Not For Sale (10 page)

“Perhaps we’re looking for logic where there is none,” he said softly. He took her hands in his, drew her to her feet. “All that matters is that I did come after you this time. And now, we are together.” He smiled as he drew her to him, hoping to
ease the darkness from her eyes. “You, and me, and a cat that is sitting in a corner, plotting how to get rid of me.”

Caroline laughed, as he’d hoped she would.

“He’ll come around, you’ll see. It won’t take more than a couple of days. By the time I leave here—”

“You’re not leaving.”

“Not tonight, no. I meant, when I find an apartment…”

Lucas sat down on the sofa and drew her into his lap. “Let’s not talk about that now,” he said softly.

No. She didn’t want to talk about it, either.

“All right.” She smiled. “Let’s talk about you.”

He looked startled. “Me?”

“I don’t know anything about you.” She smiled again. “Well, I know that you can read a menu written in hyperbole.”

Lucas laughed. “Harder to read than Russian, huh?”

“Definitely.” She lowered her lashes, batted them at him.
“Mais, monsieur, je peux lire un menu en français très bien.”

“Very nice.” He smiled, brushed his lips over hers. “I’m impressed.”

Caroline sighed. “Me, too. Not so much that I can speak and read French and Russian, that I ever had the chance to learn them at all.”

“Meaning?”

She gave a little shrug.

“Well, I grew up in a small town.”

Yes, he almost said, I know. He stopped himself just in time.

“It was the kind of place where your life was, I don’t know, I guess it was sort of planned for you.” She lay her head against his shoulder. “The banker’s son was going to go to college, come home and be a banker. The baker’s daughter was going to go to a two-year college, study nutrition and—”

“And, come home and be a baker.”

Caroline gave a soft laugh.

“Exactly.” She touched a finger to his jaw, rubbed it over the dark stubble. “There was a plant in town that made garden tractors. My mother worked there, on the assembly line.” Her smile tilted. “In high school, I signed up to take French. And my guidance counselor called me down to his office and said I’d be better off taking cosmetology or shop because what good would French do me after I graduated and my mother got me a job working beside her?”

Lucas nodded calmly while he envisioned going to Caroline’s hometown, finding the counselor and beating the crap out of him.

“But you had no intention of working in that factory,” he said.

“Not for a second. I wanted something—something—”

“Better?”

“Something more.”

He nodded. “So you told the counselor what he could do with his advice and signed up for French.”

She grinned. It was the kind of grin that gave him a glimpse of the kid she must have been: beautiful, defiant, determined.

“I was tactful but basically, I guess that’s just what I told him.” Her face grew serious. “One thing I learned, growing up, was that you have to take care of yourself in this world.”

They had that in common, he thought, and wished, for her sake, that they didn’t.

“And,” he said, keeping things light, “you turned out to be a genius at French.”

“I turned out to be a good student. I won a scholarship, came to New York—”

“But New York wasn’t quite what you’d expected.”

“It was more than I’d expected. Big. Wonderful. Exciting.”

“And expensive.”

Was that a subtle change in his tone?

“Well, yes. Very. Back home—”

“Back home, that scholarship money had seemed enormous but when you got to the city, you had to supplement it.”

“Of course.”

“And so you did,” he said, and now, there was no mistaking the change in his voice.

Did he know she waited tables? Did he think less of her for that?

“People do what they have to do,” she said quietly. “A man like you might not understand that, but—”

Lucas cursed, cupped one big hand behind her head and brought her mouth to his. At first, all she did was accept his kiss. Then her lips softened and parted; he tasted the sweetness of her and after he ended the kiss, he gathered her against his heart.

He was no one to sit in judgment. His childhood had been one of doing what he had to do to survive. Petty thefts. Food snatched from market stands. Wallets lifted from the pockets of fat tourists. Who knew what more he might have done, as the years went by?

She was right.

People did what they had to do to survive.

Besides, all that was in the past. He’d never let her return to her former life, not even after—after their time together had run its course. He couldn’t know when that day would come but it always did. And when that happened, he’d see that she was safe. An apartment. A job. He knew people everywhere who could surely offer solid employment to such a bright young woman.

