Penthouse Prince (6 page)

Chapter Ten

No girl dreams of Prince Charming getting hammered at a ball and carrying her off to a limo to try to make out. Even knowing that, she couldn’t quite push him away. He asked her to pretend, but she didn’t have to. He’d been seducing her since he swept her into a kiss in his office, constantly in her space, smelling like sin and tasting like—

Whiskey. He tasted like whiskey, and his brain probably fermented in the stuff. She couldn’t take advantage of the fact the man had gotten sloshed, seen his ex…

“Wait.”

He stopped, the pressure of her hand touching his chest enough to end the kiss. “You suck at pretend. I thought all kids learned this game?”

Choking out a laugh, she straightened his jacket, allowing herself a bit more leash than normal since he was blitzed and likely wouldn’t remember. “I know seeing Tasha probably—”

“Tasha?” He looked genuinely confused, all tired man with tender eyes and no mogul Camden in his expression. “What does Tasha have to do with this?”

She rolled her eyes. The woman was stunning. Big boobs, tiny waist…if Barbie had a skinny Italian twin, Tasha would be that plastic figure. “Look, let’s not lie about this. I’m not blind. She’s beautiful. I’m—”

Normal. Not part of your world. From the call center.

Any number of answers died while he continued to give her his full azure regard.

“Not Tasha,” she finished, realizing how lame the comparison was.

“I hadn’t noticed.”

She smacked him, which earned his lightning fast grin. “I think we both know what I meant.”

“Look.” He punctuated the word with a single kiss to the inside of her wrist. She tried, and failed, not to react. His seduction skills far outclassed her resistance ones, so the best she could do was to keep still. “I carried you out.”

“Yes, well, although I appreciate your drunken caveman—”

“Stop talking.” He licked slowly up her arm, then stopped at her elbow. “I’m telling you something important.” He provided a slow lingering kiss at the bend of her arm, and she shuddered out a breath.

Keep still. Don’t move.

“Okay.” Her voice came out breathy, or maybe her heart beat so hard she couldn’t hear right. Whichever.

“I know who you are, Jeanie.” His nibbling mouth made it to her shoulder and she shivered.

Still mostly not moving.

His breath tickled her ear and her eyes slid closed. The scent of him, all raw man and wealth, went to her head, and she wondered, for a moment, if one could get contact-drunk.

“So will you please just relax for a single damned minute so I can figure something out?” She jerked away from him and saw his smile right before he unleashed a full tempest of need by taking her mouth in a way that didn’t ask for permission.

He claimed her lips.
Claimed.

Aw, the hell with it. I’m curious. What harm can a minute or two in his arms do?

The wet heat of his mouth demanded she answer his hunger, and she didn’t have a problem coming up with a response. Somehow, her hand got lost in his hair, and then his fingers…

“Been wanting to do this.” His whisper warned her before he slipped her breast free of the top of the gown and tweaked her nipple between his fingertips. The man had clever fingers, she realized, and then his mouth joined in his exploration.

She arched into the heat of his lips, and the dim light of the limo illuminated the sight of his head bowed to her breasts, those intense eyes closed as he sucked and she shuddered, a fist of desire slamming into her with the force of a Mack truck.

“Are we still pretending?” she managed.

“Yes, but I’m going to need you over here.”

With that, he tugged her astride his lap, and her legs straddled his lean hips encased in dress slacks. “This might be going too far.” But the sight of her skirt hiked up and his shirt rumpled where she’d tugged at it stole her voice.

His eyes, normally tired or inscrutable, no longer looked even slightly sleepy, even though he gazed at her from half lidded eyes. “We’ll be home soon. Stolen moments, outside reality. We’re still fine.”

She couldn’t argue, not when his hands streaked up her thighs to capture her waist, skin against skin. “Okay, a few minutes more can’t—”

His lips found her again, tugged her into his embrace until she felt the hard ridge of him through his clothes. The sensation set off a firestorm inside her, and she gasped, but he swallowed the sound and mated their tongues.

She needed…something. Just a little more.

Unfamiliar tension coiled inside her, begged to be released from its tether. Unable to tell him, not having any words other than just telling him she’d never done anything like it before, she tried to think past the almost drugging passion he’d awakened.

It wasn’t like she could just say she was a virgin—he’d laugh, drunk or not. Eyes closed, as if she could find control by not seeing him while his hands teased at her suddenly aching mound, she whispered, “I can’t. I don’t know how.”

“You don’t—” His hands stilled for a moment, then his fingers dug into her side. “Shit. Seriously?”

She didn’t have an answer. The need sizzled away all coherent thought and replaced it with one drive. “Please,” she managed, not altogether sure what she’d asked of him.

His thumb stroked her. “Trust me, just for a moment more, Jeanie.”

She nodded, then sought his mouth and found it as he circled his thumb against her and made the coil of desire wind tighter rather than finding release. Then he moved faster, and his hips bumped into her as his finger thrummed at the wet, hot point of her need.

