Reckless Hearts: A Billionaire Romance (17 page)

"Peabody, this school caught my eye because of this young woman. So order a stay of execution and give her to me for the evening. It's in your best interest; a month is a long time. There are plenty of other private colleges in the area who would gladly..."

"Yes, as I said, her infraction was a minor one. One that I can agree to see past. To forgive is divine, is it not?"

Owen stood up from the desk. He let his fingers run along the smooth, lacquered top. He looked out the window as though considering, acting like he hadn't been the one to suggest easing up on me, as though it had been Peabody's idea and that now Peabody needed his permission to go ahead.

He let Peabody sweat it out. Made him say the words. Owen was good at making people say things.

"Yes, that will be acceptable... Provided Miss Chambers is amenable to the engagement," Peabody said, his fingers squeezing me, hinting that not being amenable wasn't in my best interest.

"Yeah, sounds good to me," I said.

"Then please come with me," Owen said, "I have a car waiting. Thank you for agreeing to meet me on such short notice, Peabody."

"Of course..." Peabody said. He looked about ready to collapse. Some of those beads of sweats did start their migration down the furrows of his brow then.

Owen did have a car waiting. One of those sleek back limos in the lot adjoining the administrative building. He opened the door for me, waving the driver away.

T
he tinted windows kept out the early evening light, and the interior was even more whisper quiet than the Corvette had been.

The divider between the back and front was up. I doubted the driver could see or hear us. Not unless Owen wanted him to.

"You owe me one," he said, unbuttoning his jacket.

"For what?"

"Getting you out of that mess you created."

I bristled. "Oh, really? And what about the mess you just created? You know, the one where I come back to school after this and you don't create that Utopia Fund Peabody wants? The one he'll blame me for losing? That mess."

This time he didn't hide his smile. "This isn't funny. My bank account doesn't have a dozen zeroes before the decimal point. If I lose this grant, that's it, I'm through."

He let me go on like that for a little, until I quieted down like a storm that blew itself ragged.

"Who said I wasn't serious about creating the fund?"

"Uh, what?" Never once in that office had I entertained the thought that he might be serious about making his own competing scholarship.

Though back when I first saw him I never would have thought that he put so much effort into making all Utopia's enterprises sustainable, either.

"It wasn't just idle talk," he said, "I would like to do it. But..."

"But what?"

He looked at me, really looked at me, for the first time since the meeting. It was a look I couldn't resist, one that set my insides trembling at the possibilities contained in those eyes of his.

"I also didn't lie when I said it depends on you. If I don't start up that fund, then Peabody wouldn't be wrong to put the blame on your shoulders."

"Who says I want to help that place get more money than they already have? What's in it for me?"

"I'm sure he would be willing to overlook any more little midnight indiscretions, for one. Besides, you only have to do one thing."

"And what is that?"

"Impress me."

I grinned. "And what if I'm through with trying to impress you?"

"Are you?" he asked.

I paused. That question again. The one I asked myself in its various forms a hundred times a day. As usual, the two answers divided me. Especially after that little show in Peabody's office.

I'd never had a man come and rescue me before. Being the 21st century woman I was, I knew that I should scoff at the very idea. Not only was chivalry dead, it was sexist. I can open my own door, thank-you-very-much.

But it did happen to me. And I couldn't say that I didn't like it. I couldn't deny that it made me grateful, and a little giddy.

As usual, my pause didn't end. I didn't answer him because I couldn't answer him. Not yet.

"That's what I thought," he said.

Then, before I could stop him, he scooped me up and put me on his lap so that I straddled him. My heart jumped. That hint of coconut in his aftershave intoxicated me. Heat swirled through my body.

I stopped noticing the motion of the car and began noticing the way he felt against me.

"So impress me."

I cupped his cheek. The barest hint of stubble prickled at my palm. He was warm, too. So warm. And when those eyes of his looked up into mine I thought I could dive into them. Dive into them and drown in them happy and satisfied.

