Awaken to Pleasure (12 page)

“Harder…” He removed his hand and let her do it herself. With every stroke, her confidence seemed to build. “Harder…yes,
piccola.
Yes, just like that…”

With his peripheral vision, he saw her head bend, saw her lips part and closed his eyes. Next time he’d watch, next time he’d savor the indescribable intimacy. This time, he just wanted to survive. Then her hot, wet mouth settled on him and his mind blanked for an instant, before consciousness punched through him with such power and strength, he felt as if he were drowning in the influx of raw sensation.

Somehow, he managed to let her kiss and caress him for at least a minute before he hauled her head away. “Enough.” He wanted to penetrate her deep and hard.

“No.” She scowled at him and went back to what she’d been doing, her hands clasping the backs of his thighs. He was so surprised at the unexpected sensual defiance that he didn’t pull her away. Then it was too late. Shocking pleasure rocked his body. He clenched his hands in her hair, closed his eyes and wondered if his sweet little wife had expected what she got.

He collapsed afterward, sprawling across the bed on his front, Taylor by his side. He was aware that she was stroking him, like he was some great big cat. He lay there and enjoyed the experience, glad that his loss of control hadn’t revived her fear. When he finally managed to rouse himself, he turned his head and muttered, “Sorry.”

She lowered her head until her lips brushed his. “I am an intelligent woman you know. I knew what was…coming.”

“Did you…” he croaked.

She swallowed very deliberately. “What do you think?” There was mischief in her eyes and just a tinge of shyness. But, no doubt, his baby was coming out of her shell.

His eyes went wide.
“Dio!
I’ve created a monster.” Utterly delighted with her, he glanced at her little-nothing nightie. “Why aren’t you naked?”

“Should I take it off?” she asked, a blush heating up her cheeks.

He just raised a brow at the silly question.

Sitting up on her knees, she grabbed the fluttering hem and pulled the nightie off, leaving her clad only in a pair of tiny lace panties. He recognized them.

“You’re wearing my present.” Reaching out, he touched her between her legs. The material was damp. White-hot heat radiated from her core. She remained in her kneeling position, legs spread, letting him lazily explore.

“When are you going to give me another present?”

Despite her continued blush, the cheeky question was so sensually playful, he could hardly believe it was asked by the same woman who’d feared a simple kiss. “What do you want,
bellissima?”

Her eyes were wide and her breathing hitched. “Use your imagination, you’re pretty good at it.”

Smiling smugly, he sped up his finger strokes, aware that despite her open desire, she continued to hold back part of herself. But each time they loved, that fear-inspired reserve lessened. Soon, soon he’d have everything.

“Um…oh…more, please, please more.”

He gave her more, wanting to satisfy her because she’d satisfied him so very well. A while later, when she was squirming, he pressed hard against the throbbing nubbin between her legs, then withdrew before she could crest.

“Jackson!” Her glare was pure heat, her shyness lost under the pleasure and frustration.

He chuckled, enjoying her feminine rage. “You are so sexy. Come down here so I can kiss you.”

“Lazy.” But, she started to move down. While she was doing so, he rolled over onto his back. Putting his hand on her shapely little bottom, he said, “Straddle my chest.”

Frowning at the order, she asked, “Why?”

“Do it and I’ll show you.”

Curious, she followed the instruction. “Now what?”

“Move up a little.”

Her eyes wide, she obeyed. And stopped. He told her to keep going. She did. And then, hardly breathing, she moved that final inch. Chuckling at her scandalized expression, he shifted aside the gusset of her panties and returned the favor she’d done him. With interest.

“Jackson…” she began to protest and he thought that he’d gone too far for her.

He licked one long, slow lick.

She shuddered and clutched at the headboard.

“Wet and hot,” he murmured, satisfied that she’d let him have his way. “Just the way I like my wife.”

She was whimpering with his first kiss and sobbing with his second. By the time he began the third, her body had started to ripple with waves of pleasure.

They spent their last afternoon in Fiji at the beach. Taylor lathered herself with sunscreen and coaxed Jackson to let her smooth the cream over him, too. His body was vital in the sunshine, all golden muscle and strength against her fingertips.

“How about a swim?” He looked over his shoulder to where she knelt behind him.

Putting down the sunscreen, she thought over their earlier exertions. “Not after that hike you talked me into this morning.” Her complaint was without heat because seeing the tropically forested upper regions of the island had been worth the trek. “I’ll float, you swim.

