Baby for the Billionaire(42)

“There’s not much to tell. I got drunk.”

“It happens to most of us at one point or another. That’s when we learn there’s a reason for our current drinking laws.” He approached her the way he would a wounded animal, slowly and with utmost caution. “Is there more to it than that?”

She sat without moving and simply stared at him. “To be honest, I don’t remember a lot about that night.”

A hideous suspicion took hold. “Did someone take advantage of you?” he asked sharply. “Were you drugged?”

“Not exactly. At least, I don’t think so,” she whispered. “But I did lose my virginity.”

Fury consumed him. “You were taken advantage of. What sort of bastard—”

She stopped him with a quick shake of her head. “He was no more capable of making rational decisions than I was. Trust me, he paid a steep price for it.”

“I gather your father found out?” Jack guessed.

“And his. It … wasn’t pretty.”

“I can imagine.” It explained so much about her, especially her need to keep herself under such tight control. He closed the remaining distance between them and sat beside her, taking her hand in his. Her fingers were like ice. “Why are you telling me all this, Annalise?”

“Because you should know that I haven’t had any alcohol since that night.” She lifted her chin and met his gaze with a directness that sliced straight through to his soul. “And I haven’t been with anyone sexually since then, either.”

The air burned in his lungs and he slowly exhaled.

“Never?”

“No.”

“Because of one youthful mistake?”

She hesitated, as though considering the matter. “It didn’t seem … wise. Plus, I’ve never really been tempted.” Her eyes burned in the darkness. “Until now.”

He stilled. He hadn’t realized until that moment how desperately he wanted her. But he couldn’t take her. Not after what she’d told him. He’d been so cold for so long, had looked forward to warming himself in the fiery heat of Annalise’s desire. But he couldn’t take advantage of her like that callous boy from her youth. He wouldn’t.

He fought for control, fought for the cool, calm deliberation that had once come with such ease. “Annalise—”

“You’re going to send me away, aren’t you?”

“What?” He shook his head. “No, not away. Just to the room next door.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

He froze at her words. A stinging slap couldn’t have made a harsher impact.

“Earlier today I was positive that was what I wanted,” she went on. “But I realize now that was just fear speaking.”

“Fear?”

“Last time I was sixteen,” she explained. “I don’t even remember the act itself. Now, the pain? That I recall. The embarrassment when it was over is a particularly vivid memory, not to mention the humiliation when the whispers started during the weeks and months afterward.”

He regarded her with compassion. “I’m so sorry.”

She shrugged. “I’m not sixteen anymore, Jack. My fear isn’t logical. It’s more of a wispy memory than a rational emotion.” Her mouth curved into a smile full of feminine mystery and wry humor. “Don’t you think it’s past time I changed all that?”

“Are you certain?”

“I’m positive.” She shifted to face him. “Please, Jack. Help me replace those other memories with new ones. Better ones. Special ones.”

A short, harsh laugh was torn from him. “But no pressure, right?”

“I’m fairly certain most of the pressure is on me.” She disengaged her hand from his and slid her fingers along his arm to his neck. She tugged gently. “Like this, for instance.”

He bent closer and allowed her to take charge of the kiss. Her mouth slid across his as light as a whisper. She moved in again, a slow, thorough exploration. Then she slipped inward, giving him a taste of such sweetness that it proved headier than the most potent drink. She eased backward, breaking the contact.

“See what I mean? What if I do something wrong?”

He cleared his throat. “Not a chance.”

“No? Why don’t we test your theory.”

She caught the edges of his bow tie and tugged. The scrap of silk slid away and drifted toward the floor, vanishing into the shadows. One by one she removed the studs from his shirt, placing each in turn on the windowsill in a neat line. His shirt parted. Did she have any clue what her slow, deliberate movements were doing to him? It took every ounce of willpower to allow her to take the lead, to follow instead of dictate.

