Filthy Rich (7 page)

All of her senses were heightened, her skin ultrasensitive when he brushed the surface of her cheek with his fingertips. She shivered, her eyes slipping closed as she savored the connection between them.

For just a moment, time froze and she allowed herself to enjoy the contact. Oh yes, she had forgotten how good it felt to be touched.

Decadent…

She opened her eyes when she realized she'd never enjoyed a man's touch as much. This was more intense and far more likely to explode.

“You're fire.” She shook her head, intending to sever the connection between their gazes, but he slid his hand into her hair, rubbing across her scalp before he closed the distance between them and tightened his fist in her hair.

“I could make the same accusation.” His eyes glittered with need. “I haven't stopped thinking about kissing you again.”

She gasped, the sight of him on the edge driving her closer to it herself. He leaned down and captured the sound with his lips.

It wasn't a hard kiss.

She could have pulled away from a hard, possessive claiming of her lips.

Nartan started with soft pressure that stole her breath. It might have been slow, but he still pressed his mouth against hers with all the solid confidence she'd accused him of. It was there in the way he slid his lips across hers. Once, twice, and then a third time before he teased her lower lip with a soft lick.

Everything except the connection between them ceased to register. She reached for him, smoothing her hands down the cotton of his shirt. She dipped her fingers beneath the blue tie, determined to get closer to his skin.

She could smell him. That musky scent that turned her on as much as the way he stroked her tongue with his. It was masterful and arrogant, and excitement tore through her like lightning and left a burning trail behind.

She twisted toward him, straining upward so she could kiss him. The hold on her nape changed, tightening as he growled. He curled his other arm around her, binding her against his body as she reached for his hair and pulled his head closer against her own.

The kiss became demanding and hard. He pulled her right off her feet and pressed her up against the wall of the building. He reached down, sliding his hand across the curve of one side of her bottom and further down to her thigh. Heat roared through her, her heart pounding as her clit began to ache. The need to press against him was so intense that she never protested when he pulled her thigh up to allow him to grind against her mound.

He hissed, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of her skirt and discovering that one strap from her garter belt was the only thing to keep his hand off her bare skin. She shivered, his skin connecting with hers like a clap of thunder. She jerked her head back, unbearably conscious of how exposed she was. Only a thin triangle of silk covered her sex, just inches from his fingers. She was on edge, completely exposed. Frantic with the need for more. More of him.

“We need a room…now,” he growled next to her ear. She felt the words as much as heard them.

He stepped back, allowing the air to slam into her. It was like a bucket of ice water. She struggled against the horror of what she'd allowed herself to do, blinking as she took in the hunger edging his features and sharpening them. Someone laughed nearby and the click of heels against concrete made it through to her at last. Acute embarrassment mixed with the sexual craving tearing up her insides.

“No…”

He reversed course instantly, turning to face her and flattening his hands on either side of her head. His eyes narrowed to slits as he drew in a deep breath and held it before opening his eyes to display a glitter that made her mouth go dry.

“I can smell your heat, Celeste… I want to taste you…every inch of you…”

His voice was raspy and raw, promising her a hard ride. But it was the possessive gleam in his eyes that made her shake her head. He slipped his hand around the curve of her hip and drew her against him, making sure she felt every hard inch of his erection. Her passage quivered, tightening with need so acute that she groaned.

God, she wanted him…so damned much it hurt.

She ducked under his arm and came up a few paces from him. She really hadn't escaped, and that knowledge, mixed with the raging need inside her, made her wonder if trusting him was such a terrible thing after all.

“Find someone else.”

It was the kindest, politest thing she could manage. Brushing him off completely felt overly harsh when she knew damned well she was the one with trust issues.

“Because you're right. I have unresolved issues.”

She turned and walked away. Her confession rung in her ears, but a little ripple of relief went through her too. She'd said it. Finally admitted it out loud. Nartan might not be the best choice of confidant, but he'd been the one to insist on pressing against her comfort zone.

