One-Click Buy: November Harlequin Presents (50 page)

‘You have a grandmother?'

He flashed a look at her. ‘That surprises you?'

‘Yes. I mean no. I mean…' What did she mean—that it seemed incongruous for a man as hard as Maverick to have family, let alone a little old grandmother?

‘Besides,' he continued, a slight frown creasing his brow as he parked the car and pulled on the handbrake, ‘you knew about Nell—given you're the one who sends her flowers for her every birthday and Mother's Day.'

‘Oh, of course,
that
grandmother,' she stumbled, feeling her cheeks burn and wishing she were some place else entirely. ‘But you send them, I just order them.'

He was already climbing out, and thankfully oblivious to her gaffe. ‘I'll be as quick as I possibly can.'

But he wasn't out the door before a wiry old woman on a walking frame came through the front doors.

‘Jimmy!' she snapped out in a soft American drawl. ‘What took you so long?'

Maverick didn't flinch at his grandmother's use of his childhood name. He just leant down and kissed her sunken cheek. ‘Come on, Nell,' he said, taking her by one arm. ‘You should be inside now. It's getting late.'

‘It's only late if you're on nursing-home hours!' she grumbled, pulling her arm out of his hand. ‘I swear it's a conspiracy to get us to sleep twelve hours of the day.'

‘Okay,' he conceded, motioning to a park bench nearby. ‘Let's sit outside and you can tell me what's so important that you had to see me straight away.'

He waited while she negotiated the few short steps to the bench and got into position, lowering herself down slowly behind her frame, before he sat down alongside her.

‘So what's the problem, Gran?'

‘Christmas.'

She spat the word out like a bullet. He sighed. This was the emergency the staff had called him around to deal with? But still he sympathised. When Nell got something stuck in her head, there was no way to put her off the track.

‘Christmas is over six weeks away, Nell.'

‘I know that. But what are you doing about it?'

He hadn't given it a thought. They'd probably do the same as they'd done in previous years—he'd book a lunch somewhere, and if she was bright enough on the day they'd eat out together, or otherwise he'd spend a large chunk of the day just sitting with her at the home and taking her to enjoy an ice cream at the beach.

‘What would you like me to do about it?'

‘Well, you might do something about getting the whole family together for a change. If you don't do something soon, Frank and Sylvia are bound to be booked up again.'

He pressed his lips together and nodded stoically, burying his own feelings. There was no point telling her while she was in this state that her son and daughter-in-law had been permanently booked up for five years now. Instead he hooked an arm around her bony shoulders and gave her a gentle squeeze. ‘I'll see what I can do, okay?'

‘And who's the girl in the car?'

He groaned to himself. There was nothing wrong with his grandmother's eyesight, that was for sure.

‘It's just Morgan, my PA.'

‘Funny name for a girl.' She chewed on her bottom lip while she peered through wrinkle-rimmed eyes at the car. ‘So she's the one who sends me all those flowers, then?'

‘Those flowers are actually from me.'

‘Rubbish. I bet you never bought flowers in your life. I suppose I should thank her in that case.'

‘There's no need—'

She hauled herself up behind her Zimmer frame and regarded him sharply. ‘Why? You're not ashamed of your own flesh and blood, are you?'

‘No, of course not.'

‘Then what's stopping you?' she demanded, waving him away with a flick of her wizened wrist.

He was almost at the car when he met Tegan getting out, her dress waving softly in the breeze, the wave in her hair flicking like it was alive. He smiled apologetically. ‘She wants to meet you.'

‘I gathered that.'

‘Don't let her get to you,' he warned her softly. ‘She can be a bit sharp.'

‘Yoo-hoo,' called the old woman from behind them. ‘I'm waiting.'

Tegan smiled and let herself be led the short distance and introduced to his grandmother.

‘It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Maverick.'

‘Oh, my dear,' said the old woman, taking one of her hands in her own. Skin like crêpe paper betrayed her age, but there was a strength to the old woman's grip, and an inner heat that resonated through her. ‘You simply must call me Nell.' Then she frowned. ‘Though I must say you don't look much like a Morgan to me. Are you sure that's your name?'

‘Gran—' interrupted Maverick.

‘Much too pretty for a Morgan,' she continued, undaunted. ‘Yes,' she said, with a final jerk of Tegan's hands. ‘I think I shall call you Vanessa.'

Tegan laughed nervously while doing her best to avoid Maverick's eyes. ‘That's fine, Nell.'

