Bound by the Millionaire's Ring(23)

     



 

And still, it wasn't real.





CHAPTER NINE

FOREPLAY. AFTER-PLAY. SEX was play for him. At least it always had been.

Not with Isidora. Nothing in him felt light or humorous as he came back  from the bathroom and found her naked, on her side, clutching a pillow  to her chest. Her wary, sideways glance speared his throat, his gut.

He dragged down the blankets, shifted her feet, then the rest of her as  he pulled her beneath the covers with him. He grabbed the pillow and  sent it to the floor so nothing was between them but naked skin and  silence.

After a second, she gave a shuddering sigh against his chest and relaxed  in his arms. He relaxed at that point, too, oddly relieved.

"Did I hurt you?" There'd been a streak of red on the condom.

"A little. It's okay."

It wasn't. He didn't know how to react, but brushing off her virginity as trivial wasn't right. He knew that much.

"I wasn't, like, waiting for you or anything," she murmured. "Don't  think I expect anything. There just hasn't been anyone I was that  interested in doing it with."

"You let me believe you'd slept with Etienne."

She didn't say anything, only shifted her face against his shoulder. He  rolled onto his back so she could settle more comfortably against his  side, and pulled her leg up so her thigh was across his waist, smooth  and soft under his absent touch, twitching as he found a ticklish spot.

Should he tell her how closely he'd been watching Etienne, looking for an excuse to fire him?

"It was nice," she said so quietly he barely heard her. "Thank you."

"You're the Queen of Understatement, aren't you? It wasn't 'nice.'"

Her head came up and she looked appalled. "You didn't like it?"

She was a bright, confident woman, but still such an innocent.

"Of course I liked it," he grumbled, cuddling her into him again. "It  was exquisite. You are exquisite." He wasn't a sensitive man. He knew  how to charm, but rarely shared his true thoughts or feelings.  Nevertheless, he admitted, "I will never forget it."

"Oh." He felt the word more than heard it. She swallowed and relaxed against him again. "That's sweet of you to say."

But she didn't believe him. Maybe that was for the best. He didn't want  to lead her on, but it still bothered him. Their lovemaking had been  incomparable. He'd been riding painted horses on a carousel all his  life, then suddenly found himself atop a wild stallion. No, steering a  purring race car. Flying a fighter jet. A rocket into space.

She wouldn't know how remarkable their connection was, though. Not until she moved on.

An uncharacteristic possessiveness struck him as he thought of her  climbing into bed with other men, sharing her body, abandoning herself  to passion, finding pleasure from their touch.

It was never going to be that good with anyone else. Did she realize that?

Was it fair for either of them to believe it?

He unconsciously tightened his arm around her, causing her to start, and she said, "Mmm?"

"Nothing. It's fine." He turned his lips against her hairline and  inhaled her scent. He wanted her again. His body was hardening, longing  to be inside her, but he reminded himself she was new to physical  intimacy, so gently ordered, "Sleep."



Isidora had never slept with a man. They took up a lot of room. When she  woke in the early hours, in a room so dark it was nearly black, she  almost fell out of bed she was so close to the edge. She searched with a  hand across the mattress for her pillow but found only warm, naked  limbs. One snaked out to pull her tight against him. He was sinewy and  hot, muscles flexing beneath satin skin. Hard.

"Where are you going?" he growled sleepily.

"Nowhere. I just..." She touched him. Couldn't help herself. She drew  away enough to follow the line of silky hair down his tight stomach,  then took his shape in her fist. He was smooth and ultrahot, his  textures fascinating to her curious fingers.

He made a noise as she traced the arrowed ridge at his tip and pulsed under her touch.

"Did that hurt?"

"Hell, no. Don't stop."

She swallowed, surprised to feel a throb and rush of heat between her  thighs. She was tender from their lovemaking, but in a way that made her  feel secretive and luxurious and sensual. She stretched against him,  wanting to feel him with every inch of her nude body. She thrust her  nest of hair against his shaft and pressed him with her hand to firm the  contact.