Hell, the man pressed better than anyone ever had. It was as irritating as it was impressive. She felt wrung out, her emotions raw.

As she rounded the corner of the building, the music from the reception became louder. A few people stood just outside the doors, enjoying a smoke. They glanced her way and her cheeks reddened as she fought the urge to turn and look behind her.

Yeah, Nartan was good at pressing into comfort zones. She'd bet he was damned good at shattering every last illusion she might have about what great sex was. The way he moved, kissed, and touched screamed out his experience level at bedroom games.

He'd be fire in her hands and she'd be putty in his.

It had to account for the way she reacted. That was also why she needed to put space between them. But at least she wouldn't have any problem doing that. Once the wedding was over, she had a tour of Alaska to enjoy. Nartan Lupan would go back to running his upscale restaurant and no doubt find someone less complicated.

Maybe several someones.

That thought gave her enough poise to restore her composure. Rich men didn't sleep alone unless they wanted to. Even if they didn't come in the mouthwatering type of package Nartan did. She slipped into the building and headed toward the ladies' room to check her lipstick.

That was all. Just a reaction to his skill level.

Rationalizing always broke down extreme feelings. At least for her it did. Taking solace in logic might be cold, but she was far less likely to end up in the sort of disaster her marriage had been.

***

The wedding reception was in full swing when Nartan reentered the building. The cake had been cut and was being delivered to the tables. Tarak had retreated to the bar and scowled at Nartan when he joined him there.

“Some wingman you are,” Tarak growled. But he frowned and narrowed his eyes as he stared at his friend.

“That's not a good shade of lipstick for you, Nartan.”

Nartan reached for a napkin and wiped it away. “Tasted good.”

Tarak took a sip of his whisky while brooding. Nartan signaled the bartender and soon found himself nursing his own drink.

It wasn't what he wanted. He wanted the taste of a woman's flesh on his tongue.

Hard, blunt, but honest.

His gaze searched the crowd until he found Celeste. The bridesmaid dress was reserved enough in design, but all he saw was the way it flowed over her curves, fluttering and settling against her body to give him a tantalizing glimpse of what her thighs looked like, then swishing and shimmering and hiding what he craved. He got a glimpse of a trim ankle and a brief side look at one mouthwatering breast before Tarak chuckled and distracted him.

“Don't be so amused,” Nartan warned.

Tarak set his drink down. “There is nothing on this planet that could keep me from enjoying the sight of you right now. Payback's hell.”

Nartan smiled and let out a word in their native tongue. His grin covered the fact that he was telling Tarak to go fuck himself in the middle of a wedding reception.

“Unlike you, my bed is occupied,” Tarak answered. “But I am curious what your next step is going to be. She's not going to make herself available for you.”

“Actually…” Nartan's voice trailed off as he contemplated Celeste and the way she'd turned her back on him.

He liked the view.

“I think it's time for me to do a sight check on the lodge.” He tossed the last of his whisky back and set the glass down. “I wouldn't want you to think I let your wife's best friend stay in questionable accommodations while she's on her vacation.”

“Of course not.” Tarak narrowed his eyes. “But if all you're interested in is fun, find another toy. She's family now.”

It might not have been the most logical of decisions, especially with Tarak's warning, but Nartan felt a burning in his gut that he knew too well. It was a feeling he trusted, one he'd followed in business, and he'd been rewarded with success for doing so.

He wasn't finished with Celeste Connor. Leaving her behind would be a mistake.

Nartan's grandmother walked right across the crowded dance floor. She was all of five feet tall with long, gray braids. She had plump cheeks and wrinkles around her eyes when she smiled. The guests parted, making way. It might have been because of the way age and wisdom seemed to radiate off her, or it could have been the ceremonial buckskin dress she wore.