Chuckling, he rose to his feet and tugged her up. “Sexy,” he murmured, a teasing gleam in his eye.

Taylor knew very well that her modestly cut one piece bathing suit was no such thing. “Studly,” she responded tongue in cheek, glancing at his board shorts.

Only his sudden smile gave her a hint of what he was about to do. Laughing, she tried to dodge him but he scooped her up in his arms and ran deep into the water before throwing her giggling body in. She came up still smiling and drenched from head to toe. Scraping her hair off her face, she took one look at him standing there laughing at her and narrowed her eyes. Using both hands, she splashed a huge wave of water onto him.

Dripping, he grinned. “Is that a declaration of war,
piccola?”

In response, she splashed him again. Giving a mock roar, he lunged after her. The ensuing water fight was the most fun that Taylor had had in years. She laughed so much that her stomach hurt and when Jackson declared himself the victor, she was too exhausted to dispute it.

Dragging herself from the water, she collapsed on the fine white sand and sunbathed while her far too energetic husband struck out for a longer swim. As she watched his strong body cut through the water, she realized that she’d never been as happy as she was at that moment. Simple joy suffused her entire body, as if particles of happiness were trapped in the tropical sunshine which gilded her skin.

This was a memory she’d always cherish, she thought with a drowsy smile, setting down to wait for her husband in the joyful sunshine.

Coming back to real life the next day was a shock for Taylor. Especially since the first thing she saw was a large envelope from Lance’s firm. Jackson peered over her shoulder as she picked it up from the pile of mail collected by their security people. Heart in her throat, she walked over to the big living room window.

Jackson came to stand behind her, hands on her waist. “It’s postmarked a week and a half ago.”

“It’s been forwarded from my apartment.” She tore it open and pulled out a letter and attached legal documents. “He’s filed for a priority date for the custody hearing…oh my God, he’s really claiming that I’m an unfit guardian and Nick’s in danger!” Panic started to gather in her body.

Jackson took the papers from her, one arm still around her waist. “Idiot.” The single short and derisive comment calmed her at once. After a quick scan of the documents, he gave them to her to hold. Without further discussion, he picked up the phone and punched in Lance’s number.

“Mr. Hegerty, it’s Jackson Santorini.” A pause. “I’m fine. My
wife
isn’t doing so well. It seems you’ve filed a suit for custody of her brother.” A longer pause.

Taylor stood wide-eyed, wondering what was happening. Jackson sounded very calm and collected but there was something faintly dangerous about his tone.

“I understand, Mr. Hegerty, but I take my wife’s unhappiness very seriously. Do you understand?” Now she knew what it was about his voice that disturbed her. He sounded
exactly
like a mobster—a cool, slick, dangerous mobster. Then he said, “My family doesn’t take it too well either. Santorinis look after their own.”

She just about collapsed at that ominous tone.

“Yes, you think that over. Call me within the next three days or we’ll take measures of our own.” He hung up.

“Your family? I thought you didn’t really see them?” She needed a moment to ground herself before she found out what was happening with Nick.

He gave her a narrow-eyed look. “Italians have big extended families. When I turned eighteen and was free to make my own choices, I went to live in Italy with my paternal grandparents and uncles, who had always kept in touch with me. They are my true
famiglia.
In fact, they are already pestering me to bring you and Nicolas for a visit.”

“And they’d be…unhappy if I was?” She swallowed. “They’re not…um…” How did she ask if they were part of the criminal underworld without offending her new husband?

It looked like Jackson was smiling faintly. “I might’ve forgotten to mention that some of them aren’t exactly upstanding citizens.” He released her.

She sat down on the window seat. “I…see. What did Lance say?” She could only deal with one thing at a time. Her husband’s underworld relatives would have to wait.

“He blustered, but I know the lawsuit will disappear soon. Then, if necessary, he will consent to the adoption.”

“You sound very confident.”

“I am. We’ve already got legal motions in progress if he doesn’t. Worse comes to worst, we’ll just tie him in legal knots for years.” He touched her cheek. “Don’t worry, Taylor. I’ll keep my part of the bargain.” His eyes turned almost black. “Come, I need to claim you again.”

