatience. Dragging her towards oblivion. She couldn’t think; her head was too filled with his scent. She could only feel. Sensations, lovely sensations, streaking over her skin and zapping through her body like golden lightning.

      The ache low in her belly grew, expanded, until she was a writhing mass of wanton need. ‘Now,’ she demanded, arching her hips against his pulsing hardness. Instinctively she reached down between them.

      His answering groan, harsh against her ear, had her shuddering. ‘Protection?’

      ‘On the Pill.’

      He hefted her higher and her thighs wrapped around his waist. And he snapped, tension tearing free, his eyes smoking in the half-light, the hard planes of his body taut beneath her hands. No preliminaries—she didn’t want them this time, didn’t need them.

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