He sensed it wouldn’t be easy to convince her to accept his help but he’d find a way to do it. She would see that his wanting to help her was a good thing.

For now, they would be together. That was all that was important.

“See?” he said lightly. “I’ve learned something about you, and you’ve learned something about me.”

“No,” she said, her eyes on his, “I haven’t.”

“Sure you have. You’ve learned that I’m a bear before I have my morning coffee.”

His tone was carefree but Caroline knew it was a cover-up. He didn’t want to talk about himself. She wanted to know more, to know him, but for now, just being with him was enough. So she smiled and gave him a quick kiss.

“In that case, let’s go make coffee.”

She rose to her feet. The silk sarong she’d improvised slipped, exposing her breasts. She grabbed for it but Lucas caught her wrists, drew them to her sides.

In a heartbeat, the mood of the moment changed.

“Coffee.
Sim.
But first, just a taste of you.”

He drew a rose-pink nipple into his mouth. Carolyn caught her breath.

“Do you like that?” he whispered.

“I love it. The feel of your mouth—”

With deft fingers, he undid the knot in the silk throw. It slipped to her feet, leaving her naked.

“Caroline.
Meu amor.
You are so beautiful. So beautiful…”

He stood and gathered her against him. She felt the swift hardening of his flesh.

That she could do this to him thrilled her.

That he would soon be inside her, moving inside her, thrilled her even more.

She put her hand between them. He made a rough sound in the back of his throat. Her fingers danced the length of his penis. She could feel his flesh pulse beneath the soft cotton sweats.

“Caroline.” His voice carried a warming. “If you keep doing that—”

She put her hands at his hips, slowly eased the sweatpants down. She watched his face, loved the darkening of his eyes, the narrowing of his mouth.

“Caroline,” he said hoarsely. “Do you have any idea what—”

Her hand closed around him. He groaned. He was silk and steel, incredible softness laid over all that raw masculine hardness.

She had never touched a man this way before, had never even imagined wanting to. But she wanted to know everything about her lover. If he wouldn’t talk about himself, she would find other ways to explore him.

Like this.

Caroline dropped to her knees. Held him in her hands. Licked his length. Touched the tip of her tongue to his swollen sex.

Lucas shuddered. His hands threaded into her hair. He rocked back on his heels, groaning, and then he reached for her, drew her to her feet, tumbled her back on the white silk sofa and plunged into her.

She came instantly.

So did he.

He thought, as he held her, that what she had just done for him, to him, was wonderful.

And then he thought,
How many times has she done it before?

His gut twisted.

He rose to his feet, plucked the silk throw from the carpet and covered her with it.

“Lucas?” she said, and sat up.

He smiled, and it was one of the most difficult things he’d ever done.

“Let me bring you a robe,” he said brightly. “Then we’ll have breakfast.”

He thought he sounded cheerful but when he came back with a robe, he saw that she had wrapped the discarded silk throw around herself. That, and the look on her face, told him he hadn’t pulled it off.

“Caroline. Sweetheart—”

“What is it? What’s the matter? Did I—did I do something—what I just did, was it—”

Her eyes glittered with unshed tears, her mouth trembled. How could he have thought, even for a second, that she had done this with other men? Cursing himself, he reached for her, took her in his arms and kissed her.

“What did I tell you,
querida?
A bear before coffee, sim?” He kissed her again, kept kissing her until her body softened against his and the doubt had left her eyes. “I’m going to make you the best breakfast you ever had. It’s the national dish of Brazil. Bacon and waffles, with maple syrup.”

The foolish joke worked. A smile curved her lips.

“Waffles are not the national dish of anywhere!”

“But they should be, because I make the best waffles in the world.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Really.”

“Really. And the best coffee.”

“If you’re going to make the coffee and the waffles, what’s left for me to do? ”

“You’ll have a very important job.”

“Which is?”

“You’re going to make my kitchen look beautiful.”

She laughed. “That certainly does sound important.”

“Very important,” he said solemnly. “And I’m sure you’re going to be very good at it.”

Just as he was going to be very good at forgetting what he
knew about her past. Or wondering about it. Hadn’t he learned that as a boy?

