Her Little Secret, His Hidden Heir(15)

Unfortunately, she'd never been quite as good at keeping her work and   her personal life separated. She loved The Sugar Shack. It was a part of   her, built of blood, sweat, tears and most of all, heart. If it  failed,  if something happened to it or she had to close the doors, a  very big  part of her would die with it.                       
       
           



       

But even more important than that, and definitely what owned a much   bigger portion of her heart and soul, was Danny. She would light a match   and torch The Sugar Shack down to the ground if it meant keeping her   child happy and safe.

And for better or worse, Marc was Danny's father, a part of him. He was   also probably the only investor she would ever find who was actually   willing and able to give the bakery an influx of much-needed cash, and   who apparently thought her ideas for expansion held actual merit.

Anyone else would have already jumped at the offer. But there was so much at stake for her-and for Danny and Aunt Helen.

She'd been silent for so long, she was surprised Marc didn't check her   for a pulse. She also suspected she would have the mother of all   headaches soon just from the strain of thinking so hard. It was as   though a Ping-Pong championship tournament was taking place inside her   brain.

But in the end, she didn't follow her head or even her heart. She followed her gut.

"All right," she told him, the words nearly torn from a throat gone   tight with the strain of her internal struggle. "But I don't want your   charity. If we're going to do this, then I want it to be completely   official and aboveboard. We'll have Brian draw up investment papers, or   make it a legal loan that I will pay back, or however these things are   normally done."

Marc smiled gently, the sort of smile a parent offers a recalcitrant child, almost as though he was getting ready to humor her.

"Fine. I'll call Brian in the morning and get the ball rolling."

She nodded slowly, still reluctant, still unsure. Gut or no gut,   agreeing to let Marc become a partner in her and her aunt's business   still made her hugely uncomfortable, and there was no guarantee that it   wasn't a monumental mistake.

"So that's the business end of things. We'll iron out the details   tomorrow," he said. Then he ran his hands down the bare flesh of her   arms from her shoulders to her elbows and lowered his voice to a near   whisper. "Now on to something a bit more personal."

Her first thought was that he wanted to discuss Danny again, and her   heart dropped all the way to her stomach, only to jump back up and lodge   in her throat. Her chest grew tight as she held her breath and   waited-for the bomb to drop, for him to demand full custody or announce   that he was taking their son back to Pittsburgh with him.

Instead, he tugged her close, lowered his head and kissed her.





Seven




For a moment, Vanessa stood completely frozen, eyes wide, shock holding   her immobile. But then his heat, his passion, seeped into her, and she   began to lean against him, his eyes sliding closed on a silent sigh.

Marc's hands slipped from her elbows to her waist, pulling her even more   tightly to him and holding her there with his arms crossed like iron   bands at her back. His lips were warm and firm and masterful, plundering   even as he attempted to coax and seduce.

He tasted like coffee and cream, and felt like heaven. Just as she remembered.

Kissing Marc had always been pure pleasure, like a cool glass of water   on a hot summer day or sinking into a relaxing bubble bath after a long,   exhausting day at work.

Hand drifting up to cup her cheek, Marc pulled away just enough to let   her catch her breath and meet his gaze. His eyes were dark with a desire   that Vanessa knew must be reflected in her own. Whether she wanted it   or not, whether she liked it or not, there was no denying the heat that   flared between them. Even now, after a year of separation, after the  end  of their marriage.

"I've been wanting to do that all evening," Marc murmured, his thumb slowly stroking just beneath her lower lip.

She wished she could deny feeling the same way, but had to admit that   the thought of kissing him again had crossed her mind a few times since   their unexpected reunion       , as well. Especially during dinner,  while  they'd stared at one another across the candlelit table.

But kissing him wasn't a good idea. Being alone with him in his hotel room for much longer wasn't a good idea.

She should leave. Put a hand to his chest, push him away and get out while she could still make her legs move.

His other hand came up to frame her face, his fingers running through the hair at her temple.

Move, legs, move.

But her legs didn't move. It was as though her entire body had turned to stone, every muscle statue-still.

"This is a bad idea," she told him, putting her thoughts into words and forcing them past stiff, dry lips. "I should go."

A hint of a grin played at the corners of his lips. "Or you could stay,"   he whispered, "and we can see about turning a bad idea into a good   one."                       
       
           



       

Inside, she was shaking her head. No, no, no. Sticking around was only   going to turn the bad that had already happened into much, much worse.

No, she needed to leave. And she would, just as soon as she could get her body to obey the commands of her brain.

But the connection between the two had obviously been blocked or severed   or scrambled in some way. Because she didn't move. She didn't step   back, or push him away, or voice further arguments against making any   more monumental mistakes.

She simply stood there and watched his mouth descend once again. Stood   there and let his lips cover hers, let his fingers dig into her hair and   cradle her scalp. Let his tongue tease and taunt until she had no   choice but to open her mouth and invite him inside.

Oh, this is a bad idea, she thought, as her own arms came up to wind   around his neck, her fingers toying with the hair at his nape. A very,   very bad …

His tongue twined with hers and she groaned, any semblance of rational   thought flying right out the window. Good or bad, she was in it now,   with very little might left to fight. She wasn't even sure she wanted to   anymore.

Though they were already touching, he tugged her even closer, so that   her brea**sts flattened against his chest and the evidence of his   arousal pressed between her legs.

Being a woman kept her arousal from being as obvious, but it was there,   without a doubt. Besides the fact that her heart was pounding and her   temperature was slowly reaching the boiling point, inside the cups of   her bra her nipp**les were turning into tight, sensitive pearls. Lower,   her knees were weak and her panties were growing damp.

It wouldn't take much more of Marc's intense ministrations for him to   know just how aroused she was, too. Already, his hands were wandering   down her sides and over her hips, his fingers slowly rucking up the   skirt of her dress until he could touch her stockinged thighs.

Her own fingers went to the buttons at the front of his shirt, slipping   one after another through their holes. When she reached the bottom, she   switched to unbuckling his belt and loosening the top button of his   dress slacks, then tugging the shirt's tail free. Once both sides fell   open, she slipped her hands under the expensive material and put her   palms flat against the warm, smooth skin of his chest and stomach.

He groaned. She moaned. The sounds met and mingled, sending shivers from their locked lips all the way down her spine.

As though he felt them, too, Marc's hand went to the small of her back   and followed the line of her vertebrae up, up, up. He kneaded her neck a   short second before catching the clasp of her dress's zipper and   tugging it down in one long ziiiiiiiiiip of sensation.

Curling her nails into his chest, she slumped into him as wave after   wave of longing rolled through her. It was almost too much to bear,   melting her bones and stealing the breath from her lungs. If he hadn't   been holding her, she was sure she would have collapsed to the ground in   a pile of skin and rumpled red fabric.

He released her mouth, allowing her to suck in some much-needed oxygen   while he tugged at her dress, letting the flowy fabric pool at her feet.   Hooking his thumbs into the waist of her pantyhose, he started to skim   them down her legs, following them until he knelt in front of her on  one  knee.