"I was trying to show some restraint, but if you're going to do that..."  He kissed her and his hand stroked her thigh. He grew harder in her  hand and shifted to suck her nipple, then asked, "Sore?" as he stroked  into her wetness.         

     



 

"No. It feels good." So good.

He rolled away and came back, then he was there, carefully pushing into  her, thrusting lightly, then, when she moaned, with more power.

Somehow it kept getting better. The buildup was faster and more sure,  the pinnacle higher, the release more complete. Maybe because he said,  "Isidora!" like an incantation. The waves of pleasure expanded to her  fingertips and toes, going on and on, both of them moving with it,  playing out their mutual orgasm until they both settled to rest.

It happened again in full daylight, after they rose and showered. They  fell onto the unmade bed for an energetic tussle that left them washed  up like storm survivors, panting and damp, on their backs.

"This is insane. I can't keep my hands off you."

His words caused a pang under her heart. It was nice of him to say sexy  things, but she expected he did the same for every woman he bedded. It  was all part of his love-'em-and-leave-'em routine. Maybe he was even  trying to make up for past hurts, wanting her to feel desirable.

She did, but she couldn't let the remarks mean anything beyond face  value. Her father's eternal optimism where her mother was concerned was  proof enough that some people were not a good risk.

Ignoring the slant of agony that pressed on her heart, she forced a wry  tone and sat up, patting his thigh as she said, "You've been going  without since our engagement. I wish I'd known sooner what I was  missing. We're kind of experiencing a perfect storm. But now I need  another shower. We really should get going or we'll be late for your  mother's."

She paused as a thought occurred.

"I think we should, um, keep this on the down low." She waggled a finger  between their naked bodies. "Do you mind? I don't want things to be  weird with your sisters."

"Why would it be weird?" He curled his arm beneath his head, but she had  the impression he wasn't nearly as relaxed as he looked. His glorious  chest was tense despite their recent release, his gaze hooded by his  spiky dark lashes.

Her hand lifted, wanting to pet him. He was so gorgeous, with his brown  nipples on his toasted almond chest, his defined abdomen and his sex  relaxed but still lengthened against his powerful thigh. She wanted to  rise over him, straddle-

"What?" Focus. "I don't know. I just don't want them to think I'm still nursing a crush."

She would die if they teased her. It was bad enough that Trella had said  last night that their kiss had looked "very convincing." Isidora had  quipped something about practice making perfect, adding a roll of her  eyes, pretending it was all a huge act. Trella had moved on to other  things, but Angelique's gaze had lingered thoughtfully on her.

"Surely my privacy carries the same weight as yours?" Isidora said to Ramon.

Something flashed in his gaze, then he used a slow blink to hide his thoughts. "It does."

A stab of insecurity went into her belly anyway. She didn't know why. Because this was new, she supposed. And it wouldn't last.

"Thank you," she said, lungs tight as she rose. She kept her back to him  until she was putting on her face and able to keep her anxious thoughts  hidden.



Ramon wasn't the sort of man who needed to keep his arm hooked around a  woman, proclaiming to the world she was his. When he was in any sort of  prolonged dalliance, however, like a week on his yacht, he enjoyed the  affection that came between the bouts of sex. It was like petting a cat.  The physical touches, the textures and warmth of her body, were as  enjoyable for him as for her. He liked to keep them purring and content.

Isidora was right that they should keep things simple, but Sus Brazos  was where he and his siblings came to unwind. It was the place they  could be themselves without subterfuge or judgments.

And Isidora looked infinitely touchable with her hair loose-something  she almost never seemed to do during the day. It tumbled in a mass of  rich burgundy around shoulders bared by a sleeveless top in burnt  orange. The color made her skin glow, especially where the collar was  open down her breastbone.

He wanted to play with her hair and trace that narrow vee and draw  circles with his palm on that firm ass of hers. She wore a pair of pants  that looked like chamois, soft and buttery. They snugly cupped her  figure and ended in narrow cuffs over sassy little boots that laced up  like a spinster's, teasing him to find his lover behind the conservative  facade.