My thumb stroked across his cheek. I rolled my hips down against him. The pressure sent a shock of desire up the front of my stomach. He stirred for me, too, and that made another gasp of pleasure burst from my lips.

"And just how do you want me to do that?" I asked. Every nerve in me prickled in anticipation of his answer.

Then he snatched my hand away from his face, twisting it so that the smooth, delicate skin of my inner wrist faced up towards the roof of the limo. I gasped again.

That pressure building between us increased. My hips rolled faster in response, which in turn built that pressure more. A vicious cycle if there ever was one.

"Give yourself to me," he said, "All of you. I want it all."

He brought my wrist to his mouth, the skin there bursting into goosebumps at the caress of his hot breath. He kissed me just below the heel of my palm. It tickled. It tingled. His every touch there affected me most between my thighs, like I had a volume slider on my wrist that he teased over with his kisses.

Then he nipped me. I sucked a breath in through my teeth, the sensation so intense. He did it again, like he wanted to consume me. And I wanted him to.

"Give yourself to me," he repeated, moving my hand away. The skin he'd pleased and abused flushed with inner heat which flowed up and into the rest of my body.

"Okay. Yes," I said.

Once more and that's it. I'll still be able to back out of this. One more time can't hurt. It just can't!

I was addicted to him. And when he pulled me closer so that he could kiss my throat, I thought he might be addicted to me, too.

The primal woman inside me cried out in delight when he stripped my shirt off and kissed me between my breasts.

My thighs burned against him and I wondered how he could stand the heat. But he must, I knew. He was the one stoking it, building it higher and hotter.

I tried grabbing his face so that I could kiss him on the mouth again. He took both my wrists in one hand and held them against the small of my back.

Then he slid his other hand up my stomach slowly, leaving a line of fire behind, until he cupped one of my breasts through the bra. I liked the way it felt when he touched me, when he squeezed me.

He pulled me close and kissed me again, his mouth even hotter than his touch.

I gave myself to him, any hint of resistance evaporating like the mist behind his lake house under the strength of the sun.

When he undid my bra he had to let my wrists go so that he could slide it off. Free again, I shoved his jacket down and off, then loosened his tie and pulled it out from beneath his collar.

In a moment of mischief, I put the tie around my neck, leaving it loose. The soft red material rested between my breasts, and I liked the way it drew his eyes down my body.

He used it like a leash, looping some of the slack around his hand he pulled me down, making me kiss him again.

My need burned deep inside, so hot I couldn't hold it back much longer. I wanted to struggle out of my jeans, tears his pants open, and be together. But he made me go slow, so agonizingly slow.

I think he liked it.

I tried to grab his shirt again, intent on ripping it open and off like I'd done on that fur rug at the lake house. He grabbed my hands.

"No," he said, "One at a time."

Then he put my hands on the top button, the one keeping his collar shut. I popped it from its loop, something inside me popping as well.

By the time I got halfway down his shirt, my hands trembled so much I couldn't hold them steady. It took two or three tries to get the next buttons undone, and each time i tried to cheat, he stopped me.

"You're so cruel," I said, licking and pressing my lips together to plump them up.

"One at a time," he repeated. He kept his hands on my hips the whole time, moving them only if I tried to make faster work of his clothes. The pressure of his fingers on me tickled a little, sending little trembles up my back.

My efforts bore fruit, though. He didn't have an undershirt on this time, treating me with a spectacular view of those sculpted abdominals of his.

Finally, I reached the bottom, pulling the tails up out of his slacks to get at the last button. I did that and he shrugged out of his shirt, not letting me help. You can look, but you can't touch.

God, how I wanted to touch. I shivered with that need. Pulsed with it.

"Now the belt," he said.

I instilled some sense of control in my fingers long enough to push the end of his belt out through the loop and pop the little spoke out that held it in place.

