Having the Billionaire's Baby(28)

"It was only the water. No landmarks, not the hole in the rocks."

"The water there has a certain quality, don't you think? It must have, otherwise you wouldn't have painted it."

"Maybe." It was her turn to be noncommittal. His refusal to share that something of himself she sensed, hurt.

As she studied him she was hit with a knowledge herself. She could want   this man. No. Not could. Did. Certainly, she wanted more of him than he   was willing to give. She knew his touch, his kiss, and wanted it  again.  It was dangerous territory to let her thoughts wander to. "The  turnout  is fantastic."

"Mmm."

"Right in line with our most optimistic predictions." Come on, Nick,   help me out. Give me something to stop me thinking about the shadow of   beard on your jaw.

"Mmm."

Stop me thinking about lacing my fingers between yours. "If gate sales   keep up at the rate they have been we may have to restrict numbers."

"Callie."

"Yes."

"I brought you here to have a break."

She lapsed into silence, but unable to stop looking, she continued to   study Nick, stretched out on his back, hands clasped behind his head,   biceps curving against the sleeves of his polo shirt. A smudge of grease   streaked above his elbow. His eyes were closed and his dark lashes   rested lightly on tanned cheeks. It would be too easy to just lie there   drinking in details of his appearance.

"Close your eyes."

How did he know? Quickly, she shut her eyes and tried to relax; but   lying so close to him made her too conscious of his nearness. Awareness   vibrated through her. If she didn't talk business she'd think about  him,  maybe do something stupid like reach out and touch him. "Almost  half  the artwork has sold already."

He expelled a sigh of exasperation.

Callie pushed on, warming to the topic. "And I think there's someone   interested in the copper dragon. That's our most expensive piece."

He gave a sudden low growl and she heard the rustle of movement. The   light that had dappled her face gave way to shadow. She opened her eyes.   Nick loomed over her. For a second their gazes locked. Then with   another softer, shorter growl, he lowered his head and his lips claimed   hers.

Callie's mouth parted beneath his. He tasted of sunshine-heat and light.   Sensation bloomed and overwhelmed her. Her hands went to his  shoulders,  the muscles hard and contoured beneath her touch. Kissing  him was like  stepping into a fantasy. Her senses swam. Reality  threatened to slip  away beneath the magic of his touch. His fingers  slid up her jawline,  threading into her hair, cupping her head, drawing  her closer yet for  the demands of his mouth.

Her hands found their way to the dark warmth of his hair, the strong   column of his neck, the silken steel of his shoulders. He held her to   him, his body pressed along the length of hers. Against her will,   forgetting all the reasons she shouldn't be doing this, she arched into   him, pressed her hips to his, driven by a compulsion to get closer   still. A hint of beard gently abraded the sensitized skin of her jaw.   His hand cupped her breast through the fabric of her blouse. Just that,   an exquisite, almost unbearable touch, and a small moan of pleasure   escaped her.                       
       
           



       

"Callie."

She loved the sound of her name on his lips. "Yes."

"A bed."

"Yes." The single syllable was all she was capable of. It threatened to turn into a mantra and a plea.

In the privacy of the guest cottage, the strong hands she loved to look   at, loved the feel of, slid up her arms, over the curve of her  shoulders  till they cupped her face. Long fingers slid into her hair as  he  lowered his head.

He kissed her for the longest time. Holding her close against the   masculine warmth and solidity of his body, savoring her. And greedily   she drank in the taste and feel of him, clung to the power and vitality   of him.

Standing here, kissing this man, Callie felt more at one with him than   she'd ever felt with another human. She carried his child. She knew him.   He knew and understood her. She'd never had that before.



The ceiling fan spun lazily above them as his mouth moved over hers, and   they made their way slowly across the room till the bed pressed  against  the backs of her legs. And still they kissed. His lips explored  and  pleasured. He savored her like he savored a fine wine. Sipping  gently,  searching for every nuance with tongue and lips and seeking  hands.

Those hands shifted, found the hem of her blouse, slid underneath till   warm palms skimmed over the sensitized skin, trailing fire in their   wake. His fingers traced the contours of her body as his tongue learned   her mouth with slow, sweet seduction. Palms cupped the weight of her   breasts, his thumbs grazed over lace-covered nipples, spearing need   through her.

She had wanted to give, but that wanting threatened to be overpowered by   the consuming need to take. Nick lifted his head and studied her. She   saw the need and desire in his darkened eyes. He reached again for her.   Slowly, he slipped each of her buttons undone till he could brush  apart  the sides of her blouse. Lowering his head, he closed his mouth  over the  thin lace, dampening the fabric and the tight aching nipple  beneath it.  Compulsion arched her against him, into him, her hands slid  through the  dark, sun-warmed silk of his hair, pulling his head closer  yet.

His fingers slipped under the thin lace strap on her shoulder, grazed it   across and down her arm. He lifted his mouth only long enough to ease   the fabric aside and expose already dampened flesh to the air before  his  mouth again closed over her, hot and seeking. The faint stubble of  his  jaw grazed her flushed skin. His tongue flicked and her body jerked  in  reflex as a desperate gasp escaped her.



Reaching for his shirt, she sought access to the warmth of his smooth   skin and the muscles beneath. Layer by layer, seeking hands knocking and   tangling, they peeled away each other's clothes-her blouse, his shirt,   her skirt, his pants-until there were no barriers between them.

The stillness of awe and wonder settled over her at the sheer male   beauty of him. Stark planes and contours. Like a creature of a fantasy   world. Her fantasy world.

And in return, the heat of his gaze, the hunger and raw need in his eyes   swept through her, inflamed her. "Calypso." Her name was husky,   strangled, on his lips. And that one simple word, spoken that way by   him, threatened to buckle her knees.

Then he was moving, touching her again, guiding her till they lay down   together on the softness of his bed. They touched. Fingertips to skin,   lips to lips. The touch grew fevered as desire burned brighter. She   hadn't known wanting the like of it before. This fierce desperation. She   wanted to take and she wanted to give. But she needed this moment too.   The exploration, the appreciation, the slowness, gentleness and  oneness.

Her palm grazed over a small, hardened nipple, settled over the strong   beat of his heart. And in her mind she claimed his heart with that   gesture. Claimed it for herself. For always.

He groaned, and she reveled in the contradictions of that sound,   powerlessness and fierceness in one. An echo of her own paradox. How was   it possible to feel the strength of a warrior and utter languidness at   the same time? To be flying and falling? Demanding and surrendering?

She was his if he only knew it. This man who cared so deeply, loved so thoroughly.



She'd known his body before and yet everything was different, everything   had changed between them. Sensation dizzied her, carried her like   Dorothy's tornado out of a world she knew and into a realm more vivid   than she could have imagined.

Her skin was alive to his touch. In the warm glow of sunlight her eyes   saw only him, the half-lowered eyelids, the line of his jaw, the curve   of his throat and shoulder. Her hands felt only him, curving muscle,   heated silken skin.

Desire grew fiercer, exquisitely unbearable till it became a clawing, clamoring need, overpowering everything.                       
       
           



       

He raised himself over her and she opened to him, guided him into her.   She met him, clung to him. Her hands slid from shoulders, to hips, to   taut muscle, needing him closer yet.