Keeping Secrets Page 9

  His fingers closed around her upper arms. “That would be because I wanted you,” he growled.

  Shock reverberated through her at the statement. Both palms were flattened on his chest. She could feel the steady pound of his heart, feel the heat blasting off him. She could have pulled back, stepped free, because his hold was loose but, crazily, it was the last thing she wanted to do.

  Something had happened to her in the last hour or so; it was as if all the emotions she had suppressed had burst free and, like a Pandora’s box, she couldn’t put them back in. And if that wasn’t enough, being held close to Damon, having his complete, undivided attention even though they were arguing, filled her with an intoxicating elation.

  She glared at him. “Wanted, as in past tense.”

  In answer, he fitted her close enough against him that she could feel his clear arousal. “Does this feel like past tense?”

  She drew an impeded breath and tried to think, which was difficult when tingling heat was pouring through her and all she wanted to do was drown in the intense sensations. Damon bent his head and bit down gently on the sensitive lobe of one ear. A white-hot pang of heat lanced through her.

  His jaw brushed her cheek, sending a sensual shiver through her. With a breathless effort, she resisted the urge to sag against him, even though her bones had turned to water. “You can’t kiss me. You’re engaged.”

  Irritation registered in Damon’s gaze. “There’s no engagement. As a matter of fact, Caroline and I are finished.”

  “Because of Rosie?”

  “Rosie is part of it.”

  Damon lifted his head before she could ask if the rest of the reason was that he thought he now had some kind of responsibility toward them both. Afraid that she was pushing him away with her questioning, Zara’s fingers gripped the lapels of his jacket, keeping him close. Minutes ago, she had been furious with Damon and determined to keep him at a distance but, in the space of a few seconds, somehow everything had changed. She took a deep breath, then finally asked the question that had tormented her ever since she had found Damon on her porch. “So...Caroline’s not in your car?”

  Damon gave her a look of disbelief. “Why would she be in my car?”

  Relief and pleasure cascaded through Zara. He really wasn’t going to marry Caroline, after all. The media had made up the story, and didn’t Zara know how that went?

  In some distant corner of her mind she knew she should be reacting differently; she shouldn’t feel so happy and so relieved that Caroline was out of the picture.

  Damon’s expression was curiously intent. “What would you have done if Caroline had been in the car?”

  Emotion surged through Zara. A list of scenarios flashed through her mind, all of which involved getting Caroline out of the car.

  Damon grinned. “Thought so.” He dropped his hands to her hips and pulled her closer still but, frustratingly, he didn’t kiss her. Zara finally realized that he was waiting for her to make the next move.

  Her mouth dry, her heart pounding—the memory of the kiss they’d shared that morning emboldening her—she lifted up on her toes, looped her arms around his neck and kissed him A split second later his arms came around her, locking her tight against him, as if he had missed her, as if he wanted her just as badly as she wanted him, as if he truly needed her close.

  Ridiculous tears burned beneath her lids as she gave in to the simple pleasure of soaking up the heat and comfort of being back in Damon’s arms. A comfort that she had tried to forget but which, against the odds, she still desperately needed.

  He released his hold for the moment it took to shrug out of his jacket and toss it over the back of a chair. Another slow, drugging kiss, then she found herself slowly, irresistibly propelled backward into the narrow hall, which led to the bedrooms.

  Damon lifted his head. In the deep shadows of the hall the narrow band of light that flowed out from the sitting room glanced across mouthwatering cheekbones and the rock-solid line of his jaw, turning his gray gaze molten. “This room?”

  Dimly, Zara logged another opportunity to call a halt, to throw cold water on a passionate interlude she should already be regretting. Somehow, they had gone from zero to out-of-control passion in the space of minutes. The problem was, she had been so upset at the thought that Damon was engaged, then so relieved when he wasn’t, that her rules for dealing with him had dissolved. She had become someone she barely recognized—fiercely possessive and determined to reclaim him, even if only for one night.

