The Billionaire's Borrowed Baby(29)
His voice came out of the darkness. "Ditch the gown, Hattie, starting with that strap."
She couldn't see his face, only the outline of his body. Her fingers went to the slim strap he'd indicated, and she lowered it, slipping her arm free, but keeping her breast covered.
The beam of light moved to her other shoulder. "Now that one."
The second strap fell. She put a hand against her chest to hold the gown in place.
The light slipped down to her abdomen. He spoke again, his tone hoarse and rough. "Now all of it."
She rose to her knees, trembling, and let the fabric fall to her hips, and then, with a little shimmy, to the sleeping bag. Luc's indrawn breath was audible. The beam of light rose slowly to circle one breast and then the other. Her nipp**les tightened painfully. The light slid over the taut plane of her stomach to rest in the shadowed valley between her thighs.
His voice this time was barely a whisper. "Hand me the gown."
She lifted her knees, an awkward maneuver given the situation, and pulled the silk free, tossing it to him.
He buried his face in the cloth momentarily. Then the light went out. He called her name. "Hattie … come here."
She tumbled forward, her eagerness assisted by his firm grasp on her forearm. She landed half-sprawled across his chest, and one of her hands lodged in an interesting position between his legs. She found the hot, smooth length of him and stroked gently.
Luc groaned, covering her lips with his, the kiss ravenous and demanding. His tongue plundered the recesses of her mouth, exploring every crevice, nibbling and biting until she was breathless and whimpering with need.
Seconds later she sensed him trying to slow things down, but it was too late. While he fumbled for a condom, she rubbed her brea**sts against his chest, savoring the delicious friction. She felt his hands settle on her bottom. He lifted her until she sat astride him, and she tensed.
On and off during the last decade she had dreamed about being with him. But those fleeting fantasies didn't come close to approximating the reality of Luc Cavallo, naked, nudging with barely concealed impatience at the heart of her feminine passage.
She arched her back and felt him enter her, stretching her to an almost painful fullness. "Oh, Luc … " The sensation was incredible.
He froze, not moving an inch, his body taut and trembling. "Am I hurting you?"
She choked out a laugh, wriggling, forcing him centimeters deeper. "No." It was all she could manage. She raked his nipp**les with her fingernails. He heaved beneath her, burying himself to the hilt. The connection was stunning-her, adjusting to the sensation of his possession, him, clearly struggling for control.
He lifted his hands to cup her sensitive breasts. She cried out, nearing a peak so intense, she could feel it hovering just out of reach. He withdrew almost completely, but before she could voice a protest, he thrust even deeper, initiating a rhythm that sent them both tumbling into a fiery release. Somewhere in the fringes of her consciousness, she heard him shout as he emptied himself into her body, but her orgasm washed over her with such power, she was unable to focus on anything but her own pleasure.
Luc lay perfectly still, trying to recover from the effects of Hurricane Hattie. Her slender body lay draped over his in sensual abandon that filled him with a fierce masculine satisfaction overlaid by the terrifying realization that he had fallen in love with her … again. Far away from the familiar trappings of his daily life, it was all so clear. He didn't need things to be happy … not money or electronic toys or even the adrenaline-producing challenge of his job.
His arms tightened around her. A time machine couldn't have taken him back any more successfully than this sham marriage and this ill-conceived honeymoon. Hattie filled his life with an exhilaration he had experienced only once before. She brought fun into his days, joy into his home, passion into his bed.
But nothing had changed. He was still rich, and she was still wary about ceding power and control to a man like him.
The baby was the fragile glue holding this house of cards together. Unless he could convince Hattie that great sex covered a multitude of sins, it was only a matter of time until she left him.
He sighed as he felt her tongue trace his collarbone. The slightly rough caress sent trickles of heat down his torso straight to his groin. He smoothed his fingers over her bottom, guiltily aware that he might have bruised her pale skin.
She leaned on her elbow and kissed him briefly. "I think I've developed a whole new appreciation for roughing it … if I can say that with a straight face while lying on 800 thread count sheets."
He chuckled. "I never knew you liked it rough."
She punched his arm. "You're so bad. But I like that about you … " Her head found its way to his shoulder.
As her voice trailed off, he shifted her to one side. Not that he didn't enjoy having her body glued to his like wallpaper, but her proximity made it difficult to form a coherent thought. He hoped that if he handled this interlude correctly, he might be able to bind Hattie to him in such a way that she couldn't escape.
Women, unlike most men, had a hard time separating sex from emotional ties. All he had to do was convince Hattie that the compatibility they experienced in bed could carry over to life in general. That the incredible sex was only a sign of their overall rightness for each other … that they had more in common than she realized.
When Hattie slipped a hand across his thigh, he lost all interest in thinking. Her curious fingers found his partially erect shaft and began exploring. He shuddered, giving himself up to the heady pleasure of having Hattie map his body with an eagerness that was as flattering as it was arousing.
Her questing hands feathered over him like butterfly wings, brushing, touching. He clenched his teeth against a surge of lust as she found a particularly sensitive spot. "Hattie … "
She nipped his hipbone with her teeth. "Hmmm?"
His hands tangled in her hair, and he pulled her up for a hard kiss. This time, it was her tongue that demanded entrance, taunting his mouth with sweet little licks and strokes that made him groan with hunger.
Almost … almost he lifted her astride him as he had earlier, craving the sensation of filling her with one swift thrust. But at the last second, he broke the kiss and pushed her to her back, determined this time to give her the tenderness and attention she deserved.
She reached for him, but he eluded her, sliding down the length of her body to concentrate on the source of her pleasure. His hands glided over her skin, skin softer than any silk nightgown. He traced her navel and abdomen with his tongue. She twisted restlessly.
Gripping her hips and holding her down, he bent his head lower, ignoring her incoherent protests. She stiffened at the first touch of his lips, her back arching off the sleeping bag. A panting cry escaped her. He licked gently, and seconds later she shattered in a moaning climax.
He scooped her into his arms, holding her tightly as the last tremors racked her body. She was his. He was familiar with sexual satisfaction, but this need to claim, to possess, was something he had experienced only one other time in his life.
When she stirred in his embrace, he stroked the hair from her face with an unsteady hand. He kissed her softly, tenderly, trying to tell her with his touch what he knew she wasn't ready to hear in words.
The kiss lengthened. Deepened. His own unappeased arousal clawed to the surface, reminding him that making Hattie fly moments ago was only a prelude. He rose over her, trapping both her hands in one of his and raising them above her head. His maneuver lifted her brea**sts in silent invitation. With his free hand, he caressed them, stroking the petal-soft curves, avoiding her nipples, deliberately building her need once again.
When her pleading whispers and writhing hips told him she was ready for his possession, he abandoned her brea**sts and slid his hand between her legs, testing her heat and dampness with one finger.
She turned her head and bit the tender flesh of his inner arm, silently demanding. He released her hands, scarcely noticing when they grasped his shoulders. His need had become a roaring torrent, a driving urgency toward completion. Damning the necessity, he sheathed his rock-hard erection in a condom.