‘Now,' she said, easing herself down onto the bench once more and pulling Tegan down alongside her in the process. ‘Did I ever tell you about the time I got lost in the mountains as a little girl and almost got eaten by a bear? No, I don't think I did.' She patted the younger woman on the hand while Maverick stood by and rolled his eyes. ‘Well, I was only a tiny tot at the time, four or five at the most…'

‘Your gran's a real character.'

They were heading towards the restaurant, having driven most of the way in companionable silence, Tegan content to enjoy the colours of the city lighting as evening passed into night, and to think about this new side to Maverick. He'd been different with Nell, softer and more caring than she'd ever have imagined him to be. The caring grandson—it was as far from ruthless businessman as you could probably get, and totally unexpected. Up until now she'd believed he only cared about his beloved Royalty Cove and in getting what he wanted. But he obviously loved his grandmother deeply. ‘I really like her.'

‘I got the impression the feeling was mutual.' He looked over at her with warm-chocolate eyes that made her melt into the upholstery.
Sizzle factor
, that was what he had. Even when they were ostensibly talking about his grandmother, he could still melt her bones with just one glance.

‘Thank you,' he said.

She blinked, confused. ‘For what?'

‘For handling her so well. She's not always easy to deal with. You seemed to cheer her up a lot.'

She smiled. ‘I really enjoyed hearing those stories about growing up on the ranch back in Montana.'

He grunted. ‘Then you obviously haven't heard them anywhere near enough.'

She laughed out loud. ‘So what was it that brought your family to Australia?'

‘Oh, the usual I guess. My father fell in love with a girl backpacking through the US. He followed her here to Queensland to convince her to go home with him, when he saw some real opportunities Down Under and gave up on convincing her and instead started convincing Nell to join them out here. They did well. Back in the eighties he was behind a lot of the development of the Gold Coast.'

‘Where are they now?'

‘Dead. Five years ago, in a light-plane crash. Nell has trouble remembering sometimes.'

Mentally she kicked herself. She should have seen that coming, given Nell's comment about a certain Frank and Sylvia not making it to Christmas. His parents, obviously. ‘I'm so sorry. I didn't realise. I know what it's like to lose a parent. But I can't imagine what it must be like to lose a child. That must be so hard for her.' Instinctively she reached out a hand to his arm and squeezed. ‘I guess it's probably something I'd rather forget too, if I were in her position. It's lucky she's got you.'

Was it? He'd never thought so. But right now he had more important things on his mind. He looked down at her hand, liking the way her long fingers and tapered nails looked on his arm, liking the way it felt, liking even more what it meant.

Tonight she seemed different. More receptive. Less defensive. And for once she wasn't running. She was touching him. Of her own free will. And the low explosion that had hit him in the gut and burst into flame when he'd seen her emerge tonight in that floaty number fired up again on all burners.

He pulled up at a red light, caught her hand in his and lifted it, pressing her palm against her mouth. He felt the shudder move through her. He caught her gasp and the sharp rise of her chest. And still she didn't pull away.

He gave her hand a final squeeze before setting it back in her lap as the lights turned green.

Tonight,' he said. ‘Tonight I think it's me who's the lucky one.'

S
HE
was intoxicated before she entered the restaurant, intoxicated before she had even one sip of the glass of fine champagne Phil Rogerson pressed into her hands, already giddy with one heated car ride with a man named Maverick.

A meal was ordered and consumed, and somehow she managed to eat enough to convince everyone she was fine before her plate disappeared. A band played softly in the background but the music made no sense in her head. Conversation went on around her, fast paced and celebratory, and at times she even participated—how, she didn't know. Because her mind was fully focused on only one man here tonight, her body one hundred per cent focused on what his loaded gaze was doing to her libido.

It was like someone had turned a switch inside her that said it was okay to feel these things, it was okay to feel this way.
It was okay to want him.

Then the meal was over and Phil Rogerson and others from his team had drifted away, back to families and their homes. When Maverick simply said, ‘Dance with me,' she knew in her heart it was the point of no return.

One last night, she thought, not wanting it to end just yet,
one last opportunity…

She took his hand and stood, and looked into dark eyes that were asking much, much more of her.

‘Yes,' she simply told him, and let him lead her to the dance floor. The music was soft and romantic and made for lovers, and it was no chore to pretend, no chore to melt into his warm embrace and feel herself become part of the music, part of him.

Her head rested against his shoulder, his solid heartbeat beating out a rhythm that beckoned to her, his arms surrounding her and holding her to him like a prize.

Yes
, she thought as her body moved with his in a sensual play of flesh against fabric against flesh, a delicious friction that curled deep down inside and pooled heavy and insistent between her thighs.