  By pure luck Damon had chosen her room. She caught a glimpse of her bed with its rich red coverlet and pretty cushions, the deep blue drapes and the jewel-bright Medinian rug at the foot of her bed. The lush riot of color was very different from the restrained image she was so careful to project through the rest of the house, and in the way she dressed. She was suddenly unbearably conscious of her vulnerability in inviting Damon into a room that was an intimate and unashamed expression of herself.

  But for the first time in years she didn’t feel like apologizing for loving the flamboyant colors and rich fabrics of her childhood, for being Angel Atrides. With him, right now, she felt bold and passionate, and she knew exactly what she wanted.

  “Yes.”

  Lifting up on her toes, she kissed Damon on the mouth, tangled her fingers with his and drew him into the room. Three steps and she felt the soft quilt of her bed brush the backs of her legs. Another kiss and she had managed to undo most of the buttons on Damon’s shirt.

  With an impatient movement, Damon completed the job and shrugged out of the shirt, revealing tanned and sleekly powerful shoulders, a broad chest and washboard abs.

  She caught the quick gleam of his teeth. “Time this went.”

  His hands settled on her waist then swept upward, peeling her sweater and T-shirt up and over her head. The chill of the air was instantly replaced by the hot shock of skin-on-skin as he pulled her close.

  Feeling a little vulnerable, because it had been more than a year since they had made love, Zara buried her face in the curve of Damon’s throat and allowed herself to be swamped by his masculine heat and scent. It occurred to her that being held in Damon’s arms made her feel oddly like she had come home. She stiffened at the thought.

  “What’s wrong?”

  With relief, she decided that the familiar timbre of Damon’s voice provided the explanation for what she was really feeling. Not homecoming, but familiarity.

  “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

  This time the hungry pressure of the kiss made her head swim.

  Long seconds later, Damon cupped her breasts then bent and took one nipple into his mouth. Her breath came in as sensation coiled and burned for long aching moments then, with shocking abruptness, splintered.

  Damon said something short and flat. A split second later she found herself lifted and deposited onto the bed. The cool softness of the quilt beneath her overheated skin was subtly shocking, but not as much as the disorienting fact that Damon had barely touched her and she had climaxed.

  When he began peeling her leggings and panties down her legs, she automatically lifted her hips then felt hopelessly shy because her body wasn’t as toned and sleek as it had been before she’d had Rosie. The chill of the air made her shiver, which was a convenient excuse to wriggle under the coverlet, dragging it high as Damon stripped off his pants.

  When he straightened, she caught her breath at how beautiful he was with the murky half light turning his skin to bronze and making the trace of scars that criss-crossed his chest seem beautiful in a completely masculine way.

  Damon retrieved something from his pants pocket, a condom. She watched as he sheathed himself and the blunt awareness of what they were about to do hit home. Somehow, in the space of one day, they had gone from cool, businesslike distance to passionate lovemaking. The knowledge should have made her feel disoriented an
d angsty, instead, for the first time in a year, she felt oddly settled and, for want of a better word, happy.

  She wasn’t yet ready to examine exactly what it was she still felt for Damon. For now, all she wanted was to forget the heartache and loneliness of the past year and simply feel. For this one night it was enough that Damon was hers.

  Damon joined her in the bed, flipping the coverlet aside as he did so. Zara surreptitiously attempted to drag the sheet over her breasts, but he stymied her plan by pulling her close so that she was half-sprawled against his chest.

  Pleasure cascaded through her at the blazing heat of his body, the clean, faintly musky scent of his skin and the automatic, sensual way they fitted together, almost as if more than a year hadn’t passed since they had last made love.

  “Don’t cover yourself,” he said quietly. “You’re beautiful.”

  She cupped his jaw, enjoying the faintly abrasive feel of his five o’clock shadow. “It’s been a while.”