Her hand slid into his and she turned it in order to have access to his cufflinks. First one and then the other joined his shirt studs on the windowsill. He wanted her hands on his skin, to feel them move on him. Warm him. Take him. Instead, she eased his shirt from his shoulders, not once actually touching him.

His breathing grew harsh. “Anna—”

“Shh. It’ll be all right.”

With a soft rustle of silk, she stood in front of him and gently lifted the circlet and veil from her head. She placed it on the window seat beside him. The tulle and lace flowed over the edge like a waterfall, a silent statement in the moonlit darkness. Never once taking her eyes from his, she lowered the side zip of the gown.

Inch by glorious inch, the beaded silk fell away, revealing skin beautifully gilded by their weeks at the beach. The gown slipped to the floor in a soft cloud of surrender. She stepped free of it, as well as her voluminous petticoats, and stood before him in a lacy bustier. He leaned back against the coolness of the window with a groan. He’d caught a glimpse of her stockings and garter when Madam had knocked them to the ground, but it hadn’t prepared him for this.

“Let me do the rest,” he demanded.

He didn’t wait for her agreement, but erupted from the window seat. Gathering her into his arms, he kissed her. Claimed her. Told her without words how beautiful he found her. And then he journeyed downward, worshipping her with mouth and tongue and teeth.

Turning her so her back was to him, he swept the ebony tumble of curls over her shoulder and unhooked her bustier, exposing the elegant sweep of her spine. He traced his fingertip from the back of her neck down to the dip just above her buttocks. Teasing her with the lightest of caresses, he finished undressing her until she stood before him clad only in the silvery rays pouring in through the window. She lifted her arms and shook her hair free. The heavy ringlets cascaded toward her waist. Then she turned ever so slightly and looked at him over her shoulder. He could just make out the sweet curve of her breast.

“Please, Jack,” she whispered. “Make love to me.”





Eight


Without a word, Jack swept Annalise into his arms and carried her to the petal-strewn bed. He lowered her to the satin duvet, the rich ruby color a perfect complement to her hair and skin.

“Nudity becomes you, wife.”

She laughed softly, just a hint of shyness evident in the deepening color that swept across her cheekbones. “I suspect it would become you, as well.” She lifted an eyebrow. “Or were you going to make love to me with your pants on?”

Following her example, he removed his remaining clothing, lingering over the process the same way she had, despite the urgency to simply finish the job and get down to business. He wanted to go slow, to ease toward the moment when they became one. To build the memories one blistering touch at a time.

When he finished stripping, she moistened her lips and lifted up onto her elbows. “Jack … I think I should warn you that I’ve just started birth control but it’s not effective yet. I guess I should have said something sooner.”

“I’ll take care of everything.”

He made short work of the matter and then joined her on the bed. Candlelight flickered across her, gleaming on the sweet, rounded curves of her body and chasing darkness into the dips and valleys. He traced his index finger across the dusky tip of her breast, watching the nipple bead beneath the light caress.

“What should I do?” Annalise asked.

“Whatever you feel like. Nothing you do will be wrong.”

“Show me how,” she insisted. “Show me what you like.”

Jack took her hands in his and guided them to his chest, pressed them there, close to his heart. Her fingertips danced across his flesh. Where once there was ice, each lingering stroke melted the coldness, turned it to warmth. Then to heat. He sank backward and gave himself up to her. Her undisguised pleasure and curiosity were a joy to witness. Little by little her inhibitions fell away and her stroking touch grew bolder.

She cupped him, then measured his length and width with her fingers and he closed his eyes, fighting to retain some vestige of control. This was a first for her, he reminded himself—her first memory of being with a man, of having free rein to indulge the sensuous side of her nature and explore to her heart’s content—and he wanted it to be perfect. When she’d driven him as far as he could handle, he gathered her up and flipped her onto her back, caging her within his arms.

“Jack,” Annalise whispered, her voice rife with emotion. “Make love to me.”