Not For Sale (4 page)

“What I have to do,” he said quietly, “is see you home.”

For the second time, she saw that her gorgeous, arrogant date was gorgeous and arrogant but that somewhere inside him, he was real.

There was a flurry of activity. Lucas took out his cell phone, arranged for his driver to meet him outside the restaurant. He waved off Rostov’s attempt to pay the bill and ordered another bottle of Cristal.

“You and Ilana stay and enjoy yourselves,” he said.

And then they were out of the restaurant, into the midnight streets. Lucas turned her toward him.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes. Thank you. I just—I’ve had a long day, and—”

His hands were warm and hard on her elbows. There was a look of concern on his face. They were standing so close that she could feel the heat coming off him, see that the emerald irises of his eyes were ringed with black.

Caroline shuddered.

“Damnit,” he said gruffly, and he took off his suit jacket and draped it around her shoulders.

Just as she feared, as she’d longed, the fabric held his warmth. His scent.

“No,” she said quickly, “really, I don’t—”

“Let me warm you,” he said, just as he’d said a while ago, but this time there was no questioning what she heard in his voice, what she saw in his eyes as she looked up at him.

The world seemed to stop.

“Hell,” he said roughly.

She could have asked why he’d said that. Why his voice sounded as if it had been run through gravel. But asking would have been foolish and she had done enough foolish things tonight, starting with accepting Dani’s proposal and ending with not walking out of the hotel lobby the second she’d laid eyes on Lucas Vieira.

“Dani,” he said, the single word dark with warning, and she made a little sound, took a step toward him and he knotted his hands in the lapels of the jacket and pulled her into the heat, the power of his body.

And did what he’d wanted to do the entire night.

Bent his head. Took her mouth. Kissed her gently and when she whimpered, rose on her toes and wound her arms around
his neck. When she opened her lips to his, his kiss deepened, burned hotter than a flame.

“Dani,” he said, against her mouth, and Caroline caught Lucas’s face between her palms and brought it to hers so the kiss could go on and on.

And on.

A
LONG
, black Mercedes pulled to the curb.

Lucas got in, held his hand out to Caroline. She took it and he drew her into the limo’s dark, leather-scented interior.

It was like stepping into their own world. No lights. No people.

“Take us home,” he told his driver, and then the privacy screen went up and they were alone. “Come here,” he said roughly, and without hesitation, she went into his arms.

The Mercedes moved swiftly through the dark city streets, a magical craft sailing the seas of a dream. A lover beyond imagining, his lips on hers, his body hard beneath hers as he drew her into his lap.

Wrong, Caroline thought, this was wrong…

“Open your mouth,” he whispered. “Let me taste you.”

A moan rose in her throat. Her lips parted against his as the limo sped toward Fifth Avenue.

“I’ve wanted this all night. You, in my arms. Kissing me.”

Yes. Oh, yes. She’d wanted it, too, but—

“Dani. God, you’re so beautiful.

“No. Lucas—”

“Do you want me to stop?” He drew back, just enough so he could look into her eyes.

Caroline stared at him. What she wanted was to tell him
that she was Caroline, that she was not a woman named Dani…

“If this isn’t what you want, too,” he said hoarsely, “tell me now.”

She shook her head. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t—”

He kissed her, and the world went away.

He lived in the sky.

That was how it seemed, with moonlight pouring in through the windows, as if she and he were surrounded by stars that burned in a private universe.

He kissed her in the private elevator that rose to his penthouse, kissed her as he swept her into his arms and carried her to his bedroom, kissed her as he set her on her feet.

He cupped her breast, moved his fingers over the silk-covered nipple that leaped to his touch. A cry rose in her throat; he captured it with his mouth.

She was on fire for him.

“Dani,” he said, and together, they fell back against the wall. His mouth ravaged hers; he pushed up her skirt, his hands big and urgent on her skin. She trembled, clasped his face with her hands, offered him her lips, her tongue, her hunger.

He said something in Spanish. Portuguese. She didn’t know, didn’t care, didn’t care about anything but the feel of his hands, his mouth.

Caroline reached for the buttons on his shirt. He tore aside her thong. His hands clasped her bottom; he lifted her and she gasped at the shock of his erection against her.

“Wrap your legs around me,” he said gruffly.

She did, and gasped again as he freed one hand, fumbled between them and then…

And then, God, then he was driving into her, hot and hard, silk over steel, stretching her, filling her and it was wonderful,
it was terrifying, it was nothing like the one time she’d been with a man, nothing like she’d ever imagined.

The world began to tilt.

“Lucas,” she sobbed. “Oh God, Lucas!”

It was too much, too much, too much.

Caroline screamed in ecstasy.

And felt herself fly with him into the molten heat of the stars.

Lucas had no idea how long they’d been standing like this, Dani still in his arms, her legs around his hips, him holding her up, both of them breathing hard while sweat sheened their skin.