She arched her head away from him, then gasped as his mouth closed over her breast and drew it deep while he slipped a finger inside her. The touch seemed to fill a void, a hungry void, and she moved faster, driving her hips into his stroking hand. “That’s it, baby. Let it happen.”

A second finger joined the first, his thumb not slowing in its rhythm, and she cried out, the friction snapping her control like a rubber band stretched too far. Her thighs clenched, ripples of the wonderful feeling seeming to crest from the roots of her hair to the soles of her feet.

“Camden,” she whispered.

He petted her through it, and soothing sounds and soft kisses brought her back from the edgy precipice. A warm glow seemed to bathe her whole body in satisfaction.

His arms wove around her and held her close to him while she tried to remember how to breathe.

“The car isn’t moving,” she finally whispered into his neck.

“Nope, it’s not.” Stroking her back, he shifted himself and sprawled a bit.

The hard ridge of him still pressed into her, and she fought a wave of embarrassment. “So, you’re not going to remember this, right? Because you’re drunk.”

His snort echoed in the silence of the car. “Yeah, I wouldn’t bet on that.”

Not sure if she should pull away or what the proper etiquette was in this sort of situation, she chewed her lip. “Did you find out whatever it was you were trying to figure out?”

His laughter jiggled her on his chest, and she sat back, surprised when the motion caused a wave of new desire to waken. Trying to put everything back in her gown, he surprised her by brushing her hands away to help. “I found out more than I planned.” He didn’t look drunk, but she couldn’t read his expression.

“This was pretend, you said so. I vote we just put it behind us.”

He gently stroked her collarbone before he slid her off his lap and adjusted her skirt. “If that’s what you have to do, Jeanie, feel free.”

“But what about—?”

His fingertip touched her lip, and she met his gaze, still unreadable in the soft lighting of the limo. “Nothing in the world will make me give up this memory. Life is full of too much I don’t care for, things I have to do whether I want to or not. The sight of you coming apart in my lap, your face as you lost all control with your lips swollen from my kiss? Not forgetting that. Shall I carry you in the house, or drop the knight with a raging hard-on routine for tonight, do you think?”

The cant of his head, the smirk, these expressions were more familiar and she breathed out, trying to rearrange her worldview. “Well, we’re not doing this again, Camden. I’m not a prostitute.”

His laugh trailed after him as he got out of the car and headed for the doors. She scrambled to follow him, one hand holding her skirt, the other trying to smooth her hair. He still hadn’t answered her, so as the elevator doors closed, she rounded on him. “I said we aren’t doing this again. It’s not in my contract.”

Not looking at her, he leaned on the wall of the elevator. “I’m working hard on control right now, and I did have a few drinks too many. It’s not the best time to press your luck.”

She smacked his chest, and he shocked her by capturing her wrist. The dangerous look on his face, sleepy moments before, should have scared her. Not turned her on.

One second she stood staring him down, the next he’d pinned her to the wall, pressing into her, his face too close. “I’m not promising we won’t do that again.” He arched his hips against her, the press of him shivering everything she felt in the car back to life in a heartbeat. “I will promise to be careful what I start.”

She panted and the elevator dinged, warning they were at their floor and the doors would open in seconds. He released her slowly, the drag of his clothes against her body slow and sensual. “I—”

“Will
beg
me for more.”

He stalked out of the elevator and vanished into the apartment, leaving her quaking, a little lost…and, God help her, desperate for more.

Chapter Eleven

Usually, the darkness held some peace. His insomnia used to bother him, but over the years, he’d come to terms with his nature and almost looked forward to the quiet hours of serenity. Few people stateside emailed him at night, his staff slept, and no cameras flashed. He could read or walk and plan without interruption. His complex life broke down to simplicity—one driving force—when he found time to be alone.
Avenge his mother, destroy his father, and control the company.
The trifecta of goals.

Tides were shifting, his single-minded goal blurred because of the path of distraction one woman carved in his sanity.

No peace came with the glitter of city lights out his window that night. His bride-to-be haunted him, probably lost in dreams in her room, with no clue he ached for her. He imagined her laughing with the wife of one of the board members at the dinner earlier that night and found no escape from his memories.

The woman got under his skin, with her potent blend of innocence and blazing sensuality, savvy chameleon abilities and fierce loyalty, beauty and brains. So many contradictions all housed in a body he longed to touch again.

The episode in the limo shouldn’t have happened. If he’d said no to the whiskey, kept himself under control, he wouldn’t have seen her—spine bowed in pleasure, golden curls falling like a treasure chest overturned, breasts heaving as she panted for him—and could pretend she wasn’t more than an employee, hired to serve a purpose.

He might not be wondering what it would be like to take her on a bed, a table, bent over a couch, her deliciously responsive body shivering with passion as she cried out.

He could pretend he didn’t remember the feel of her, legs spread, hips pistoning into his hand as she shattered, leaving him in a thousand pieces he longed for her to assemble. He might even be able to forget her latest surprise.

A virgin.
Who, in this day and age, makes it to their late twenties with their purity intact?

His bride-to-be, that’s who.

