Tempting the Billionaire (15 page)

“So,” she croaked, her throat Sahara dry. “What do we do?”

Shane raked a hand through his hair, shaking his head as if he didn’t know.

She saw only two options. Retreat to neutral corners, or… “We could try.”

He reached her in two steps, his eyes locked on hers like a pair of heat-seeking missiles. Crickitt lifted her hands, catching his face as he speared his fingers into her curls and dove into her mouth. His brief, rough kiss brimmed with promise and tasted like raw desire. He pulled back so suddenly, a tiny whimper escaped her throat.

He pulled her hands into his, searching her face. Doubt clouded over the passion in his eyes. “I can’t give you what you want, Crickitt.”

Afraid of losing this moment the way they’d lost so many others, she put a finger over his mouth and shook her head. She didn’t want to talk about the future, commitment, or promises. Those were things stretching into the beyond in a big gray blur. Once upon a time she wanted the fairy tale romance and, arrogantly, assumed she’d found it with Ronald. Now she saw that the path between now and forever had several forks, each veering off into unknown directions. The only way to find out where she’d end up was to commit to a course.

And right now, she wanted Shane. She needed him. No matter how short-lived. Regardless of the consequences.

Sliding her finger away from his lips, she whispered, “Then give me what you can.”

Shane took her mouth captive, his lips firm and urgent. Crickitt echoed his response, opening her mouth to his exploring tongue, pawing at his clothes with greedy hands. A chair scraped the floor as Shane backed her across the room, his mouth sealed with hers. Her hip collided with the edge of the kitchen table.

“Sorry,” he said against her lips.

“It’s okay,” she answered around his kisses.

He navigated her through the living room, either not willing or able to come apart for the seconds it would take to cross the room safely. The back of her knee hit the recliner and she lost her balance, clutching Shane’s collar and tugging him with her. He caught them both, bracing an arm on the chair and locking his other arm around her waist to keep her from falling.

He helped her to her feet, his breaths shaky, and pierced her with a desperate look. “I don’t think I can make it to the bedroom.”

“Then don’t,” she said.

His mouth hit hers hard as he bypassed the couch and tumbled them to the floor. She lost sight of him briefly when he yanked her shirt over her head and tossed it aside. Then he was staring down at her, dark hunger in his eyes.

“I was hoping you’d wear this one,” he said, cupping her black lace bra in both hands.

She gave him a curious smile before recalling the day she’d lost a button, the day she bent over him and massaged his assumedly aching head. “You faker,” she breathed.

Shane mumbled something, but since it was between her breasts, she opted to let it go.

He let her roll him onto his back where she stripped him of his shirt. She paid equal attention to his chest, exploring his tight abdomen and tapered waist. Straddling him, she fingered the cool metal button on his jeans. Purposefully slowing her movements, she flicked the stud from its denim enclosure and drew the zipper down, hearing only her shallow breaths and the raspy
snick-snick
of metal tines. She parted the material, her own personal peep show as she revealed inch by delicious inch the man beneath her. Dark hair peppered his belly button, his lower abdomen, his…

She drew in a sharp breath, mouth agape as she stared.

Shane August was not wearing underwear.

Mesmerized by her newfound discovery, she reached for him.

Shane made a strangled noise, moving her hand and rolling her onto her back.

“You’re killing me,” he said, gently pinning her wrists above her head.

Desire trickled molasses slow into her belly as a smile spread across her mouth. She’d weakened Shane’s knees, and that made her feel downright…powerful.

He must have noticed the bold look on her face because next, he cocked an eyebrow and released her hands. “I’ll be right back.” He lifted off of her, making quick work of shucking his jeans and relieving her of her skirt and her panties.

He returned a millisecond later. “I’m back,” he said, swallowing her laughter in a blistering kiss. He pulled away, his eyes roving over her like twin heat lamps, making her feel hot everywhere they touched. “I promise to take my time with you later, but, Crickitt…”

She clamped on to his arms, hauling him toward her, giving her permission. He came willingly, positioning himself atop her, kissing her slower, deeper, than before. When he pulled away, their gazes locked. Once she’d looked into his amber eyes and found distant warmth, but now she saw familiarity, friendship.