Who you were at the beginning of your life meant nothing.

It was who you ultimately became that mattered.

T
HEY
showered. Put on robes.

And had breakfast.

Breakfast took a long time.

It had to, when every mouthful was interspersed with soft, teasing kisses that tasted of maple syrup.

Lucas made the waffles and coffee. Caroline found a real job to do, after all. She made the bacon. She said his waffles were heavenly. He said he had never tasted bacon so delicious.

“Thank you, sir,” she said demurely. “That compliment almost justifies the time I’ve spent in greasy-spoon kitchens.” She smiled. “Notice, I said ‘almost.’”

“Greasy-spoon kitchens?” Lucas drank some coffee. “What kind are those?”

Caroline laughed.

“Not the kind you’d know, I’m sure.”

“You mean,” he said with wide-eyed innocence, “not one that would be found in that restaurant the night we met?”

It was the first reference either of them had made to the start of that evening, and he’d made it with as much grace as if they’d been on a real date, not a pretend one.

“No,” she said softly, “not like that place at all.”

“Ah.” He grinned. “I didn’t think so.”

Caroline ate a bit of waffle. A drop of syrup glittered in
the very center of her bottom lip. Lucas leaned toward her and licked it away, loving the way she caught her breath as he did, loving it enough to cover her mouth with his and turn the moment of contact into a real kiss.

“Maple syrup,” he said softly. “I wanted to make sure it didn’t drip.”

She smiled. “That’s very kind of you,” she said, just as softly. “Let me return the compliment.”

She cupped her hand around the back of his head, brought his face to hers again and kissed him, her mouth soft beneath his. He cupped her face, his fingers threading into her hair, and took the kiss deep. After endless seconds, she drew back.

Deus,
he loved it when she looked like this, cheeks rosy, mouth delicately swollen, eyes filled with him.

“The waffles will get cold,” she whispered.

Lucas was on the verge of saying he didn’t give a damn if they turned to ice. From the look on her face, he doubted if she did, either…

“Good morning, Mr. Vieira.”

Startled, Caroline jumped. Lucas bit back a curse. He’d forgotten his housekeeper would be coming in this morning.

He turned toward her and thought, with amusement, that Mrs. Kennelly would make an excellent poker player. Nothing showed in her placid face even though she’d never before found him at breakfast with a woman.

And then he thought,
Deus,
he was at breakfast. With a woman. Here, in his own kitchen.

It was a first.

Women sometimes spent the night, sure. And, early in the morning, they left. Oh, on Sundays he might take a woman who’d spent the night to brunch but this, sitting in his own kitchen, sharing a meal they’d prepared together…

Caroline was getting ready to bolt. He could feel it. Calmly, as if nothing unusual had happened, he reached for her hand.

“Good morning, Mrs. Kennelly. Caroline, this is Mrs. Kennelly. My housekeeper.”

He looked at Caroline. She was pink with embarrassment. That made him want to kiss her, which made no sense. Besides, that would only add to her embarrassment so he clasped her hand more tightly and wove his fingers through hers.

Mrs. Kennelly smiled politely. “How do you do, miss?”

He heard Caroline’s deep intake of breath, saw the proud lift of her chin.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Kennelly.”

“Miss Hamilton is going to be staying with us for a while.”

Caroline shot him a look.

“No,” she said in a low voice, “really, I’m—”

Lucas rose to his feet, his hand still holding hers, and drew her up beside him.

“We’ll get out of your way, Mrs. Kennelly,” he said pleasantly. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

Only if getting out of the way meant the floor would open and swallow her, Caroline thought frantically.

How did a woman deal with a scene like this?

Lucas was composed. So was his housekeeper. She was the only one who wanted to die, and wasn’t that ridiculous? She had spent the night in bed with him, doing things. Wonderful, exciting things.

And now what horrified her was his housekeeper finding her in his robe, in his kitchen?

But then, why would Lucas or Mrs. Kennelly be horrified? This scene had to be fairly commonplace for a man like him.

Trouble was, it was anything but for a woman like her. She
had never even spent the night with a man before, much less faced his housekeeper the next morning.

