A Billionaire for Christmas (10 page)

The suctioning sound of the weather strip seal on the front door opening broke through Mrs. Bello’s words.

Shelly walked into the house, shaking her blonde hair and stomping her boots. “Nonna, the weather outside, jeez, I forgot what it’s like! So cold, just bites through the bones.”

Anthony’s blood heated. His eyes burned over her pale golden hair and long graceful neck, her slender legs and a waist that he wanted to wrap his hands around. The soft, absent smile on her face as she walked to the closet. Those lips, those lips he’d kissed and caressed and made call his name…repeatedly. Could he still? Would she still?

Shelly flipped her long golden locks over her shoulders as she pulled off her coat, and her gaze landed on him. Her lips opened in surprise, and her already flushed cheeks seemed to redden even further.

“Hey, didn’t know you were here.” She hung her coat in the closet. “Don’t want to interrupt.” She turned toward the staircase.

“Come and sit with us. I’ve got more coffee in the kitchen, let me get it.” Mrs. Bello started to rise.

“No, I’ll get it.” Shelly swept by with a gentle touch on Mrs. Bello’s shoulder, pressing her back into her seat. Like a wisp of wind she whisked out of the room and into the kitchen.

Why did he have to be here? Walking over hot coals would be less painful than returning to the living room. Ghosts, Anthony’s judgment, and all of Nonna’s hopes inhabited that room. The walls closed in around her.

Her throat tightened and her chest felt caught in a vise. Deep breath. She poured a cup of coffee. Focus on the now. This moment. One breath in…one breath out. Forget the past. She couldn’t control the future. All Shelly had, all anyone was guaranteed, was this moment, this very moment.

Then she sensed a change in the atmosphere of the room. The skin on her neck tingled. Her nipples tightened beneath her sweater. She didn’t need to turn around to know that Anthony stood in the kitchen behind her. Being beside him was like stepping into an electrical current, sharp and fizzing, with sparks arcing between them. She brought the porcelain Santa mug to her lips and turned to face Anthony.

The dark eyes. The lean body, perfectly kept. The sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up over his forearms. She swallowed and heat passed through her gut and in between her legs. That golden olive-toned skin, black hair, and ridged muscle of his arms. She took another sip of her coffee and forced her gaze away from Anthony’s arms, back up to his chocolate-brown eyes.

“When did you start wearing three-thousand-dollar suits, anyway?”

The corner of his mouth lifted in a playful look that she remembered from long ago. “When Justin did.”

“Ah, of course. Still fighting that battle, are you?”

“I thought we determined that in the car last night.”

“
We
didn’t determine anything, other than your disagreement with nearly every word that came out of my mouth.”

“Denial is probably a more accurate word than disagreement. One has to be in possession of the facts to adequately disagree.” Muscle rippled beneath his shirt as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Her breath shortened.

“It would seem I may owe some apologies.”

Her heart rattled about her chest. She swallowed. Desire hollowed out her belly. He stepped closer and she pressed back against the counter. No where to go, no where to run. She was boxed in. Really to be honest, being boxed in by Anthony didn’t feel so bad.

“What put you in possession of the facts?”

“Rain, sleet, a meeting with our attorneys. Your grandmother and you. Nearly everyone and everything pointing out that Justin is happy, Aubrey is a good person, and Max is my nephew.”

“That only took…what? Five months for you to admit?”

He stepped closer. Inches separated them. The heat of his breath skimmed the flesh of her face. “Slow learner.”

Her belly coiled with heat. His eyes, his lips, his body so close to her. Nearly touching hers. Aubrey leaned back and placed her mug on the counter. She started to turn, to pull away, to squeeze by Anthony. How long since she’d been this close to a man and not been high? Been this aware? Most likely since the last time she’d been with Anthony. Could it really be that long?

“I…I should go check on Nonna—”

“She’s gone up to bed.” His voice velvet soft. A subtle emphasis on the final word. He reached out and tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear. Then he dropped both hands to the counter, one on either side of her. “Left us two alone to fend for ourselves.”

Shelly’s heart thundered in her chest. Fending for herself hadn’t turned out so well in the past. Now she was really boxed in, his body skimming hers. His eyes flickered from her chin to her lips, then back up to her gaze.