It was such an old-world way of speaking, such a masculine statement that she couldn’t fight it, her body going soft and welcoming at the rich darkness of his tone. Something about his words disturbed her, though it was hard to hold the thought when he took her into his arms. Yes, they’d made a bargain, but that wasn’t the only reason she’d married him. Then he decided to take her against the wall and all she could concentrate was on his big body, hot and hard and demanding.

The next morning felt like the true start of her new life. Nick had arrived home about an hour after their return, and was now on his way to school. She’d bitten her lip and let Jackson lead him away, because it was clear that Nick needed her husband to claim him publicly.

“Be good,
cara
. Call me if you need anything.” Before
leaving, Jackson had kissed her with lazy thoroughness, mimicking the far more erotic kiss with which he’d woken her this morning.

For the first time, she was alone in her new home. She took the opportunity to call Maggie and schedule another session before thinking over the rest of her day.

Jackson had suggested she organize a small dinner party. Though their marriage was already public knowledge, politics dictated that certain people be told in a more private manner. In addition, in a couple of months, they would spend a week in Los Angeles, socializing with those who lived in the heart of the moviemaking world.

Having kept her ear to the ground, she had no problem preparing a list of invitees. By eleven, she had the wheels rolling and was beginning to feel a little more settled. This was work, she realized. Very delicate work.

Jackson needed these people to be willing to cooperate with him. Bonnie had antagonized a large number of them and the fallout had hit the beautiful man Taylor had married. When the papers had ripped into him, not many in the business had come forward to defend him, still smarting from their brushes with his wife, and the coldness Jackson had cultivated to survive her.

By the end of the day, she was wearing a satisfied smile, sure of her ability to be the partner Jackson needed. Flush with newfound confidence, she was waiting impatiently at the top of the driveway when her men arrived home—her brother had stayed late to try out for soccer.

“So?” she asked Nick as soon as he got out of the car.

He smiled slowly. “They want me to be goalie. The coach said I had quick hands.”

Excited for him, she hugged his thin frame. “Well done. Now get in there and shower, you muddy hooligan.”

After he’d run off, she turned to Jackson. “I’m glad you
talked me into letting him try out.” When Nick had asked her to sign the permission slip, her instinct had been to refuse. What if he was hurt? Then she’d glanced at Jackson and the look in his eyes had made her change her mind.

“I’m glad I talked you into marrying me.”

The unexpected response made her very pleased with her Italian husband. She smiled, stood on her tiptoes, and leisurely kissed him. He deserved it.

A flashbulb went off.

S
tartled, she jerked back. Jackson immediately shielded her with his body. But, before he could speak, she made a judgment call and moved around him. Though she hadn’t wanted to be in his world, she now was and had to learn to deal with the repercussions.

“Hello.” She smiled at the defiant man in front of them, wondering how he’d evaded the fence alarms. “Are you going to use that kissing picture?”

“Yes.” He held his camera protectively, obviously aware that he was trespassing.

“I’d rather you didn’t.” Because paparazzi weren’t known for their kindness, she asked, “How about a deal?”
Feeling
her husband’s rising temper, she surreptitiously dug her elbow into his rock-hard stomach.

“What’re you offering then?” The photographer’s accent was distinctly British.

“We cooperate with you for photos and give you a quote. It would be an exclusive on our marriage.”

He looked at Jackson. “Good deal if you stick to it.”

“You have to surrender that whole roll of film.”

“Don’t you trust me?”

“Not as far as I can throw you,” she said cheerfully.

He handed her the film, a wary look in his eye. “Do you want your husband looking like a murderer in the pics?”

“Give us a moment.” She turned and forced Jackson to come with her until they were out of earshot.

He looked furious. “What the hell are you doing bargaining with that vulture?”

She could see hurt in his eyes. These people had turned his pain into a spectator sport and here she was, consorting with them. She touched his arm. “Whether we cooperate or not, they’ll get pictures. This way, we have some control over the first impression people have of us.”

“Manipulate the media? Dangerous game.” Yet, there was a spark of interest in his enigmatic eyes.

“The truth is, your status in the business means we have to exist in the limelight at times. We can fight the press and lose, or we can use them to our advantage.”

“What do you suggest I do?”

The fact that he was taking her lead made her glow. Unbidden, she recalled her conclusion that her wild husband could be gentled, if not fought. She leaned up and straightened the collar of his black shirt. “You look gorgeous—tall, dark and dangerous. Just act as you’d do if you didn’t want to eat a photographer for breakfast.”