Love.

Her throat constricted, choking the words that threatened to rise. So she swept a shock of damp hair from his forehead, cradled his face in her hands, and silenced them with his mouth.

He sank into her, consuming her in the fire that had been burning between them since the moment they met. She clung to him as he moved inside her, crossing her ankles over the rough hair on his thighs. She grasped his rounded, muscular shoulders, savoring all of his male hardness, before sweeping down to mold her palms over his perfectly taut butt.

Shane worshipped her body as well, his talented fingers dancing over her skin, leaving sparks in their wake. And she let him do his worst, writhing beneath him while he lavished attention to her most sensitive spots.

“You’re gorgeous.” He brushed the tip of his nose over hers. “Absolutely gorgeous.”

She reached up and weakly clapped a hand over his mouth.

He shook it off. “And sexy.” He dodged her incoming hand this time. “Don’t muzzle me while you’re having the best sex of your life.”

She let her hand fall away. After all, he was right.

Everything
was right. The way their bodies lined up and fit together, how easily she’d met and matched his rhythm. He glided over her, winding her tighter and tighter
and tighter
until she all but burst, unfurling like a cresting wave, Shane’s name on her lips as she bucked against him.

Palms tensing around her hips, Shane followed her over, his sounds of completion primal, guttural. He collapsed in a heap, pressing Crickitt into the carpeted floor. She welcomed his weight, feathering his hair with her fingers as his breathing grew heavier.

She didn’t know how long they laid there, their bodies cooling, heartbeats slowing. But finally, Shane pressed a kiss to her neck.

Crickitt flattened her palms and pressed against his shoulders. Shane pushed himself up but didn’t move away, hovering over her, a curious smile on his face. “Going somewhere?”

She had to think about that. Her body had sort of moved of its own accord. Then it hit her. She was about to gather her clothes and get dressed. Ronald never liked lying skin to skin, and for the past decade, she’d dutifully complied.

Old habits die hard.

“I was…um, I thought you might need a minute.” She gestured to the protection Shane had the foresight to put on.

He assessed her for a moment before rolling to his side and tromping to the kitchen. Crickitt watched his bare backside flex in the subdued light coming from the range hood. He extended one arm to point a finger at her, the muscles in his shoulder bunching. “Don’t move,” he instructed.

After the briefest moment over the trash can he returned, catching her reaching for her shirt.

He snatched it away and tossed it behind the couch. “No,” he said, pulling her flush against him.

Her breasts brushed against the hair on his chest, and she decided skin to skin with Shane was nice. Very nice.

Shane loosened his grasp on her to run a hand down her rib cage, over the swell of her hip and back up again. “We should have done this a long time ago.” He lightened his touch, dragging the tips of his fingers down her side again. Gooseflesh popped up on her skin and she shivered. “Cold?”

“Yes. Someone wouldn’t let me have my shirt.”

He crushed her against him. “No shirt,” he mumbled into her throat, flicking his tongue out to taste her neck. She angled it toward him, giving him room to stray. Soon a surge of heat headed south.

Shane maneuvered himself between her thighs and braced himself on his arms when Crickitt pushed against his chest.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she said truthfully. “I just—don’t you need a minute before…?”

He lowered himself, his arousal brushing against her belly. Breathing in through flared nostrils, he brushed the curls away from her forehead with both hands. “No,” he murmured. “Do you?”

She darted her eyes to one side, unable to meet his heated gaze. Shane was a caliber of lover she wasn’t used to, and now they both knew it. The remark only fueled his confidence. He kissed her, his roaming hands precise and perfect.

After making love again, Shane cradled her against him. She wound her fingers into the hair at the back of his neck before lifting up on one elbow to taste his perfect lips. The taste went from sweet to fiery in the span of a few seconds.

He untangled their limbs, stood, and extended his hand. “Come on.” Helping her to her feet, he led her to her room and crawled under the comforter next to her.

And she didn’t give putting on a shirt a second thought.