Celeste found herself mesmerized by the sight, time suddenly blurring as the old woman took the wedding celebration back to traditions that had stood the test of centuries. She looked frail but latched on to Celeste's hand with a strength that was surprising. She pulled Celeste off the dance floor and right back to Nartan's side. She had to be the only living soul on the planet who could have accomplished it, too. A pleased glimmer appeared in her blue eyes as her lips set into a very satisfied grin.

She started chattering in Apache.

Celeste's eyes narrowed suspiciously. “I seem to recall your grandmother speaking English this morning.”

The old woman smiled so widely that her eyes ended up nothing but slits in her face. Celeste got the sneaking suspicion that Nartan had learned a lot from his grandmother.

Nartan lifted his hands in surrender when his grandmother looked back at him. “I'm not arguing with an elder. She wants me to translate.”

Celeste couldn't help but smile. Okay, the guy was presumptuous, arrogant, and pushy, but he respected his grandmother.

That made him adorable.

Crap
.

“The sun is going down. She wants you to go get Sabra and help her change into the dress.”

A younger girl stepped up and offered Celeste a bundle. She laid it in Celeste's arms as carefully as she would have a baby.

“That was her mother's dress,” Nartan explained. “Made by
her
mother.”

“Wow.” Celeste remarked, adjusting her hold to make sure she wasn't crushing the bundle.

His grandmother nodded with approval and chattered some more. Nartan listened before translating.

“She says to tell Sabra that Tarak is her son, no matter how he came to this world, so his bride will wear the dress from her family and that the English portion of the wedding is over, so she will speak Apache now.”

A little tingle of suspicion touched her nape as Celeste watched the way the old woman's eyes sparkled. The younger girl was looking back and forth between Nartan and Celeste with a smile that matched her grandmother's.

Celeste nodded before turning and moving off toward Sabra. Nartan fell into step beside her. A quick glance to the side showed her the stiff set of his lips, but she took a second look when she noticed the flush darkening the skin of his neck.

She choked on a laugh.

Nartan reached out and cupped her elbow. “Don't be a bitch,” he warned in a low tone.

“What? And notice that your grandmother is a formidable woman? Or that you respect her?” She offered him a genuine smile. “That part won you points in my book.”

He made a low sound under his breath. “She's also nosy. I forgot just how little respect she has for my privacy.”

Celeste missed a step. “Are you saying…”

“That she followed me outside…yes,” he confirmed.

Her mouth went dry. Nartan suddenly laughed. “You blush.”

“Well, it beats having no shame,” she countered.

“Which is how you see me?”

“You're the one who wants to approach sex like a business merger.” Why was the bloody warehouse so large? She picked up her pace. “Can't help it if your grandmother doesn't like your lifestyle choices.”

“Fifty percent of marriages end in divorce.” His fingers tightened on her elbow. “You're a lawyer. You know that.”

They'd almost made it to the head table. Celeste stopped and sent Nartan a hard look. “That's a crappy thing to say at your best friend's wedding. Sounds like you have your own trust issues.”

“So stop throwing stones because I live in a glass house?” He made a low sound that resembled a growl.

“We do have some things in common,” she replied without thinking. Once again, conversation was flowing between them, feeling so natural that she didn't have the heart to stop. “Someone taught you to distrust relationships too. So you're a playboy and I'm a recluse, but we're both guilty of giving in to our… What did you call them? Ghosts.”

There was a flare of surprise in his blue eyes before she turned and moved toward Sabra. Her friend looked up and one of the catering staff moved over to pull her chair back for her. There was a rustle of silk taffeta as she moved, and the candlelight flickered on the surface of the pearl necklace fastened around her throat. Deep-sea pearls and all perfectly matched. The single strand was worth a small fortune.

Celeste was caught by the way Tarak turned to look at Sabra. There was an unmistakable flash of heat in his eyes and a softening around his mouth that touched her heart. He was always aware of where Sabra was. Devotion wasn't something that could be faked. It was found in the way a person's gaze returned over and over to the object of their desire. Celeste found herself looking back at Nartan, only to feel herself locking gazes with his cobalt-blue stare.