  He stopped in the process of trailing his fingers from the small of her back to the curve of her bottom. “No one else?”

  She tried to muster up some indignation, but with the slow, enticing stroke of his hands it was hard to concentrate. “Why would there be anyone else? I was pregnant, then having a baby. There was barely time to breathe.”

  An entirely masculine brand of satisfaction registered in his gaze. “My baby.”

  He rolled, taking her beneath him. The fiery, seductive heat of Damon’s weight pressing her down into the bed made it incredibly difficult to marshal her thoughts. And why would she want to think?

  As much as she might deny it, this was what she had missed so much and still craved. The plain fact was that she had never gotten over the attraction that had hit her the very first time she had walked into his office. It was the reason she had slept with Damon in the first place, the reason she had let him back into her life. It was probably also the reason why there had been no other man in her life.

  Zara went still inside as a thought she had resolutely suppressed over the last year once again surfaced.

  Could she be in love with Damon?

  She desperately dismissed the sudden tension that gripped her, because loving Damon was a worst-case scenario...unless he fell in love with her.

  Suddenly, intensely curious about how he felt, she cupped his face. “Would it have mattered if there was someone else?”

  “You were pregnant with my child.”

  The answer was flat and unequivocal, and sent a sharp thrill through her. Despite being a modern woman, she couldn’t help but adore that Damon was possessive of her, even if it was only because she had borne his child. And his response was proof that he felt something genuine, even if only sexual desire.

  Although, in her heart of hearts, she didn’t want just the desire, she thought fiercely.

  She was very much afraid that she was falling for Damon, despite all the reasons they should never be in the same room together, let alone in the same bed.

  But perhaps making love could create a bond that would hold. And maybe, just maybe, that bond would be strong enough to survive the revelation of her past.

  Dipping his head, Damon kissed her. Feeling suddenly acutely vulnerable, Zara gripped his shoulders, arching against the blunt pressure of penetration as he slowly, carefully entered her. When they were fully joined, Damon stopped, his darkened gaze locking with hers.

  “Are you sure this is all right? It’s not so long since the birth.”

  With the aching heat of him deep inside her, it was difficult to think. “It’s been four months.” And before that, nine months. In total it had been thirteen long months since they had last made love. She inhaled at the sensations that gripped her, some familiar, some even more intense than she remembered.

  “I’ll take it easy.”

  In answer, she pressed closer still. An agonizing second later, Damon began to move. The heated, stirring pleasure that, lately, had only been a part of her dreams, wound tight, pressing all the air from her lungs until it finally peaked, splintering into the night.

  Seven

  Damon stirred, awakened by the heavy drumming of rain on the roof and the first stirrings of arousal as Zara trailed her hand down his abdomen. The silky curtain of her hair brushed across his chest as she bent and kissed him slowly and deliberately on the mouth. Her hand slid lower, found him and gently squeezed.

  He held on to his control, just. “The last time this happened, I seem to remember we got pregnant.”

  She waved the foil packet of a condom at him.

  “Resourceful.”

  Long minutes later, Zara collapsed on his chest and he rolled, taking her with him so that they lay sprawled together. The rain had stopped and the wind had dropped, making the night seem almost unnaturally still and quiet.

  After long minutes, she readjusted her position, so that her head was snuggled into the curve of his shoulder and neck. One hand trailed over his jaw.

  “Do you know why we made love?” she murmured sleepily.

  Damon stiffened at the question. “Why?”

  Zara yawned. “Can’t resist you. It’s fate, kismet. Last thing either of us need.”

  There was a curious, vibrating silence following the slightly slurred pronouncement. But the tension, Damon realized after a few seconds, was his and his alone. Zara didn’t require an answer because she had fallen asleep.

  She couldn’t resist him.

  Unbidden, warmth and forbidden delight unfolded in Damon. That was a first, he thought ruefully. But then there had never been anything calculated or pragmatic about making love with Zara. It had always been spontaneous. This time they had actually made it to a bed.