C
rickitt didn’t want to open her eyes. If she did, it would mark the end of the most amazing night of her life. And she didn’t want it to end. Ignoring the sun streaming through the window over her bed, she squeezed her eyes shut and snuggled into the sheets, letting the memories of Shane’s hands on her skin wash over her.

Light seeped in, interrupting her daydream. She flung out an arm in search of a pillow when her hand encountered nothing but cool, empty sheets on the other side.

She sat up. And frowned. Even though she’d prepared herself to wake up alone, to not feel slighted if Shane wandered off sometime in the middle of the night, she couldn’t help feeling a pang of loss.

Then again, why should she feel slighted? It wasn’t as if he was
gone
gone. She could hear him clattering around in the kitchen on the other side of the wall. And he was…
humming
?

A satisfied smile curved her lips. She couldn’t blame him. She felt a little like humming herself. She tossed the blankets aside and climbed out of bed. She suspected spending the night with him would be nothing less than mind-blowing. Shane didn’t disappoint. Muscles she hadn’t used in a long while flinched as she tiptoed across the room, sore in all the right places.

You had sex with your boss.

“Yes, I did,” she murmured to herself. Her ridiculously hot, kind, funny, more-money-than-God
boss.
She refused to feel even an ounce of regret. She hadn’t made any promises or proclamations. She had no reason to feel upset just because she didn’t wake up next to him. Probably better to avoid that whole morning-breath thing anyway.

Crickitt hustled into the bathroom to shower. She scrunched her hair with a towel, leaving her curls to air-dry, and dressed in a pair of shorts and a tank top. She bypassed her shoes, padding into the kitchen with an extra zip in her step.

But when she encountered Shane’s broad back, she froze, her self-confidence falling away like autumn leaves. He stood at the counter buttering a stack of toast, the soft scratch of the knife bringing goose bumps to her skin. Just seeing him there, so real and solid, reminded her of every pulse-skittering thing she’d done with him last night.
Sans clothing.

Her arms ached to encircle his waist, and her fingers curled recalling knotting them into his thick, dark hair as he peppered her belly with kisses. She didn’t have any casual sex history to draw on, but she was pretty sure mornings after didn’t include cuddling. Cuddling seemed so…
personal
.

More personal than what you did last night?

No, but that wasn’t the point, was it? Last night was last night and this morning was…confusing.

“Good morning,” Shane greeted her. “I let you sleep.”

“Thanks.” She drew a curl behind her ear and reminded herself this didn’t have to be awkward. Even if all she could do was picture what was beneath his cargo shorts.

He brushed by without touching her, resting the plate of warm toast on the table next to an open jelly jar. “Help yourself.”

“Thanks.” Was his smile genuine or practiced? It irked her that she couldn’t tell. Shaking off the thought, she sat and reached for a slice of toast, nibbling on one corner.

Unanswered questions gnawed at her. Questions like, Would they talk about last night? Or pretend it never happened? Would he want to do it again? Three times last night suggested he wasn’t dissatisfied with her…didn’t it?

Insecure and edgy, Crickitt rose to pour herself a cup of coffee she didn’t need. At least it would keep her hands busy. “So, what’s the plan for today?” The question was supposed to sound bright and cheery, but it came out a little loud and desperate.

“Stop by Gusty’s, check on Angel and Richie’s progress. I want to make sure they don’t need anything more from me,” Shane answered as he took a seat at the kitchen table.

Crickitt stirred soy milk into her mug, wondering if Shane requested it with her in mind or if it was part of his usual delivered foodstuffs. The idea that he bought it for her made her smile.

Moved by a container of non-dairy milk, really?

“We’ll head back tonight, then?” She returned the container to the fridge and spotted a can of whipped cream in the door. Frowning at it, she closed the door without adding it to her coffee.

“Or sooner. There’s no reason to stay.”

No reason to stay.

The inoffensive comment shouldn’t have stung, but it did. Soon they’d be on their way back to Osborn, back to work, back to whatever they were before they were lovers. Crickitt felt her shoulders curl forward, her stomach knot. She didn’t want to go back. She wanted to stay here, cocooned within the walls of his cabin, where clothing was optional and Shane made bone-melting love to her.