“Caroline?”

She blinked. Lucas smiled at her.

“Let’s let Mrs. Kennelly get started, sim?”

That “sim” was meaningful. Lucas rarely used Portuguese. He spoke it when he was angry. When he made love to her. And that “sim,” a word she figured meant “yes,” crept in every once in a while but only when he was determined to make a point and right now, the point was that he wanted her to behave like a grown-up. So she did. She let him draw her from the stool while she forced what she hoped was a smile.

“Of course. Just let me clean up before—”

“Nonsense, miss,” the housekeeper said briskly. “You go on. I’ll take care of this.”

Well, of course. If she didn’t know how to behave by being found all but naked in a man’s kitchen, she surely didn’t know how to behave around a housekeeper.

The best thing was to keep smiling, to keep holding Lucas’s hand or, rather, to let him hold hers, to follow him through the sunny penthouse, to the steps, up the steps, down the hall, to his bedroom.

And to remember, all too quickly, what she was doing here, that she didn’t belong here, that she’d made one mistake after another where Lucas Vieira was concerned.

Actually, his housekeeper’s appearance was a very good thing.

Lucas shut the door. Let go of her hand. Folded his arms and looked at her. What was he going to say? She couldn’t imagine. And it wouldn’t matter. She was going to speak first.

“Lucas.”

He raised an eyebrow. She hated when he did that. Actually, she loved it. It made him look dangerous and sexy, although
he looked dangerous and sexy enough without doing anything at all.

“Lucas,” she said again, “I—”

“My housekeeper is a better poker player than you are.”

“Excuse me?”

“She saw you and showed no reaction. You saw her and looked as if you wished the floor would open and swallow you.”

Did he read minds? Caroline mimicked his action, folded her arms and looked straight at him.

“I was—surprised.”

Lucas’s mouth twitched. “I’d never have known.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You might find this amusing. I don’t.”

“I find it—interesting.”

That tiny muscle flickered in his jaw. Whenever it did, she had an almost overwhelming desire to run up to him and press her lips to his skin.

Which was the last thing she should be thinking right now.

“To hell with interesting,” she said briskly. “I had it right the first time. You find this amusing.”

“Wrong,
querida.
A man who has never shared breakfast with a woman in his very own kitchen and who suddenly realizes it when his housekeeper discovers him doing so, does not find the situation amusing.”

Caroline blinked. “Never?”

“Never what?”

“Never both things. I mean—You’ve never had breakfast here with a—with a woman before?”

Lucas shrugged. “No.”

“But—”

“I am not a man who does such things.”

“But—”

“You already said that.”

“I know I did. I just don’t understand why you—”

“No.” His voice was suddenly low and rough. “I don’t understand it, either.” His arms fell to his sides. Slowly, he came toward her, his eyes hot. “I don’t understand any of it.”

Caroline’s heart began to race.

“What don’t you understand?” she whispered.

Lucas gathered her into his arms. She sighed as he drew her against him and when she did, he thought it was the most perfect sound he’d ever heard a woman make.

“You,” he said. “Me. This.”

He groaned, brought her to her toes and claimed her mouth with his.

What he’d offered was not an answer and yet it was the only answer he had, the only one he could give, the only one that made sense.

“Lucas,” she said unsteadily, “Lucas…”

Slowly, he opened the sash of her robe. His robe, he thought. His. The robe slid from her shoulders and he looked at her, the lovely face and body that were without artifice.

He told her she was beautiful. That she was perfect. He told it to her in Portuguese, told her, too, how much he wanted her.

He could see the pulse beating in the hollow of her throat.

“What about—what about Mrs. Kennelly?”

Despite everything—his desire, his passion, the almost painful hardening of his flesh—he laughed.

“We won’t tell her,” he said softly, and Caroline stared at him and then, to his delight, she giggled.

“Such a good idea,” she said.

And then her smile changed, her hazel eyes darkened and
she reached for him, lay her hand over him where his aroused flesh swelled and throbbed.

“Make love to me,” she whispered, and he lifted her in his arms. Carried her to his bed. Lay her down so that her hair was a halo of gold against the pillows and then he pulled off his sweatpants, kicked them aside, came down over her and made love to her with such care, such tenderness that when it was over, Caroline wept.