“I may owe you an apology for last night.”

“May?”

Anthony dipped his chin, his eyes breaking contact with hers.

Apologies weren’t easy for Anthony.

“I
do
owe you an apology.”

She folded her arms over her chest, fortifying herself, standing her ground. There was a millimeter between her arms and his chest. His thick thighs touched hers. Her nipples rose pert and tight beneath her bra, and she wanted to give in to the desire to tilt her head, to feel his lips on her neck, to claim those lips with her own, to be the girl she once was with the man she’d loved. To press her whole body against him. Standing her ground was killing her, but she wouldn’t let Anthony know that. She locked her gaze onto his, waiting, waiting for the words that were so hard for Anthony to say.

“I’m sorry,” Anthony said, his voice a warm caress promising pleasure. “I’m sorry for my tone, for disregarding what you said, for saying unkind things to you.” He leaned in. His warm eyes pinning her with his gaze, his lips nearly touching hers, his huge beautiful body against hers. “I’m sorry.”

Shelly laid her palms on his chest. A tingle jetted through her fingertips. Solid muscle like hard carved steel. With every ounce of fortitude she possessed, she gently pushed Anthony away and slid out from between him and the counter.

A deep breath filled her lungs. For a moment she’d forgotten the past. For a moment she’d enjoyed Anthony’s proximity, without guilt and shame.

“I accept your apology,” Shelly said. “In return, I need to apologize to you as well.”

His jaw muscle flinched.

“It’s part of my program. I’m sorry for so many things—”

“You don’t have to—”

Her gaze locked to his. Determination tightened her muscles. Most days, determination was the only thing that stood between this new life she was attempting to build and a needle in her arm. Other days, she fell to her knees to stay sober. “But I do. I do have to apologize to you, to anyone that I’ve wronged. It’s not so altruistic, Anthony. It’s pretty damned selfish, actually. Maybe not as selfish as sticking a needle in my arm and shooting my entire life up my veins, but still, these apologies are for me, for my program, so I can stay sober.”

“Glad to know it’s all about your own self-interest.”

Shelly felt a pang at Anthony’s reaction, feeling their moment of connection slipping away. Damn, why did she get so fired up all the time? Rush to that place of defense and anger instead of opening her heart to vulnerability?

Because vulnerability hurt. Fucking crushed your heart and stomped your soul when whomever you cared for left, or died, or turned their back on you.

Like she’d done to Anthony.

“First,” she said, her words slow. She fought to keep her gaze on Anthony. “First, I’m sorry for Texas.”

He lifted an eyebrow.

“I’m sorry for trying to take your wallet, I’m sorry for lying and telling you I’d go to rehab, and I’m really sorry for disappearing. I thought…” Her chest tightened, and she looked down at the yellowed linoleum kitchen floor. What had she thought? For a brief while, when he’d been with her in Texas and they’d been sharing memories of Vinnie, deep in that grief together, she’d thought about actually doing what Anthony wanted. She’d go to rehab, get clean, come home and rebuild their life. “I thought about going with you”—her gaze met Anthony’s, but his eyes gave away no emotion—“and the good part of me, the part that was still the Shelly you knew and loved wanted to go, I swear. But the pull, the drugs, it was just too much.”

Anthony’s sharp nod acknowledged what she said.

She turned away from him, toward the door that led out to the back yard. Through the window set in the upper half she could see the wind blowing the snow that continued to fall into giant drifts. “But most of all, I’m sorry for leaving.” She crossed her arms now, not to protect herself from the cold of the frozen windowpane separating her from the winter night, but to protect her heart from the cold of Anthony’s judgment. But she couldn’t apologize and fail to look Anthony in the eyes. That would be no apology at all. He deserved better.

Shelly turned back to Anthony. He’d moved closer, and his body filled the space in front of her once again. Desire clamored through her body. No fear. No panic. Simply desire and want and need, mixed with the melancholy knowledge that Anthony could never be hers again. He’d find someone refined and well spoken, definitely not a recovering addict. Maybe a woman like that Gwen, the one that Aubrey wanted to fix him up with.

