Having the Billionaire's Baby(4)

She turned and reached toward him. As he took her hands in his, the   thought that he never wanted to release them assailed him. He met her   gaze, losing himself in eyes that seemed both brazen and innocent. With a   smile that matched her gaze, she pulled him through the doorway and   into her arms.

For a moment she stood pressed against his chest, fitting perfectly, as   he knew they would fit in other ways. Her supple warmth flowed into  him,  heated him further still.



She tilted her face upward and kissed him. And took his breath away.

Again that taste of peaches, and beneath that a subtle flavor and scent   that was hers alone, enhanced by the heat and longing of desire. His   hands skimmed over her curves, the red fabric of her dress silken and   sliding beneath his palms.

He ached to claim her. Every inch of her. With every inch of him. He   needed this to be as unique and special for her as every sense told him   it was going to be for him.

He wanted tonight to last forever.

He broke the kiss and rested his forehead against hers. He cupped her   pale shoulders bathed in the dim city light that spilled through the   window. Beneath his touch he felt movement as her hands, both delicate   and forceful, pulled his shirttails free, worked buttons undone until   they slid-exploring, learning and trailing fire in their wake-up his   front and settled on his chest, over his heart. Did she feel how it   pounded with the blood that rushed through him for her?

There was a moment of stillness, the calm before the storm, and then   they were kissing again, tongues teasing and dancing, that connection   remaining true as clothes were peeled away and discarded.

Her beauty and her passion staggered him, stirred something unknown   within him, a primal intensity that made him want to claim her not just   for now, but for always.

The now he knew how to deal with as they fell onto his bed.



Dawn was just beginning to lighten the sky when Callie slipped from the   tangle of luxurious sheets. It wasn't till she'd finished dressing that   she turned back to look at Nick. Even sleeping, he enthralled her. He   was … beautiful. There didn't seem any other word for it. His dark hair   was tousled, eyelashes curved above high, shadowed cheekbones. One arm   was thrown up above his head, the bicep pale and curving. And the chest.   Ahh, the chest. Callie took a moment for that alone.

Recalling herself, she crossed to the desk in the suite, her footsteps   cushioned by the deep carpet. As she looked for a pen and paper she   contemplated what to say, how to say it. Name and number alone? Thank   you? Something witty about his kind of company being so much better than   solitude? She looked at the sleeping man again. If she leaned down and   kissed those lips he'd awaken. But she had a plane to catch.

Picking up a silver pen, she reached for one of the business cards that   sat in a small, neat stack. About to turn it over she glimpsed his full   name.

And froze.

Dominic Brunicadi. She dropped the card as though it burned.

What had she done? The billionaire bachelor was many things-almost a   client, newly related to her ex, and way, way out of her league-and all   of those things precluded her having anything to do with him.





Two



N ick strode through the crowd at Auckland Airport, and despite his best   efforts, thoughts of Calypso stole into his mind. The turn of her  head,  the light in her eyes, the delight of her laughter.                       
       
           



       

In the month since that night, he'd had a hard time forgetting her.   There had been incredible chemistry between them, on the balcony, on the   dance floor and later. He remembered it only too well, and too often.   Or perhaps the plaguing sense of something lost was only pique that she   had vanished.

He'd asked a couple of people who she was, but they hadn't known. He   wouldn't ask more, because he liked to keep his private life just that.   Still, he felt like he was trying to track down Cinderella. She must   have been from Jason's side, and he fully intended asking Jason about   her when the opportunity presented itself.



He had no intention of chasing after a woman who clearly wanted nothing   further to do with him. She'd left no means of contacting her, nor had   she called him-though he'd noticed his business cards had been   disturbed. But he needed to know who she was.

And for his own peace of mind he needed to know the answer to one small but vital question.

He scanned the crowd. Ridiculous to even think he might see her here.   Milling passengers riffled through bags and papers looking for passports   and tickets, frazzled parents attempted to quiet fractious children.   Ruthlessly, he pushed thoughts of her aside. He had his sights set on   the exit doors and was mentally assessing his upcoming appointments when   his cell rang. Not breaking his stride, he pulled the phone from his   pocket and checked the ID.

"Melody?" He hadn't expected to hear from his sister so soon. She and   Jason only got back from their honeymoon a few days ago. "How was   Europe?"

He let his sister gush about their travels as he found the black Mercedes parked outside and slid into the seat.

"Glad to hear it went so well." Nick turned the key in the ignition and   the engine purred to life. "But that's not why you called me, is it?"   Mel seldom called without there being a reason. She knew he wasn't one   for idle conversation. There was a suspiciously long pause.

"It's Jason."

Nick sat up a little straighter. Surely there wasn't trouble in paradise   already. He didn't quite have Jason figured out yet, he'd spent so   little time with the man. Nick had been in Europe when the relationship   started, and it had progressed so rapidly that suddenly wedding   invitations were going out. All he knew for sure was that Melody was   besotted and she was happier than he'd seen her in years. So far, he'd   been able to like the guy for that reason alone. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. At least, I think it's nothing."

"What is it, Mel?"

He heard her indrawn breath. "I'm worried about his ex at Ivy Cottage PR."

He recognized the name of the New Zealand – based firm that Mel used for   Cypress Rise, the boutique winery associated with their family home in   the Hunter Valley. Mel had met Jason through his work on the winery's   account. Nick knew nothing about the other partner, Jason's ex. "What   about her?"

"It's probably nothing … ."

"But?" Mel wouldn't be calling if she thought it was nothing.

"She and Jason used to be more than just business partners, and he still   has a lot of contact with her. He wants to buy out her share of the   business and run it from here, boost up the Australian side of things."   Melody spoke quickly, as though unburdening herself. "He's offered her a   good price, but she won't sell. He says he doesn't want to pressure   her, but it's like she won't let go of him. And now she's phoning him at   unusual times, late at night and early in the morning."

"Do you think you could be overreacting?" Mel had been hurt in the past and had been wary ever since.

"I could be. I probably am."

"But you're still worried?"

Melody gave an unconvincing laugh. "Yes."

"And you'd like me to go see her?"

"You're in New Zealand. And you have such a good feel for people. You could go in your capacity as a director of the winery."



"Even though I have nothing to do with the day-today running of the company?"

"I'd just like your opinion. I mean, she seemed nice, but most of my dealings with the business were with Jason."

Nick sighed. Melody was the only person who could twist him around her   little finger. It had been that way since she came into the world ten   years after him, and the bond between them had only strengthened with   the death of their mother when Melody was three. Their father had coped   by immersing himself in work, largely leaving the children to deal with   their loss together. "I'll see if I can fit her in." They both knew  that  was as good as a promise. "Where do I find her?"                       
       
           



       

"Thanks." He heard the relief in her voice. "It means a lot to me."

But when he did make time to call in at the ivy-covered cottage on the   outskirts of the city, Ms. Jamieson wasn't in, and the surprisingly   young receptionist, with spiky, ink-black hair tipped with red, would   only say she wasn't due back in the office till Monday morning.