I pulled it out slowly, the leather slithering against the softness of his slacks. I dropped it on the limo floor. Then I looked at him, waiting for instruction.

His hands slid up my slides, tracing my figure before moving back down to where they had been before.

"Keep going," he said, his voice husky, his eyes eager.

So I did. I unbuttoned his slacks, then pulled the zipper down. My heart almost raced out of my chest when I saw the way he bulged for me. I quivered for him, the agony of waiting almost too much to take.

Then he laid me down on the seat, settling himself between my thighs.

Some of his weight pressed down into me. Not all of it, of course; those strong arms of his held him up with little effort. But enough weight so that I knew he was there. It was a weight you didn't know you missed until it was gone.

He continued his slow tease, then, stopping my efforts to push those slacks of his down.

"Don't you want me?" I said after showing my displeasure by biting down on his lower lip.

"Yes," he replied.

"Then why don't you take what you want?" I rolled my hips up against him, the pressure of it making us both groan with desire.

"Maybe I like the way you squirm. That sexy little way you move when you just can't take it anymore."

"Cruel," I repeated. "So cruel."

Our faces were so close that I breathed his breath and he mine. It was intimate. Almost as intimate as the act of love itself, it seemed to me. All that filling each other up, feeling the warmth created by the other's body.

I like it because it's wrong. I like it because I shouldn't,
I thought. This time when I slid my hands down his sides and then down his lower back, he didn't stop me.

My fingers slipped down beneath the now loose waist of his slacks, down into his briefs. The muscles i found there were firm and tense, and when I dug my fingers into them he groaned and pushed himself against me.

"What are you thinking?" he said after tracing my jaw with his lips so that he barely grazed my skin. It was an electric touch, a promissory one that made my back arch beneath him so that our stomachs connected.

"That this is wrong," I said, "But that it feels so good." I hooked my fingers into the waistband of his slacks and began pushing them down. He didn't stop me this time. A tingle of anticipation shot up through me.

"Maybe that's why it feels so good. Because you think it's wrong. You don't ever let yourself do things you think are wrong. And now that's you've dipped your toe in you know you like it and it scares you," he said.

He kissed me again, rougher this time. His own ability to drag this out, to delay his gratification as well as mine, waning. I moved a hand between our bodies and held him, the skin so soft to the touch but the rest of him hard, so hard. And for me.

His breathing grew ragged.

"Am I impressing you yet?" I said, trying to ignore what he'd just said and how it cut into me.

"A little," he said. Like that night at his lake house, he sat back long enough to peel my jeans and panties off. Again, he found some protection and he extended that delicious, agonizing anticipation making me wait and watch while he rolled it on.

Then he pushed into me, my body singing as the moment finally came. He almost finished me right there. We kissed, our tongues twining together.

He couldn't seem to get enough of me, his mouth hungry for more. His lips touched my chin, slid down my throat, my shoulders. Everywhere he could reach. His mouth traced a line of fire that settled deep in my bones and then sank lower.

And then he wrapped his arms around me and pulled us both up so that I sat on his lap. My hips began rolling against him, the friction between us building. I put my hands on the black headliner of the limo, using them to push down harder against him.

"That's good. Just like that," he said, his hands cupping my bottom, his finger appreciating my flesh, digging in and squeezing and making me moan.

I tried to keep quiet at first, some shred of decency remaining in me. I bit the inside of my cheek, or pulled my own bottom lip between my teeth, stifling the sounds of my pleasure as best I could.

"Stop that. Let go," he said, "Just let go. Be honest with yourself for once."

He complicated matters further when he leaned his head forward and took a nipple into his mouth, the warmth of it around my flesh sending a shiver up my back.

I couldn't stop it, then. A gasp escaped me, then a groan. I pushed harder on the roof of the limo, my body urging me to go faster, harder.

We both liked that.

My climax gripped me so hard that my mouth dropped open in a silent scream. First the muscles in my lower back clenched, then in my thighs, then rippling out from there to encompass all of me.