It made sense, when he considered her explanation of her life, piecemeal as it might have been. She’d given up everything when her father died, for the kid, Kaycee. Sacrificing her own education, dreams—
what were her dreams?—
and life, she’d become a mother to her sibling. From his time with the child, he could see she’d done a good job as an impromptu parent. Kaycee had bloomed, a funny and smart kid with a contagious belly laugh, secure in her world and oblivious to the fact her sister lived a lie for that security.

It didn’t explain how she’d made it into college and kept her virginity. The woman oozed sexual grace, gowned earlier that evening in a low-backed dress which drew attention to the curve of her rounded hips, the delicacy of her spine, the elegance of her posture. How could the woman he pretended to adore be untouched?

No one in the room would believe it if she claimed it. But in her helpless plea, her unrestrained and desperate submission to his touch, she’d revealed more in those stolen moments than in all of the arguments or conversations they’d shared to date.

Knowing it should have made her less desirable—
Who wanted to try to train a virgin how to fuck? Who had time for that?
Awkward sex was for teenage years, for fumbling and groping when your hormones were untamed enough not to care about clacking teeth and breaking hymens.

But the knowledge didn’t stop him from having barbarian-variety thoughts about teaching her how to make love, of showing her the world of carnal pleasure one tasty nugget at a time and watching her come to terms with her very sexual nature.

A soft knock disturbed his reverie, and he turned to see her peeking in. “Hey,” she whispered.

Turning back to his study of the city, he wished she hadn’t come to him—not at night. He didn’t like to pretend when darkness should shroud him from public consumption. “You should get some sleep. It’s late.” He didn’t attempt to keep the harsh command out of his tone.

The soft whisper of fabric alerted him to her disregard of his advice and his body, attuned to her, vibrated like someone twanged a string deep inside him in response to the delicate scent of her shampoo.

“I can’t sleep. Neither can you, obviously. When do you sleep? When I get up in the morning, you’re already dressed and going. When I turn in at night, you’re still up. Do you ever sleep, rich kid?” Her voice, pitched low in deference to the sleeping household, seemed intimate somehow.

“I prefer to be alone at night. Your services are not required. The library is extensive, however, and you’re welcome to find a book of your choosing.”
Distance.
If he kept his distance, she might not realize he couldn’t stop thinking about her, wondering at the mysteries she refused to reveal.

“Well, sir high and mighty, you can play lord of the manor with any number of your employees, but it doesn’t work with me. You can’t shove your tongue down my throat all day long and hide behind your mask at home. It just doesn’t work like that.” He turned to see her, legs folded under her in a soft chair, green gaze turned to the view out the bay windows. “It’s pretty in here at night. I can see why you’d choose this for your lair.”

He chuckled and scrubbed his hands across his face. Exhaustion tugged at him, teasing him with the prospect of sleep he knew would elude him. “Lair? You make me sound like some evil villain from a comic book.”

She tilted her head. Her night robe parted just enough for him to glimpse, in the barely lit room, the peaches and cream of her flesh under silk. “Aren’t you? Plotting and scheming, trying to take over the world. But when do you rest, Camden?”

He didn’t have answers, and she’d invaded his space, so he returned the gesture, lifting her and settling her into his lap. Warm, sweet smelling, her tiny gasp curled his lips up in a smile. “No rest for the wicked, sweetheart. Surely you’ve heard that one.”

She didn’t resist him, never resisted him, instead relaxed into his arms as if she belonged there. “Are you wicked, Penthouse Prince?” Her head rested on his shoulder and snuggled him as if they’d been married for years, and she was simply seeking respite from bad dreams.

His body reacted to her—he always responded to her, regardless of the situation—but he smoothed her hair before rubbing slow circles on her back until she sighed. “Sometimes I think I am.”

Burrowing deeper into his embrace, her breathing slowed. He wondered if she could fall asleep with him, trust him that much, and suddenly wanted her to. Encouraging her to relax further, he sprawled out his legs and rested his head against hers so he could feel her breath feather his face.

“I don’t think you’re evil, prince charming with a credit card. I wish I knew what drove you, why you’re so willing to hide behind a pretend fiancée when you could easily do what your dad wants—fall in love, live happily ever after in your tower overlooking the empire.” Her chuckle was a whisper of sound, drowsy, suggesting sleep might overtake her soon.

“Maybe I like my pretend bride better than the real ones I’ve met?” He phrased the question as if it were a joke, but the more time he spent with her, the more he wondered. What would it be like to wake with her each morning? To know he could make love to her whenever he desired it, laugh with her, grow old with her? Would the fierce protective nature she extended to the child cover her husband, too? Would she stay vibrant, teasing, or become less fascinating as the years wore on?

Her breathing evened further, her body fully loose and boneless, and he hugged her closer. The peace he searched for out the window and couldn’t find seeped in from the scent of Jeanie, the warmth of Jeanie, and his jaw stretched and popped with a yawn.

Resting his eyes, he allowed himself a moment of pretend. She was his, would stay in his arms, and he could just hold her until the sun crept over the skyscrapers and lit the sky in reds and yellows.

For the first time in a very long time, Camden lost himself in the dream until the darkness swept over him…

And he slept.