Yes
, her mind screamed when he dipped his head and breathed hot desire into her ear, and made all things possible.

One night would work. Just one night. It happened all the time, after all, especially when there was champagne involved. And Maverick would be satisfied—once would be enough to end this crazy pursuit, and he'd no doubt be happy to forget the whole sordid affair by then. Which would take the heat off Morgan when she returned to work.

It could work. She'd make it work.

The number had finished, but Maverick seemed as reluctant as she was to let go.

‘Would you like to keep dancing?' he whispered.

She prised her head from his chest then, and stared into his dark, aching eyes. ‘The dancing is nice,' she admitted, her heart banging loud in her chest. ‘But I'd rather make love with you.'

A moment. A slow blink. She saw the kick in his throat when he swallowed as her words registered, she felt the thud of his heart, and she felt the corresponding thump of her own when his glinting eyes transmitted their approval.

‘Let's go,' he croaked.

They were barely outside when he kissed her the first time, spinning her against the wall, pinning her there while his mouth spun magic upon hers.

I must be drunk, she thought, wanting to laugh with exhilaration, wanting to cry with madness, wanting to melt away into the darkness and have him now.

Somehow they made it to the car, and eventually, with a groan of desperation, he once again tore his mouth from hers long enough to get the car into motion.

She sat side-on, tracing her fingers down his shadowed jaw, for once able to indulge her wants and urges, eager to learn all she could about how this man felt under her hands.

He snared her fingers and dragged her hand to his mouth, planting a kiss on the palm of her hand that was so hot it threatened to melt her bones.

He looked across at her, a gaze so filled with barely controlled longing that it took her breath away. ‘Do you have any idea how much I want you right now?' he asked.

She didn't doubt it. One look at the tight planes of his face, the flare of his nostrils, was evidence enough of the control he was forced to exercise in waiting. But still she was tempted. She ran her hand up one leg, rounding his thigh and finding his long, hard length straining for release.

Breath hissed through his teeth.

‘I want you too,' she whispered, her voice husky, the reality of what they were about to do setting her body to preparedness, softening her tissues in anticipation.

He stilled her hand. ‘Two minutes,' he said through gritted teeth. ‘Just two minutes.'

He pulled off the highway and through a gated estate, finally crossing a bridge to a tiny island. He hit a button on a remote control and the gate slid away, revealing a verdant driveway leading to a low-line house set amongst the palms that looked like it was made of almost nothing but glass.

‘Welcome to my home,' he said, pulling up alongside, rounding the car to open her door. ‘For when I manage to get away from the office.'

‘Oh wow,' she said, taking in the moonlight glinting off the water. ‘An island paradise built for one.'

He curled an arm around her neck and reeled her in. ‘And, tonight, an island paradise built for two.'

She shuddered as he collected her in his arms and brought his mouth to hers. This time there was no need to limit the kiss; now there was no reason to end it. In an instant she was back on that steep ascent, being taken higher and yet higher, his chest crushing her breasts, one leg insinuated between her own, the sleek lines of his car holding her upright.

His hands rounded her, sculpting her like she was clay and he was the master craftsman, his hands setting her skin alight. His mouth laved at her throat, as impatiently he nuzzled aside her shoulder strap. One side of her bodice slipped away, then the other, and he took full advantage, peeling the fabric down, cupping her lace-covered breast with his hands before dispensing even with that.

Exposed in the balmy night air, she arched her back involuntarily, thrusting her breasts farther into his hands, grinding her hips against his hardness. She was a mess of pulsing nerve endings, a mess of need. And there was only one way to ease this interminable ache.

‘Maverick!' she cried, and he seemed to sense her distress.

‘I know,' he growled, scooping up handfuls of her skirt and tracing up her legs. His eyes sparked when he encountered the lace tops of her stockings.

‘Oh God, I was hoping you were wearing these,' he said, moving his hands to cup her behind. He pressed her to him momentarily, and she felt the full effect of his power against her belly. Then she gasped as he lifted her, sliding her fractionally onto the sleek hood of the car, before sliding one hand between her thighs and touching her there where her need was greatest.

She gave a strangled cry, and his last shred of control seemed to evaporate. He shrugged down her pants with one hand like the last act of a desperate man, exposing her to the kiss of the gentle breeze while he freed himself with the other hand.

She guided him to her, even as he battled to don protection, and she felt that jolt of first, come-in-spinner contact, and the tingling invitation of her muscles welcoming him home. She didn't have long to wait. He powered into her on one long thrust that took both their breaths away. They stayed locked that way together for what seemed like long seconds, savouring the feel of each other, before he slowly withdrew, a painful goodbye, then blessedly pressed himself home again in another long thrust, and then another.