Hours might have gone by. Or minutes. He’d lost the ability to think straight.

Hell, that was painfully apparent. A thinking man didn’t do what he’d just done. Made love to a woman with all the finesse of a bull moose in rut.

And without protection.

He couldn’t believe it.

The twin demons of a bachelor’s life. Disease. Pregnancy. Always out there, waiting for some damned fool. Had he been the fool tonight? Even at sixteen, his first time with a woman, he’d been smarter than this.

How could he have let passion override logic?

“—please.”

Dani was speaking to him. Whispering, was more like it. She’d buried her face in the crook of his neck, as if she didn’t want to look at him. Between that and the sound of that tremulous whisper, he was willing to bet she was upset.

Merda,
why wouldn’t she be?

“Dani,” he said softly, “look at me.”

She shook her head. Her hair, all that spun gold silk, flew around her face, brushed against his nose and mouth. Even
now, he shut his eyes, let the scent and soft feel of it tease his senses.

“Sweetheart. I know this wasn’t—”

“Please. Put me down.”

There was a faint note of panic in her words. He nodded, lowered her to her feet, gritting his teeth against the swift rush of desire he felt as her body brushed his.

“Dani—”

“You don’t understand.” She lifted her head; his throat constricted at what he saw in her eyes. “Listen to me, Lucas. What—what I just did. I don’t—I don’t ever—”

“I
do
understand.” He cupped her face, lowered his head until their eyes were level. “This was too quick. My fault. I’m sorry. I meant to do this right.” His voice roughened. “But, I wanted you so badly…”

“No.” She clasped his wrists. “That’s not it. I meant that I—that I—”

“I didn’t give you enough time.”

Caroline have a helpless little laugh. “Lucas. We aren’t talking about the same—”

“We are,” he said. “It’s my fault.”

They were talking about different things, but what did it matter? What was the sense in explaining now? And—and the truth was, after what she’d just done, having sex with a stranger, going wild in his arms…

All things considered, she was willing to go on pretending to be a woman who could do those things without recrimination. He’d never know she was really Caroline Hamilton, not Dani Sinclair. There was no way she and Lucas Vieira would ever see each other again. Their worlds had intersected by accident and accidents didn’t happen twice.

“You have the right to know that I’m healthy,” he said softly, taking a strand of her hair between his fingers.

She blinked. “What?”

“I’m healthy, sweetheart.” He dipped his head, brushed his lips over hers. “Still, I should have used a condom.”

The word made her blush, and wasn’t that pathetic?

“Are you—” He hesitated.

She felt her color deepen.

“Yes,” she said quickly, “I am. I’m perfectly healthy.” No lie there. When the last time you’d had sex was three years ago, you could be sure you didn’t have an STD.

Lucas shifted his weight, put his hands flat against the wall on either side of her.

“I didn’t mean that. I meant, are you on the pill?”

Stupid, she thought, so stupid! She was. She took it to regulate her period, but he didn’t have to know that.

“Yes,” she said, and wasn’t it ridiculous to blush even harder? She’d had sex with a stranger, sex so out of control she’d thought she might die from the incredible pleasure of it, and talking about condoms and birth control embarrassed her.

Pathetic.

“Good. But if anything should go wrong…”

“Nothing will,” she said quickly. One more second of this conversation and she was either going to burst into tears or hysterical laughter.

How could she have done this?

And what did she do now?

Lucas had her caged against the wall. One of her shoes was missing. Her thong was a bit of torn silk, caught around one ankle. What was the protocol? Did she search for the lost shoe? Kick off what remained of the thong? Did she say,
Goodbye, Mr. Vieira, and thank you for a pleasant evening?

A muffled sound caught in her throat. Laughter or sobs? Either would only add to her humiliation and she thought, without any logical reason, that the woman she was pretending
to be would probably know how to deal with all those questions.

“Dani?”

“Don’t—don’t call me that.” Caroline swallowed hard. “I mean—I mean, I’ve never liked that name.”

Lucas flashed a smile. “Actually, I don’t think it suits you.”

“No. I mean, yes. I mean…” Damn. Her overworked emotions made their own choice. Tears rose in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. “I have to leave,” she said, but when she tried to get by him, Lucas caught her shoulders and held her still.

“Sweetheart.” His mouth twisted. “Damnit, I’ve made you cry.”

“No.” She shook her head. “No, it isn’t your fault.”

The hell it wasn’t. She was crying. Silently, which somehow only made it worse. He put his hand under her chin, raised her face to his. Her mascara was running, her eyeliner, whatever women called that stuff, had smudged into black streaks. She was a mess.

A beautiful, heartbreaking mess, he thought, and he gathered her into his arms.

“I hurt you,” he said gruffly.

She shook her head again but he knew better.

