Mine Until Morning (28 page)

“Fuck me, Royce, fuck me now.” She begged and commanded. He rose, fished the condom packet from his pocket. With Isabel, he made sure always to be prepared. No condom, no ride, but with a condom, she’d do it anywhere. He relished the risks they’d taken as much as she did. His favorite had been the top deck of the ferry, his long coat wrapped around them both. The risk made it fucking amazing.

She made it amazing now, the silk of her skin, the musk of sex rising off her, her sounds, the stars laid out before them. Rolling on the condom, he plunged deep, burying himself all the way to her womb. She cried out, her body tensing around him, holding him, and for the longest moment, they were silent, still, one being with two heartbeats. Royce covered her with his body. He wished now he’d removed his clothes, but there would be time enough for that later. He would have her more than once tonight, in the morning, all weekend. He had yet to get enough of her before he had to return home. Reaching behind, she curled her fingers through his hair, pulled lightly. “Fuck me hard, Royce.”

They didn’t make love; they fucked. It was the only word she used. Yet deep 182

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in the core of him, he knew it was more, knew she felt it, too. So he made love to her, driving deep with long, slow strokes until his mind stopped thinking and there was just sensation; the rasp of his jeans against his thighs, the ache in his balls, the throb rising in his cock, and her pussy contracting around him. He exploded inside her. At the last moment, as her orgasm dragged him into oblivion, he exercised one last vestige of control to pull out, tear off the condom, and spray her ass with his come, erasing the taste and scent of the other man. Now she was his.

Minutes later, he was naked on the Persian carpet with her ass pressed to his groin, her body plastered along his. He’d ditched the clothing in favor of feeling her every inch against him. Ruminating about all the ways he could say what he wanted, he realized there were none that wouldn’t piss her off.

“That was a pleasant surprise,” she murmured, holding his hand to her breast.

Had she snuggled like this with her other partner, the lazy postcoital moments?

“I need more than this.” Oh yeah, that would piss her off.

“Sex doesn’t get better than this, Royce.”

His heart thumped against her shoulder blades. He knew that. “More time. More things besides sex. A stroll in Golden Gate Park. A cappuccino on Union Square. Shopping at Neiman Marcus. Dinner in Chinatown.” You all to myself, no sharing.

“You’re not here often enough for that. I don’t want to waste a minute of time we could be fucking.”

And that was a fucking excuse. She was avoiding. “We need to make some sort of commitment here.”

She stilled in his arms. As he’d known she would. “Don’t ruin what we already have, Royce.”

“I’m ready for more.”

“I’m not.”

Fuck. He wasn’t ready for an ultimatum, either. He’d already lost thirty years, half a goddamn lifetime. He couldn’t see the rest ahead without her.

“Let’s go to bed,” she said.

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask how many men had slept in her bed. Yet just as he sensed he was the only one with a key to her flat, he believed he 183

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was the only one she allowed into her bed. For now he would take what he could get while he plotted how to breach her defenses. “All right.”

She spoke before she moved. “I haven’t been to the new Academy of Sciences in Golden Gate Park. Maybe you could take me sometime.”

His breath left him too quickly, yet he closed his eyes to savor the small gift. There was a flicker of hope.

LYING ON HIS BACK, HE SNORED LIGHTLY. WHEN HE WAS GONE, SHE

missed the sound. She missed his scent on the sheets. Sometimes after he left, she didn’t let Neala change the linens right away. It was pathetic, but she liked to fall asleep smelling him.

She loved it when he surprised her with a visit. The sex was fantastic, and yes, she realized it was made better by the emotion between them. But her belly was also in knots of tension most of the time, too. Tonight, Royce’s timing had sucked.

The prince had called a couple of weeks ago. His son had reached his majority, and it was time for his initiation. She’d long ago versed herself on the customs of the prince’s small fiefdom. She didn’t quite know why they were all princes and never kings even though they ruled, but that was the way it worked. The sons were virgins until eighteen; then they were initiated by a courtesan, a woman versed in the sexual arts. A courtesan in general, not necessarily one of Isabel’s.

Her personal client list had dwindled over the last six months, but the prince was special. It never occurred to her to turn him down, though honestly she couldn’t say she’d been dying to fulfill his request. Royce’s return had changed things for her. She, however, was the most familiar with all the prince’s customs, and he would accept no one else for his son’s coming-of-age. There were rituals to be performed; everything had to be just so. The prince was there to make sure. A witness was required, an important part of the ceremony. Yet she had to laugh. He’d wanted the ceremony “Americanized.” Something typically American to start off the festivities. Like baseball and apple pie. Considering the time of year, a Halloween costume ball seemed like a perfect kickoff. Dressed in their ceremonial robes, the prince and his son fit right in. Isabel curled against Royce’s back, steeping herself in the feel of him. She tongued the nape of his neck, licking away the salt of his skin. She savored these 184

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moments where she stored his scent, his taste, his feel for the days and weeks when he was gone.

Tonight, she’d done her job to perfection. Both princes were pleased beyond their wildest imaginings.

