An Heir to Bind Them. Dani Collins
life has been derailed and sex would take your mind off things. Believe me, I sympathize.”
She cocked her head, intrigued by these glimpses into the man behind the aloof mask. “Is that why you’re asking me to stay?”
“That obvious, am I?”
“You’re making me worry for my friends. Is there a problem with Makricosta’s?” she probed.
“No,” he assured promptly, then sighed and scratched at his hair like he could erase whatever was going on inside his skull. “Mine is a personal derailment. A family thing, not an illness like yours. I’ve been angry with someone for a very long time and learned today that I have no reason to be. I’m running out of people to hate and blame. I don’t know what to do about that.”
Kiss me, she thought. She couldn’t believe he was opening up to her like this and way in the back of her mind, she suspected he would regret it, but right now it softened her into wanting to heal him. Madness. She was more broken than he was.
“You told me not to try fixing you,” she reminded gently. “It’s good advice. I honestly don’t know if I can be what you’re looking for tonight.” She wanted to be, but the thought of that kind of intimacy opened such a gaping vulnerability in her, she could hardly breathe. “I keep telling myself to leave.” She gestured toward the door.
“But you’re still here.”
She lifted a shoulder. “It sends the wrong message, I know.”
Their gazes tangled and all she could think about was the heart-racing kiss they’d just shared. He claimed he was the opposite of a gentleman, but she sensed that despite his rock-hard physical power and authoritative command, he was capable of gentleness.
“Give up on me at any point. It won’t bother me a bit,” he coaxed with surface nonchalance, but she sensed a tighter intensity beneath. Because he wanted her that badly? Or the mental escape?
“Really?” She folded her arms, highly skeptical.
“It’s a lady’s prerogative to change her mind,” he said with a fatalistic shrug, then grinned with surprising wickedness. “But I’ll do my best to keep it interesting.”
Her equilibrium rolled and dipped again, making her unsteady on her feet.
“I can’t believe I’m having this conversation,” she said, shaking her head at her own waffling forwardness and his sexual arrogance. “With you.”
“I’ve trained myself not to fantasize about women wearing that uniform. It’s pretty surreal for me, too.”
She chuckled, then sobered as she met his avid look. He was holding himself under tight control and she suspected she’d always been aware of his ruthless self-discipline, that it was one of his qualities she was most attracted to.
“I really can’t decide, Theo.”
His expression eased a little. “You don’t have to.” He snagged her hand and led her to the sofa, his manner laconic. “We’ll take it one kiss at a time. See how it goes.”
“You really want to take your mind off things.”
“I really do,” he admitted, dropping onto the sofa and bringing her down beside him. “Will you take your hair down for me?”
After a tiny hesitation, she did, feeling incredibly vulnerable, like she was removing her clothing. Her severe appearance was a shield. Freeing her hair invited him to stroke his fingers through it. He fanned it out from her ear, creating tickling sensations in her scalp as he marveled at the length.
“It’s so silky,” he murmured.
No product or bleach to make it brittle, she almost said, then decided this would go better if she didn’t compare herself to other women whose hair he had petted.
His patience surprised her. She didn’t know why, seeing as he was the most unflappable man she’d ever met, but his contentment to take his time combing her hair with his fingers when he seemed so intent on getting physical almost made her worry he was changing his mind. Just when she grew restless, however, he flicked the tie at her throat.
“Can we take this off?” He tugged to loosen the bow.
“Are you going to tie me up with it?” she asked, trying to sound light, but filled with trepidation.
“Do you want me to?” His gaze skimmed over her as though he was reassessing all his preconceptions about her.
“No.” Firm. Prudish even.
His lips twitched, but when his gaze came up from watching the scarf trail down her lapel, his lids were heavy and his voice laconic. “Good, because I want to feel your hands on me.”
The scarf floated away and he moved in, settling a lazy, drawn-out kiss on her mouth that was reassuringly tender and sweet.
And, after a while, a tiny bit frustrating. She wanted more than this slow pace. She wanted the hand climbing her waist to quit stopping at the underside of her breast. Touch me, she willed, breasts feeling swollen and achy. She wanted the space where they leaned into each other to close so she could press herself to his wide chest. He’d come out of the private lap pool here once, when she’d arrived with a file. Even though he’d shrugged on a shirt immediately, his washboard abs had been full-on. He was gorgeous and she wanted to see his naked chest again.
She plucked at the buttons on his shirt, not quite nervy enough to tug them open.
He broke away to look down at where her indecisive fingers lifted away from his breastbone. Without a word, he one-handedly yanked, disregarding the exceptional quality by tearing its holes, pulling it free of his waistband at the same time so it hung loose on his shoulders.
Gasping at his near savagery, she touched her fingertips to her sensitized lips.
He caught her hand and bit softly against the plump pad at the base of her thumb. “I’m dying for you to touch me. Don’t worry, I won’t rip your uniform. We’d have to account for the loss.”
His husky comment made her laugh. Half of her dry chuckle was mild terror because he was taking her hand to his chest. She caught her breath as her fingerprints made contact with the heat of his skin, taut over his hard muscles.
He shivered under her touch.
“You’re so hot,” she murmured.
“Thank you. I’ve always thought the same about you.”
Smiling, she did something she hadn’t imagined she could. She leaned in and kissed his mouth while both her hands skimmed over the intriguing ripples of his upper chest, exploring the texture of a light sprinkle of hair and satin skin over muscles that flexed under her caress.
He groaned, but rather than gather her into a tight crush, she felt a tickling graze of fingers between her breasts. A second later, she was the one to draw back and watch as he finished opening her white-and-red Makricosta blouse.
Her ivory bra beneath was practical and almost adolescent. She didn’t have much to support and had never seen the point in spending money on something only she would see. An urge to apologize rose to the back of her throat, but the way he traced the top of one small cup, caressing the upper slope of her breast, had her holding her breath.
“I have a wicked addiction to cocoa,” he told her as he took his time spreading the shirt wide on her shoulders, patiently tugging it free of her skirt. His returning touch was whisper-soft as he grazed her ribs and found his way to the clasp in the middle of her back.
Her back arched from his caress and her bra loosened. She drew in a breath, hesitant, but his hand came around and cupped her breast. The sensation blanked her mind, holding her in thrall. So much heat. He was like an inferno, and so masculine, but reverent. There was aggression, she could feel the possessiveness in the way he enclosed her like he had every right, his touch firm, but he was gentle at the same time. Softly crushing, as if