“I’m sorry.” The words came from deep inside her soul. They didn’t hurt to say so much as they gathered a weight that pulled through her body, taking with them a measure of the pain and guilt she carried from her past. Her apology took a tiny bit of that burden away.

Anthony was so close to her now. With the warmth of him, the scent of him surrounding her, the desire to be in his arms nearly overpowered her.

“I accept your apology.”

Shelly’s heart stuttered. Her breath hitched to a stop. He reached out, put his hands on her shoulders. Those big hands that had held her, cupped her ass, roamed her body, now clutched each of her shoulders.

“I’m sorry I didn’t try harder, that I didn’t come back, that I didn’t—”

She reached out one finger and pressed it to his full lips, silencing him. She shook her head no, just no. Her addiction, her behaviors, her fall—she had no one to blame but herself. Just like her recovery was her responsibility alone.

He took her hand in his and pressed his lips to her palm.

Heat traveled down her arm. She couldn’t breathe. The air was so thick with their lust, with years and years of pent-up desire, with the fear of never being together again, with the need of two people who had loved deeply, dammit, even when they disappointed each other, and still loved.

Anthony’s lips pressed onto the sensitive flesh of her wrist, a hot kiss that made her hips want to roll forward to meet his. Her entire body thrilled to his touch.

She stepped forward. His arm clasped her waist. His eyes searched her face, glancing over her cheeks, her neck, down to her chest. What was he looking for? What did he need to find in her, what did he want?

“Anthon—”

Before she could finish saying his name, enjoying the sweet sound on her lips, his lips pressed to hers.

Need filled their kiss. A greedy kiss that melded her into him, his entire muscled body against her. He parted her lips and thrust his tongue deep in her mouth. He pulled her closer. She gasped as he tugged with his teeth along her bottom lip. Memories of a love that had lingered and never died threatened to overwhelm her. Her breasts tightened and her head spun with the desire to touch his flesh, to press her lips to the hard skin that stretched taut across his chest and belly.

His cock pressed against her hip, showing her how badly he wanted her. His lips pulled away from hers, running hot and fierce across her jawline and down to her neck. She slid her fingers through his thick hair. She grasped the strands, holding tight, to prevent herself from shattering. All the broken bits of herself threatened to fly apart, unable to contain the pure pleasure that rushed through her.

She clutched his shirt, tugging the cloth up and out of his pants. Her hands danced across the flesh of his belly. A deep growl came from his throat. He pulled her closer and his lips grazed her skin along the vee of her sweater, one hand cupping her breast. He pulled his lips away from her chest and found her lips once more.

When Anthony finally broke their kiss, hunger darkened his face. He lifted her and carried her to the couch in the living room. The lights on the Christmas tree blinked on and off. A symphony of colors—red, green, blue, yellow—filled the entire room. He lowered her onto the couch and slowly slipped her sweater from her body.

Shelly couldn’t help but remember the number of times they’d made out on this very couch, the many nights they’d actually made love in this exact spot. His eyes devoured her nearly bare flesh. On his face she saw so much more than simple sexual desire. She’d seen lust, witnessed the heat and the need of that impulse more times than one person should. The fire between her and Anthony was more than physical.

In his touch, in his eyes, she felt need and desire and love. Perhaps it was just the memory of a love they’d shared, but still, love flowed between them. He bent forward and his lips pressed to her belly. Her hips tilted and a tiny moan came from her throat. Yes, God, please, she wanted him. She wanted him between her legs, she wanted him as she’d never wanted any man but him. He ran tender kisses up over her flesh, stopping at her breast. With his fingertips he reached up and opened the front clasp of her lace bra.

Anthony took the tight tender flesh of her nipple into the heat of his mouth. Suckling and pulling, rolling the tight bud between his lips. Igniting a cacophony of feelings, of emotion and pleasure. His tongue stroked the nipple, soft and hard, hot and wet. His teeth grazed Shelly’s flesh and her body twisted beneath him.

His hand traveled down, sliding her pants over her hips and knees. Then his fingers slipped beneath her panties, caressing her mound. He rolled her panties down over her hips. His eyes feasted on her naked flesh.

“You’re beautiful.” His voice contained that familiar deep growl, laced with possessiveness. As though she’d always been his. Five years apart dropped away in an instant, the distance between them vanishing as if it had never existed.