“I did. I was too rough, too fast.”

“You weren’t.” Her voice was soft, as was the hand she lay against his cheek. “It’s me. It’s what I’ve done, coming up here with you, behaving like—like—”

“Hush.” Lucas gathered her against him, rocked her gently in his arms. It took a long time until he felt the rigidity in her start to ease but he went on holding her close. “What happened is nothing to regret. It was—” What? Unplanned. Unexpected. Being with a woman was the last thing he’d imagined he’d want tonight, but he had no regrets. If anything, instinct told
him what they’d just shared would be something he would not soon forget. “It was wonderful,” he said softly, tipping up her chin. “Incredible. And it’s my fault it wasn’t like that for you.”

“But it was. Wonderful, I mean.”

She was blushing. It was—The only word that worked was “charming,” especially when the blush was from a woman who’d given herself with nothing held back.

“I’m glad. Still…” He brushed his lips over hers. “Still, I’ll bet I can make it even better.”

He heard the little intake of her breath. “It’s late. And—”

“I want to undress you.”

His voice was rough. Just the sound of it made her knees go weak.

“Undress you. Kiss you. Touch you everywhere. Slowly this time. Very slowly.” He drew her to her toes, took her mouth in a kiss that sent her pulse soaring. “We can spend the rest of the night getting to know each other.”

She met his eyes, lifted a tentative hand to his face again. Which was stronger, the desire to run…or the desire to let what she knew, she
knew
she wanted, happen? He turned his head, captured her hand, kissed her palm, her wrist, her arm, and Caroline had her answer.

“Lucas,” she whispered, and she put her hand behind his head, rose to him and kissed him back.

Slowly, he began to undress her, doing this as he should have the first time, drawing out each caress, each whisper of skin against skin, turning her so her back was to him, nuzzling aside her hair, kissing the column of her spine as he undid her zipper.

The dress fell open. She started to catch it but he slipped his arms around her, cupped her breasts, felt the shudder go through her as he did.

He held her that way, his hands on her, until she moaned
his name and leaned back against him. Her bra had a front closure and he released it, let the bit of silk fall away, bit back a groan when her naked breasts tumbled into his hands.

He heard her breath catch. Felt a tremor go through her. He moved his thumbs over her nipples and she made the kind of little sound that left him wanting to turn her to him and bury himself inside her.

But not yet.

He slid one hand over her ribs. Her belly. Put his mouth to the nape of her neck and kissed the fragrant skin. He moved his hand lower. Lower still. She gasped his name, tried to turn but he wouldn’t let her, not now, not when his hand was between her thighs, when her heat filled his palm, when he was harder than a man could possibly be and survive.

Concentrate, he told himself fiercely, concentrate on Dani. On the woman in your arms.

Gently, he parted her with his fingers.

Stroked her.

Heard the hiss of her breath. Felt her try to clamp her thighs together to stop him.

Felt her stop fighting him, fighting herself, and, instead, move against his hand.

“No,” she said, “no, don’t. Lucas. Don’t. I’m going to—I’m going to—”

She gave a long, keening cry. The sound filled him with pleasure and he swung her toward him, swept her into his arms and brought her to his bed.

Moonlight from the big skylight overhead bathed her in ivory.

Her hair streamed over his pillow, burnished gold against cream. He had imagined her like this but the reality was more perfect than the mental image. She was lovely. All of her.

And she was his.

He made love to her slowly, as he’d promised, watching
her face as he did, loving the way her eyes widened, her lips parted as he caressed her. When his hand reached her breast, she caught it in hers.

“Let me touch you,” he said in a husky whisper, and she released his hand, held her breath, cried out as he feathered his thumb over a dusky-pink nipple, then lowered his head and drew one tightly furled tip into the heat of his mouth.

The taste of her was almost his undoing. Honey. Cream. Vanilla. He sucked her nipples, licked them until her moans told him she was crazy with wanting him.

As he was crazy with wanting her.

“Lucas.”

Her whisper was a plea.

He took her in his arms. Lifted her to him and kissed her with slow, thorough deliberation. He couldn’t get enough of her; as much as he wanted to sheathe himself within her silken heat, he wanted the kiss to go on and on. She trembled against him and he trembled, too, aching to possess her.

It was sweet torture.

She sighed his name again, this time with growing urgency. Her arms went around his neck. She lifted herself to him, pressed herself to him. He knew what she longed for; he longed for it, too, that hot, exciting release but he told himself he could wait, he could wait.

“Lucas,” she whispered, “Lucas, please.”

It was the “please” that almost finished him, something in the softness of how she said it, the innocence with which she said it, that nearly sent him over the edge.

He stood, stripped off his clothes, saw her eyes widen when she saw his erection. He was big; he knew that. Big, and proud of it because he was male, but there was a flash of fear in her eyes.