  He didn’t know about either fate or kismet. He preferred to operate with cool, hard facts. If Zara couldn’t resist him, then that dovetailed nicely with his plans for the future...and the undeniable fact that he was having a whole lot of trouble resisting her too.

  * * *

  The next time Damon awoke it was to a small, unfamiliar sound.

  Rosie was awake.

  He noted the time on the digital clock on the bedside table: three thirty. If he didn’t miss his guess, because Rosie was so young, she needed feeding in the night. Carefully disentangling himself from Zara, he found his pants and quickly pulled them on. As he did so, he found himself automatically mulling over Zara’s declaration that she couldn’t resist him.

  Fierce satisfaction filled him at that fact, even though desire itself was uncomfortably akin to the kind of dangerous, unstable emotions he was careful to avoid. If they were going to continue—and now that he had gotten Zara back in his bed, he fully intended they would—he needed to find a way to control the relationship.

  Grimly, he noted that the hot, out-of-control sex could have been because he hadn’t made love in a year, ever since Zara had left his bed. That fact, in itself, was disturbing.

  He had dated a number of beautiful, interesting women. Caroline was a case in point. Any man with red blood cells in his veins would have wanted her, and yet he had not even been vaguely interested in taking her to bed.

  Because he had not been able to stop thinking about Zara.

  And there was his problem, the same kind of obsessive behavior that had dogged his father, his uncle Tyler and now Ben. The kind of behavior Damon had sworn off all of his adult life and which experience had taught him he could not afford.

  Not bothering with a shirt, he stepped out into the hall. It wasn’t difficult to find where Rosie slept, since there was only one other bedroom in the cottage.

  When he opened the door, it squeaked. Cursing beneath his breath, he checked on Zara, who still seemed to be sleeping deeply, before going to Rosie. The baby waved her arms at him so he picked her up and propped her on one bare shoulder, figuring that was the easiest and most stable way
to hold her if he was going to attempt to feed her.

  Grabbing a small shawl that was folded over the end of her cot, he draped that across her back in case she got cold, and made his way to the small kitchen. He closed the door, which also squeaked, before switching on the light. Absently, he noted that was two doors that needed oil on their hinges.

  He immediately saw that the baby bag sat on the bench. Although he figured that Zara probably had a bottle already prepared in the fridge since she must do regular night feeds.

  He opened the door and saw it straight off. Guessing it needed to be warmed, he ran the bottle under hot water for a minute or two. When it was done, he checked the temperature of the milk. He seemed to remember, after visiting friends who had a baby, that the milk needed to be lukewarm, so he tested it by shaking a little onto the back of his hand.

  “Seems good to go.”

  Rosie, who had half twisted around on his shoulder to check what he was doing, made a cooing sound, patted him on the jaw and smiled, flashing the clean edge of one pearly tooth.

  Damon was momentarily transfixed by the sight of his daughter’s first tooth, his chest swelling with a raw hit of emotion. If he had planned on being distant and disconnected from his daughter, that idea had just crashed and burned.

  Opening the kitchen door just enough to allow a sliver of light to flow into the sitting room, he sat in an armchair and attempted to resettle Rosie in the crook of his arm, all while juggling the bottle. But if he had thought Rosie would allow herself to be carefully repositioned while there was a full bottle of milk tantalizingly within reach, he was wrong. She wriggled and squirmed, her gaze zeroing in on the bottle. The instant it got close enough, strong small hands wrapped around the neck and almost wrenched the formula from his grasp.

  She drained the milk in sixty seconds flat, spat out the nipple, then with imperiousness attempted to fling the empty bottle away. Damon found himself grinning as he fielded the bottle, placed it on the coffee table and rose to his feet with his daughter in his arms. When he had noticed Rosie’s eyes the previous day, he had seen himself, but right now she was definitely her mother’s daughter.