In their fiefdom, it was considered bad form for a man to enter the marriage bed without first learning how to properly satisfy his wife. In addition to taking his virginity, her job had been to teach the young prince how to pleasure a woman. While it had been physically satisfying, it was nothing compared to the feel of Royce’s cock inside her, his tongue on her, his fingers stroking her. Yes, Royce had certainly brought changes to her life. She no longer relished a new date or looked forward to a regular. None of them compared with what she felt when she was with Royce. The emotions added so much to the physical act. She nuzzled Royce’s hair. When he was young, his hair had been thick and dark, the texture of silk. Shot with gray, it was coarser now. His body was thicker, his muscles honed; his cock stayed harder longer. He was like fine wine, better with age.

She didn’t think about all the years they’d missed, the things he’d had with another woman, like children. She ached thinking of him with sweet little darkhaired girls. She had only that one regret, but motherhood was never meant to be for her. Except for that one hole in her life, she loved who she was and what she was.

Even as she’d been dreading the day Royce finally asked for more. He wasn’t going to let her hide him away for much longer. It was actually rather amusing—

or karma—considering how he’d hidden their relationship from his family and the entire town of Prosperity when they were teens. One day soon, though, there would be a reckoning. She’d felt his increasing withdrawal when she refused to commit or even talk about the future.

There was a possibility he might be able to forgive her for the things she’d kept from him all those years ago. She might be able to make him understand why she’d done what she had, why she’d disappeared. But he wasn’t going to forgive the secrets she was keeping from him now. 185

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2

THE PHONE RANG, AND ISABEL IGNORED IT, STARING AT THE DOOR

through which Walker Randall had just exited. Funny how things popped up at just the right time. Or the wrong time, depending on the perspective. It was too much to be mere coincidence. As if there were some grand design. Walker had found his special lady, and Isabel had Royce.

We’re not people for deep relationships.

She’d always liked Walker. He was good to women, truly enjoyed them, admired them. She was sure he had depth in there somewhere, but for the most part he skated through life.

In truth, she was the same. Until Royce returned, she didn’t have meaningful relationships with men. She had women friends, close ones. But really, did she go deep with them? For the most part, she listened, acted the sounding board, dispensed advice. She rarely asked for any, revealed very little. No one knew about Prosperity. Or Royce.

Then again, until Royce came back, she hadn’t needed advice. Not for years. Not since she’d settled into Courtesans, found she loved it, found herself. Whatever you decide now is what you’ll be stuck with. Whether it’s the lie or it’s the truth.

That was what she’d told Walker. She knew from experience. She was stuck with her lie. Even if she wanted a real relationship—God, did she even know what that was?—the lie was all-encompassing. To maintain it, she had to give up Courtesans. Or tell Royce everything. Walker could probably fake it and be fine. For her, there was no way to avoid being outed. Eventually. She should listen to her own advice. This wasn’t like her. She’d become the frightened seventeen-year-old terrified of discovery. If anyone had found out . . . Of course, thirty years of experience had taught her that discovery was exactly what she’d needed back then. With discovery, her life would have been so different. But would it have been better? It was a rhetorical question that had no bearing. There was only now. She hadn’t exactly lied to Royce. How can you be lying when you reveal absolutely nothing? She’d kept his questions at bay, frozen him out, afraid she’d actually have to tell a lie. Once she did, well, hell, where would the lying stop?

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“It’s going to end badly,” she whispered aloud. The words seemed to fill the office, bouncing off the walls, until she wanted to cover her ears. Whether she told him the truth, lied, or continued saying nothing at all, they were living on borrowed time. Just as she had been thirty years ago. This was not like her. Leaving him the first time had almost killed her, but she wasn’t seventeen anymore. She was confident, strong, sure of herself. If she lost him again, well, hell, she’d lived through far worse. She was a survivor. She would survive this.

But oh God, how she’d miss him.

HE’D COME IN ON FRIDAY NIGHT INSTEAD OF MONDAY AS HE NORMALLY

would. So he could see her. As it was, the San Francisco office was taking 25

percent of his time versus the normal 10 to 15 percent he usually dedicated to a start-up. Most men would call him pussy whipped. He’d spent the weekend loving her. She’d spent it fucking him.

Something had to give.

Monday afternoon, Royce took the bull by the horns and made a dinner reservation at Chez Louis, a popular restaurant two blocks from the office. When he’d called Isabel, he got her voice mail and left her the time and the place. He was not going to fucking hide in out-of-the-way places anymore.

“Would you care for a cocktail while you wait, sir?” The waiter was tall and thin with a long nose he looked down at Royce.

“Campari and soda and a champagne cocktail for the lady. She’ll be here momentarily.”

The man bustled away. Being a little before six, many of the tables were empty, the busboy wandering through to light the candles in the center of the white linen. Boasting fine continental cuisine, the ambience was elegant and dimly lit, the cloth napkins gold, the crystal glassware sparkling. Royce had been led to a booth. While intimate with high seat backs, it was not hidden in a back corner.

She was five minutes late. When he saw her, something hummed to life just below his skin. In heels, she was a couple of inches taller than the maitre d’

guiding her. Classy yet sexy, she’d covered her red silk tank with a lacy seethrough blouse over a midcalf pencil-thin skirt that forced a seductive wiggle into her walk. Heads turned. She outshone women ten years younger. His pulse 187

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thrummed along his veins, his physical responses to her immediate and overpowering.