She wrapped her legs around him and gave herself up to the sensations, lost herself in a rhythm powered by a far greater primal beat, lost herself in him.

The night air caressed them even as the fire burned between them, even as the flames burned brighter and more urgent.

Even as the blaze consumed her in one long, shuddering explosion.

She clung to him, weak and spent, her breathing jagged, suddenly feeling exposed and self-conscious in her half nakedness.

‘Maybe now,' he whispered between breaths as he drew the straps of her dress up to cover her breasts, ‘we might make it as far as the house.'

She chuckled, silently thanking him for defusing the moment, and felt him lift her chin. He looked down at her with a look so deep she shuddered to the core. ‘Do you have any idea what your smile does to me?'

Warmth rolled over her in a heated wave. Oh Lord, but he shouldn't say things like that to her. He shouldn't give her ideas. Tonight was about lust, about scratching an itch, and he shouldn't go putting thoughts in her head, thoughts of what could never be.

He pressed his lips to hers as he swung her into his arms and strode purposefully with her to the house, through rooms, until he set her down in the centre of an enormous bed. Full-length windows brought the garden and swaying palms indoors, their shifting fronds dancing in the dappled moonlight.

‘Now,' he said. ‘Where were we?' He shrugged off his jacket and undid his shirt, and Tegan was reminded of another time, another place, when he'd taken off his clothes for her—but that time she'd run from him and kept on running.

Fool
, she berated herself, regretting the days and nights she'd wasted in trying to avoid the inevitable.

This time she didn't run. Not even when he stepped out of his trousers and peeled away his underwear, and revealed the sculpted perfection of his body. Every last glorious inch of him.

This time she wasn't running anywhere. Already her body was preparing for their next encounter. She slipped off her shoes and, kneeling on the bed, slid down the zip on her dress. She let the straps fall from her shoulders, the weight of the skirt pulling it past her waist and down to pool around her knees, leaving her naked before him apart from her stockings.

His choked gasp of appreciation fed into her psyche, further fuelling her unaccustomed shamelessness. She leant down, and touched a hand to the lace top of one stocking.

‘Leave them,' he insisted, joining her on the bed and untangling her from the circle of her dress as he ran his hands up the shimmering length of her legs. ‘I've been dreaming about these all week.'

More words she didn't need to hear. Not when after tonight she'd be walking away. But she tossed the misgiving away, refusing to let it spoil the magic of this night, the magic of what he was doing to her nipples with his mouth and hands right now, and the magic feel of him pressing between her thighs once again.

After tonight there could be no more dreaming. But at least she had tonight. At least she would have memories.

‘Stay with me for the weekend.'

She rolled her head away. ‘I can't. I have plans.'

‘Cancel them,' he said gruffly. He'd never known a night like it. They'd made love and then shared a spa; he'd pleasured her with his mouth, and then she'd more than returned the favour, and still they'd fallen into each other's arms when they'd returned to bed. Now they'd just woken up to great sex. Why should it end now? The weekend was just a pup.

‘I can't.'

‘I'm sure you'll find a way,' he said, biting back on a much earthier retort. ‘I have much better plans in mind for the weekend.'

She just shook her head. ‘I'm sorry.'

He latched his mouth onto the nearest nipple and drew it in deep, taking a different form of attack. She'd proven how responsive she was to his touch last night. She trembled in response, but still managed to shrug him away. ‘Please don't do that. I really have to go.'

‘Why?'

‘I told you,' she said, gathering a sheet around her as she left the bed. ‘I have plans.'

‘Which don't include me.' It wasn't a question.

‘That's about the size of it, yes.'

He sat up, the good feeling he'd had all night sluicing away into a bowl of disgruntlement. ‘So what's so damn important you can't cancel it?'

She looked around for her underwear, then gave up and simply shrugged her dress over her head, dropping the sheet on the floor as she wriggled into the dress and zipped it up.

‘My sister's coming home from holidays. I have to pick her up from the airport.'

‘I'll take you,' he decided. ‘I'd like to meet her.'

‘No!'

Her reply was so vehement that it stopped him in his tracks. ‘You don't want me to meet your sister?'

‘There's no need, that's all.'

‘Then maybe we can hook up later.'

‘No.'

‘Tomorrow?'

‘I don't think so.' She pulled on her shoes, stuffing her stockings into her bag. The fact she couldn't be bothered to put them on when he was watching—pull that long length of glistening nylon up those legs after he'd had the pleasure of pulling them down—was the
last
straw.

He rounded the bed. ‘What's going on here?'