And Lucas—

He held her close, felt her heart beating against his, her breath on his throat, and he stroked her and kissed her and wondered what in hell was happening to him.

He had to go to work.

People, appointments, emails and phone calls and paperwork were waiting for him.

He told it to himself. He told it to Caroline.

“Of course,” she said.

“Of course,” he said solemnly. Then he reached past her for the bedside phone, called his P.A., told her he would not be in and that she could reach him on his cell if something important came up.

“Something vital,” he said, just to clarify things. He paused. “On second thought, don’t call me at all.”

He hung up, laughing at what he knew had to be the look on his P.A.’s face.

“What’s funny?” Caroline asked, and Lucas kissed her, kissed her again and blew bubbles against her belly button and she laughed and he looked up and suddenly knew that he had never been happier in his entire life.

The thought stilled his laughter.

“What?” Caroline said, but there was nothing he could say that would not be dangerous so he scooped her up. “Where are you taking me? Lucas. Lucas! Where…?”

She shrieked as he stepped into the shower stall with her in his arms, turned on all the sprays until they were cocooned in a warm, delicious waterfall, and her pretended protests faded as he kissed her, set her on her feet, kissed her breasts and slid his hand between her thighs.

“Lucas,” she whispered.

“What, sweetheart?” he said, against her mouth, but she had no answer, none she could afford to give him, because she was happy, so happy, and she knew happiness like this couldn’t last…

“Put your arms around me,” he said. And he stepped back against the wall, lifted her and she wrapped her legs around him and then there were no questions, no answers, none were needed because they were lost in each other’s arms.

Caroline fed Oliver. Changed the water in his bowl. Opened a Daintee Deelites. Scooped out his litter pan.

The cat purred and wove around her ankles.

“I’ll see you soon, baby,” she cooed as she picked him up and kissed his head while the cat and Lucas eyed each other in silent communication.

His driver took them to Caroline’s apartment.

Lucas wasn’t happy about it.

“I don’t like the thought of you being here,” he said, “even for a little while.”

Caroline didn’t answer. What would she say? Yesterday, she’d agreed she couldn’t go on living in this place. Today, she was calmer. She knew she had little choice. It had taken forever to find her apartment; affordable rents were tough enough in Manhattan but when “affordable” referred to the stipend she received as a teaching assistant and her earnings as a waitress—and she’d have to find another job, and quickly—when that was the meaning of “affordable,” the miserable rooms she already had were better than most others.

She’d thought about the problem on the way and she’d come up with a simple plan. She’d accept Lucas’s hospitality for a couple of days. Three, at the most. And she’d look for an apartment. If she didn’t find one—and she was willing to bet that she wouldn’t—she’d move back here.

She already knew better than to tell that to Lucas.

Instead, she offered a noncommittal “Mmm,” and obeyed his command to give him her keys and stand in back of him when he opened the door to her apartment.

“Command” was the only way to describe that macho arrogance.

That oh-so-sexy macho arrogance.

The door opened. Lucas stepped into the living room, then motioned her forward.

The room was as she’d left it. No, not quite. The super had installed a new window as well as a locking window gate. That, at least, made her feel better.

It didn’t do a thing for Lucas, who shut the door, strode to the window, clamped his hand around the top of the iron gate and shook it.

“Too little, too late,” he growled.

“It seems sturdy enough.”

“Maybe. But the locks on the door wouldn’t stop an amateur.”

Okay. This wasn’t going to be a fruitful discussion. Besides, there was no point to it. Lucas lived on a different planet. He could never understand her life, and she didn’t expect him to.

Instead of answering, she went into the tiny bedroom and opened the closet, began pulling things from hangers, the few garments she’d need for the next few apartment-hunting days.

Lucas cleared his throat.

“You know,” he said, “you could leave all that here and, ah, and start fresh.”

Caroline looked at him. “No,” she said, “I could not.”

He opened his mouth, then shut it. A good thing, too. Did he actually think she could afford to toss these things out and buy new ones? He was not just from another planet, he was from another galaxy.