She thought he might have smiled. “Right.”

Reaching up, she unclipped her barrette and let her hair fall over her long-sleeved blue top. “Come on.”

They posed with Jackson wrapping his arms around her from behind. The photographer started snapping away.

She stopped him at shot ten. “Enough.”

“Have you got any photos of Nick?” Jackson asked. Her heart jerked in panic. She hadn’t even thought of that.

The photographer’s eyes shifted. “Yes.”

“If you use them, the deal is off.”

“People want to know.” It was a halfhearted attempt to justify himself.

“Anyone who uses Nick will find their life being made very difficult.” Jackson’s icy calm emphasized the threat. “You know how this works. I can’t stop you invading my life, but his is off-limits.”

The man sighed but Taylor thought that he was happy enough. He yielded another roll of film. Ten minutes later, he had his quotes and was gone. Jackson immediately rang his security company and ordered them to check the fence alarms
now!
Then he hauled a surprised Taylor to him and proceeded to kiss her senseless.

After Nick went to bed that night, Taylor tracked down her husband. He was in his study, staring at the front page of an old newspaper. She recognized it at once.

Furious, she snatched the paper from him. “Why are you hurting yourself like this?” This piece of gutter journalism had blamed him for Bonnie’s death, implying that domestic violence had caused her suicidal depression. Eyes narrowed, she scanned the room and found other newspaper clippings in an open file box on his desk.

“Sometimes I wonder if I could’ve stopped her.”

Grabbing the file box, she walked over to the shredder in the corner and started feeding in paper. “This is what I think of that ridiculous suggestion.” She was so angry, her hands shook. God, she hated Bonnie. That woman had hurt Jackson so much that he’d probably never trust another woman enough to love her. Not that she wanted the complications of love…or
did she? Did she want everything Jackson Santorini’s heart was capable of feeling? Could she cope with such passion?

“Taylor, you don’t know—”

“Did you put drugs in her hands? Did you find her a lover to cheat with?” Her words were clipped. Inwardly, she was cursing the photographer who’d resurrected the past with his mere presence.

His mouth firmed. “Don’t go there.”

She finished shredding and swiveled around to face him, throwing the empty box aside. “Why not? Let’s have this out, right here, right now.”

“Why?” He’d never sounded more intimidating.

“See me?
I’m
your wife now, not Bonnie!” She slapped her hand against her chest. “And I don’t do secrets.”

“What do you want to know?” Dressed in black, arms folded, he looked exactly what he was—a big, strong Italian male unused to taking orders from his wife.

A male who’d been betrayed by one wife.

Their friendship had eased her way but Taylor knew that she couldn’t expect total trust until she’d earned it. But she refused to be the only one in this marriage who was starting to feel in over her head.

“Stop acting like an enforcer for your
famiglia
and giving me a crick in my neck. Sit down.” She walked around the desk and patted the back of his leather chair, expecting him to balk on principle.

To her complete surprise, he obeyed. “Satisfied?” There was an edge to his voice. For some reason of his own, he was letting her dictate to him, but it obviously chafed.

“No. This is better.” Fighting his ability to distance himself, she perched on his lap, relieved when his arm encircled her waist. “Why are you angry?” She hated the way anger made him cold, hadn’t realized until now just how dependent she’d become on the attention he lavished on her.

“You’re imagining it.” He sounded irritated.

Jackson wondered why he was allowing her to see his aggravation. He had no intention of revealing that he’d found her practical response to the media a blow to his emotions. He’d made this bargain with her and she was definitely keeping up her end of it. It was his problem that he hungered for more from his wife than practicality and logic. Damn this sudden vulnerability!

“Are you going to tell me?”

“No.”

After a tense moment of utter silence, she looked up and shoved at his shoulders. He held her tight, shocked at the blazing anger in her blue eyes.

“Then keep your secrets, I don’t care!” Too late, he remembered his little wife’s big temper. “All I wanted to do was protect you and this is what I get in return!”

Protect him?

“A big, brooding man who doesn’t appreciate me. Who doesn’t care that I’m just trying to keep the vultures happy so they don’t peck at him! Who gets mad at me for no reason!” She opened her mouth to continue and unable to think of how else to stop her tirade, he kissed her.