A clap of thunder shook the house and she jumped, slopping coffee onto the countertop. The sky split open, sheets of heavy rain spilling from the rip in the clouds. She mopped at the puddle of coffee, alternating her attention from the lightning-silhouetted trees against the black daytime sky to the incandescent lights overhead dimming and then brightening.

“Don’t worry,” Shane said. “There’s a generator.”

A phone on the wall rang and he rose to get it. She listened as his tone went from casual to tight.

Cordless phone to his ear, he walked a few steps closer to Crickitt and stared down at her, his eyebrows pinching.

She recognized the voice on the phone as Thomas’s and made out two words that had her pressing a palm to her chest. “Flash flood.”

Crickitt turned back to the window, the darkened sky looking more ominous than before.

Shane hung up the phone as he crossed into the living room, dropped onto the sofa, and flicked on the television. A weather map dotted with angry red and orange blotches filled the screen.

“Where are we on that map?” She still held the cloth she’d used to wipe up her coffee as he studied the screen. She wrung it between her hands.

“The middle.” In the center of the map, a small circle of magenta highlighted the worst of the weather. Crickitt felt the blood drain from her cheeks as she sank onto the couch next to him.

Shane reached over and took one of her hands to reassure her, the gesture so genuine it made her heart squeeze. “Guess we’re staying.”

He stood, flicking off the television, and walked to the kitchen. She couldn’t read his body language. Was he disappointed?

Shane rinsed his mug in the sink and tipped it upside down in the dish drainer. “The road to the cabin is flooded,” he said in the same indistinguishable tone.

“Is Thomas okay?”

“He’s fine.” Shane leaned on the counter, facing her. “The guesthouse is well stocked and runs on the same generator as the cabin.”

“Oh,” she said vacantly, striding over to the front windows. Being stuck in a cabin with Shane should be akin to a lottery win. But he’d been distant this morning, hard to read. Doubt riddled her like buckshot. Hugging herself with her arms, she watched the rain beat the ground outside, unsure how to react to him.

Shane surprised her by coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist. “You okay?” he breathed into her ear, nearly buckling her knees. “Tell me you’re not regretting last night.”

She rested her head on his solid chest, eyes on their reflections in the pane. They looked good together, him bent around her, nuzzling her neck. She brought her hands over his at her waist, tempted to offer a half-truth.

“I don’t know how to act,” she confessed. “But no, I don’t regret it.”

Shane turned her in his arms until she was facing him. “What do you mean, you don’t know how to act?”

Not wanting to unload the pile of questions that had busily stacked themselves into one corner of her mind, she summarized. “I wasn’t sure what kind of…arrangement you had in mind.”

“Arrangement…I see.” He stared down at her, considering. “I guess we didn’t go into details before we”—he gestured between them—“you know.”

Crickitt blushed. She’d bet even the tips of her toes glowed pink.

“And you’d like to establish some ground rules?” he asked.

She resisted squirming and stared at her feet.

“I’ll take that as a yes. We could write it up if that would make you feel better. Like a contract? One we could both sign after agreeing on the particulars. Let’s start with frequency…”

Crickitt snapped her head up. Shane was grinning. She dropped her shoulders. “You’re teasing me.”

“Yes,” he said, “and frankly, I’m insulted you didn’t pick up on that sooner.”

She groaned, pressed her hands to her face. Stepping past him into the living room, she said, “I promised myself I’d be cool.” She dropped her hands, tucked them into her pockets. “Unaffected. Like you.”

Shane winced. “You think I’m unaffected?”

“Maybe that’s not the right word. But you probably know how to handle this.” She shrugged. “Since you’ve done it before.”

He moved to her, his face serious now. “I’ve never spent the night with you before.” His fingers wrapped around hers. “You
are
new to me, Crickitt.”

Tears of relief, or maybe joy, heated behind her eyes, and she blinked furiously, testing the weight of his hand in hers. Dangerous emotions, ones she refused to name and shouldn’t be having so soon for this man, tore at her chest. She repressed them.

