Authors: Darah Lace
suspect that she yearned to the depths of her wary
soul for something more than a sexual encounter. He
just had to make her see she had nothing to fear. At
least not from him.
But first he would have to pass whatever trials
she put him through. The anger in her eyes, along
with the history of his experience with Charlotte,
assured him she would turn up the heat and there
would be many more tests like the one he’d endured
moments ago.
One he’d damned near failed.
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Fire crackled in the gas fireplace behind them,
casting a warm glow throughout the living area of
the suite. Steam rose from identical mugs of hot
cocoa. Yet neither came close to thawing the stiff-
backed woman seated beside Marcus on the bear
skin rug.
The camera whirred from several feet away then
stopped. Slick Rick motioned to him with one hand.
“Can you get a little closer?”
“If I get any closer, I’ll be in her lap.” Braced on
one hand, Marcus faced Charlotte, angled so that his
hip pressed against her jean-clad thigh. His bent
knee brushed the sleeve of her icy pink sweater
every time she sipped from her cup, dragging the
wide collar further over an evenly tanned shoulder.
“You’re supposed to be lovers on a romantic
rendezvous in a hotel room,” the photographer said.
“You should be close enough to whisper sweet
nothings in her ear.”
From somewhere behind the lights, Wylie said,
“Just pretend we’re not here.”
“I should be so lucky,” Marcus muttered, which
earned him a frown from Charlotte, her first real
response to him this morning.
He’d been right to worry about retaliation for
leaving her unfulfilled the night before. But he’d
been wrong about the tests she would put him
through. Instead of the increased sexual aggression
he had anticipated this morning, she met him with a
cold and indifferent stare. As if the previous day had
never
happened,
the
closeness
they
shared
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disappeared.
Him right along with it.
What dug at him most, like a burr wedged under
a saddle, was that while she ignored him, unless
forced otherwise, she flirted with Grant Wylie, hung
on his every word. Even Slick Rick, with his meaty
hands and leering eyes, was granted the warmth of
her smile and an occasional quip.
Rick cocked his head to one side. “Let’s lose the
cocoa. It’s distracting.”
“Good idea.” Wylie stepped forward to relieve
them of the mugs and winked at Charlotte. “She’s
enough distraction.”
“You didn’t used to mind.”
Before Charlotte and Wylie launched into
another nostalgic story, of which Marcus could
neither participate nor stomach, he placed a hand at
Charlotte’s waist and hauled her against him, hip to
hip. He tucked his legs behind her, one wedged
against her butt, the other drawn upright at her
back, and rested his free arm on his knee, essentially
trapping her.
Not that she tried to get away. She could have
been a statue; she sat so still. If he hadn’t felt the
muscles in her back go rigid when he touched her, he
would have really been worried.
“Good,” the irritating shutterbug said. “Now,
Ms. Reese, put your arm around his neck.”
She complied easily, but Marcus felt her tension.
“Okay, now put your other hand on his upper
arm.”
Her hand seared his bicep through the black
cashmere pullover he’d picked out for the shoot. Her
fingers tightened around his muscle then relaxed,
and all he could think about was how they’d flexed
around his shaft the night before.
“Good. Now Mr. Preston, move in just a bit
more.”
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Marcus hesitated then eased forward. She might
have flinched when his chest grazed her breasts. He
couldn’t be sure. But she did turn her head away as
his face came within inches of hers. Close enough to
smell the chocolate on her breath, reminding him of
hot fudge, ice cream, of Charlotte enjoying both, her
pink tongue swirling...
The shutter on the camera snapped in rapid
succession. “Sweet nothings, remember?”
Marcus cleared his throat
and
his mind, casting
out the erotic visions that threatened to unman him.
He focused instead on cool blue eyes and the goal
he’d set last night. One she seemed hell bent on
refuting. “Why wouldn’t you have breakfast with me
this morning?”
“I don’t eat breakfast.” Her smile was at odds
with the chill in her voice.
He didn’t believe her for a moment but decided
not to press the issue. “Then how about lunch?”
“No, thank you.”
“You do eat lunch, don’t you?”
“When I’m hungry.”
Her tone said she wouldn’t be, and Marcus
sighed inwardly. She wasn’t going to make this easy.
Still, he had to keep trying. He wouldn’t let her
freeze him out. “Would you like to do something
special this afternoon? More shopping?”
“I’m done.” She shook her hair over her
shoulder.
It
tickled
his
fingers,
and
they
automatically
threaded
themselves
into
the
thickness at the back of her neck. Her eyes fluttered
shut, and he felt her quiver.
Something inside him—most likely the ego she’d
trampled all morning, hell, from the moment they’d
met—responded to the tremor. Before he could stop
himself, he touched his lips to the underside of her
jaw. Her fingers dug into his arm again. “We could
go for another ride.” He nuzzled the sensitive spot
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below her ear. Her pulse raced against his mouth.
“You seem to enjoy that.”
She jerked her head back to look at him, and he
gave her what he hoped was an innocent smile.
“Riding horses, I mean.”
Ignoring his suggestion, she turned to the
cameraman. “Can we take a break?”