She’d deal with them later.

“Since we’re rained in,” Shane said, “what would you like to do today?”

She knew what she wanted to do today. Mustering the courage to say it aloud proved impossible, so instead she said, “I—uh, what do you want?”

“I’m not sure if I’m lucky enough to get what I want,” he said with a self-effacing grin. He tipped her chin and kissed her as thunder rumbled long and low in the distance. His breath tickling her lips, he whispered, “Tell me, Crickitt. What do you want?”

Shane watched the emotions play across Crickitt’s face for several seconds. He held his casual smile and her hand in his, but inside, his mind raced to piece together the last twelve hours.

He wasn’t exaggerating when he said she was new to him. She was so far outside of what he knew how to handle he didn’t quite know how to behave. When he was with her, his professional barriers disintegrated into a blurry, hazy fog that left him exposed. Now,
that
was scary. And when he’d climbed out from under the covers it wasn’t to return to his own room. He’d been awake, but reluctant to leave, staying until just before the sun lit the sky.

He made himself a cup of coffee and sat on the front porch watching the clouds descend and a light drizzle blow in from the distant mountaintops. It wasn’t like he was a stranger to “the morning after.” Though, admittedly, he never stayed somewhere he couldn’t make a quick exit from before sunrise. With Crickitt, he’d made an exception. Where she was concerned, he’d made
lots
of exceptions. Around her he felt like a kite in the wind, helplessly tethered to her, following wherever she led.

The moment he laid eyes on her this morning, his three-part plan to act normal, focus on business, and keep his distance went the way of the dodo bird. Rather than go about his routine, which is what he
should
have done, he recited the numerable reasons why he shouldn’t ask her about last night. And then what had he done?

Tell me you don’t regret last night.

Could he be more insecure? And now, here he stood, unable to unsay the neediest words he’d ever spoken as he waited for her answer, his breath caught in his lungs. He cared about what she wanted. And, worse, he knew he’d give it to her, whatever it was.

Breakfast, a game of Scrabble, a foot rub…But no matter what happened between them, he wasn’t a man who could offer more than a little fun. Okay,
a lot
of fun.

This morning, she’d ducked into the shower without so much as poking her head out to say good morning. He told himself he should be relieved. Not so long ago, a past version of himself would have been relieved. Would have encouraged her in the general direction of “cool and unaffected.”

But he wasn’t relieved.

Ever since he spotted her rounded butt in those short shorts this morning, he’d been hit with a blast of longing like none he’d ever felt. And yes, part of it was physical. He wanted her again, wanted the promise her body held, the searing heat of her mouth on his. But he also wanted to make sure she knew that he, for one, was far from unaffected. Because she mattered, and not just in a general sense. She mattered
to him
. And last night, he’d watched her eyes soften as they’d bored into his, feeling the power of her emotions in the pit of his stomach. And he couldn’t have been more helpless than if she’d shot him with a stun gun.

The terrifying truth was he’d found solace in her. And found himself wishing he had more to offer.

Which was why he stood, palm dampening in hers, his throat constricting and cutting off his air supply. Had she seen the truth written across his face? Was she about to call him on it?

“Okay,” Crickitt said, yanking him out of his thoughts. “But only because you asked.”

Shane licked his suddenly parched lips, involuntarily squeezing her fingers as her blue, blue eyes rose to meet his.

“I’d like to do what we did last night,” she said, her voice low. “All of it. Right now.”

A laugh burst from Shane’s lips. “Oh, honey”—he blew out a breath of relief—“so would I.”

Crickitt sat up in Shane’s bed and ran a hand through her unruly curls. She grumbled about how rolling around on her damp hair made it a tangled mess, but Shane thought she looked ravishing. And since he’d ravished her, he supposed it was an accurate description.

They’d made love twice today already, stopping for sandwiches he insisted on eating in bed. The term “made love” made him twitchy, but he couldn’t label what happened between them as mere sex. It was more than that. An idea that should have him running screaming into the hills. Instead, he stayed at her side and forced himself to relax. Just because Crickitt was different didn’t mean they were slip-sliding into relationship territory.