Rick released an exasperated sigh. “It was just
starting to work. Can’t you wait five minutes?”
“As much as I adore Marcus, you can hardly
expect me to be at my romantic best when I’m
hungry.” Bottom lip protruding, eyes pleading, her
gaze cut to him then back to Rick.
The photographer didn’t stand a chance. “All
right. Take five.”
“Thanks. I missed breakfast.”
“Why you little—”
Charlotte pushed out of his arms and, without a
backwards glance, headed to Wylie. Marcus let her
go. Short of causing a scene there was nothing else
he could do.
“I’ve got something for every craving,” Wylie
offered, guiding her to the assortment of fruits and
pastries laid out on the bar.
Marcus ground his teeth as he rose to follow
them. He knew he shouldn’t let their playful banter
get to him. For all her teasing, flirtatious or
otherwise, he suspected she only did it to make him
crazy. And while Wylie matched her sometimes
saucy repartee, nothing in his body language
indicated sexual interest.
Maybe that’s what bothered him. They had some
kind of connection beyond their physical past that he
couldn’t understand. Or share. He was the outsider
again. And still uncertain of their relationship, no
matter what either of them said.
Easing behind Charlotte, Marcus settled his
hands on her waist. She tried to squirm away under
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the pretense of making a selection, but he held tight
until she realized he wouldn’t be denied and finally
settled on a bite-sized pie with peach filling. She
popped the morsel in her mouth and moaned her
approval, probably as pay back, then devoured
another before reaching for a stem of grapes.
Wylie held out a bowl of cherries. “Want one?”
A knowing look, one that spoke of another
shared memory, passed between them, and irritation
knifed through Marcus. “She doesn’t like cherries.”
She twisted to look at him, her eyes wide with a
mixture of annoyance and confusion. “How did—?”
As she clamped her glossy red lips together into
a thin line, he wondered if she realized he’d been
watching her when she pushed the cherry in her
sundae to one side last night. Then again, maybe her
frown meant she recalled the things that had
happened—or rather hadn’t happened—much later.
She turned back to Wylie, all traces of anger
gone from her expression. “And you, my friend,” she
said, shaking her finger, “know very well why.”
Wylie dangled a cherry by its stem. “Can you
still do it?”
“Let’s see.” She bent forward, mouth open, and
guided the cherry Wylie held into her mouth, stem
and all, with her tongue.
To his credit, Wylie didn’t seem the least bit
aroused by the sensual act as he grinned at Marcus.
“The fraternity held a stem tying contest,” he
explained. “Charlotte came in second with forty-two
successful knots, cherries intact. It took her an
hour.”
Marcus was mesmerized as she worked the fruit
around in her mouth, cheeks sucking in and out,
tongue probing. His body tightened. He’d been in her
mouth the night before, but for only four minutes.
What heavens could he reach in an hour?
“Probably swallowed more than she tied.”
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Wylie’s voice filtered into his fantasy.
Swallowed? God, he’d never look at a cherry the
same way again.
Charlotte took Wylie’s hand and gave the fruit
one last suck before letting it slide from her moist
lips onto his palm, its stem in a knot. “I’ve still got
it.”
Wylie laughed and dabbed the red juice from her
chin with a paper napkin. “Remember how stained
your lips were?”
She made a face. “No, but I remember how sick I
was after.”
“I hope it taught you a lesson,” Marcus
grumbled.
The heated look she shot over her shoulder told
him he’d just stepped into something deep. “Yes, I
learned to save my talented tongue for other, much
more pleasurable moments.”
Wylie choked on one of the damned cherries, but
Marcus ignored him. Same as he did the slow burn
that started in his groin. He was far more interested
in the fact that she had slipped up. He’d gotten to
her, made her mad enough that she’d switched gears
and fallen back on the defensive pattern he knew so
well. One he could deal with. And take advantage of.
At least in public.
He grinned as he took the grapes from her and
slipped an arm around her. “Sounds like a promise
to me.”
If making her mad enough to speak without
measuring
every
word
was
the
ticket
to
understanding and eventually winning her, so be it.
And if it got her away from Wylie, even better. He
pressed his lips against her temple. “Come on. Let’s
get this shoot finished.”
“But I’m still hungry.”
Her pouting mouth belied the tension beneath
her soft curves. He sure as hell felt her fingernails
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digging into his flesh. And heaven help him, the
weight of her breasts on his forearm. “I’ll feed you,
darlin’.” He glanced at Wylie and winked. “How’s
that for romance?”
Wylie grinned and rubbed his hands together,
for a moment reminding Marcus of Chad. “I’ll break
out the bubbly for the hot tub shoot. It needs to
breathe.”
“Sounds heavenly,” Charlotte murmured.
“It’s too early for me.” Marcus had watched her
repeatedly pick up her wine glass during dinner the
night before only to swirl it in her hand then place it
back on the table. When she was actually thirsty,
she drank from her water glass. He’d added that to
the fact that she never actually consumed that
blasted drink at the bar and finally realized she’d
been telling the truth when she said she didn’t
drink.
It had also suddenly struck him that he might