She refused to cooperate, wrenching her head away. “No. Don’t you kiss me when I’m angry, Jackson Santorini! You’re not seducing me out of being annoyed with you!”

Jackson was stunned speechless. No one had ever accused him of using sex to control. Then again, no one had ever wanted him with the passionate hunger of his wife.
“Cara mia.”
He was appeased by her confession of protectiveness. “I did not know that was why you did it.”

“Why else would I have done it? I was so worried for you, I didn’t even think about Nick.”

“You had no reason to imagine they would sink low enough to exploit a child.”

“They’re bottom-feeders.” She folded her arms across her chest. “I couldn’t let them turn us into something sordid. Our kiss would’ve had a hideous headline.”

“I understand.”

“We’re not sordid.” It was as if she were daring him to disagree. “We’re special.”

His heartbeat accelerated. “Yes.”

“So don’t you get angry at me for protecting us.”

“I will not.”

She glared at him for another minute. Then she leaned over and hugged him hard. “I’m not Bonnie so don’t you ever think of me in the same breath as her. Understand?”

He nodded. This spitfire was definitely nothing like his first wife. “Apologies,
mia moglie.”

“You know what you do to me when you sound so Italian,” she accused, eyes softening already.

He knew. “What do I do to you,
cara?”
He kissed the pulse in her neck, warmed by the fire of her temper. She didn’t love him but she was protective of him. It wasn’t the devotion his primal soul hungered for, but it was a start. Santorini men were nothing if not determined.

She drew back. “What did she do to you?”

There was no question who she was talking about. “You know. Everyone knows.” And that humiliation still hurt.

She shook her head. “There was something the papers didn’t find out, something terrible. Tell me about it.”

The memory turned his voice harsh. “If I don’t?”

“I can’t make you.” She touched his cheek with a hand that was soft and so tender, he ached. “But, I want this marriage of ours to work, and to do that, I need to know who you are. I need to understand you.”

What could it hurt? Jackson thought. “Bonnie was pregnant with our baby when she overdosed and she knew it.”

Taylor’s eyes brimmed with tears. “That
bitch.”

The short, sharp expletive shocked him less than the deep anger in her. Taylor had a mother’s instincts. “Yes,” he agreed, “that’s what she became at the end.”

“I won’t give you platitudes—I can’t imagine your grief. But,” she said, eyes bright with unshed tears, “let me hold you tonight. Let me show you tenderness. I know it isn’t very macho, but I think you have hurts that need to be healed and I need to try and heal them.”

He was stunned at the quiet power of her. “Ah,
piccola,
when I am with you, I almost believe that there is true goodness in the world.”

When she rose and tugged on his hand, he let her lead him out. And he let her stroke and kiss and make love to him with such feminine sweetness that he was lost. When she curled up beside him to sleep, her arms hugged him tight, keeping her promise to hold him through the night.

Despite her care, he lay awake through the dark hours of twilight, thunderstruck by the riot of emotion in his soul. With her unexpected tenderness, Taylor Santorini had demolished the blockade guarding her husband’s heart.

He belonged to her completely.

After his experience at Bonnie’s hands, it wasn’t a weakness he welcomed, but he was no coward. He accepted the powerful feeling and swore to do everything in his power to teach his wife to love him back, because damn it, there was no reason for her not to trust him with everything in her.

As usual, the papers were delivered to their home in the morning. Taylor was up and about, while Jackson was in the shower. Nick was still asleep. Anxious to save her husband any unnecessary pain, she flicked through the pile until she found the tabloid carrying their photos.

For a long time, she just stood there, stunned at the image.
She’d expected Jackson to look annoyed, in spite of her instructions. At best, she’d thought he’d attempt neutrality. Instead, the photographer had caught him as he’d glanced down at her, and there was something in his dark gaze that took her breath away.

“What’s that?” Still in his pajamas, Nick walked out of his room and hugged her middle. “Cool. Jackson likes you a lot, huh?” He was looking up at her, seeking reassurance.

Reaching out, she stroked his hair. “I think that maybe he does.” She wanted to believe it was real, that expression of intense protective care, but more than likely, her own terrifying hunger for his passionate heart was leading her to imagine things.

“What’re you two looking at?” Jackson, dressed in slate-grey slacks and a white shirt, unbuttoned at the neck, came to stand behind her. By unspoken agreement, neither of them referred to the powerful intimacy of the night he’d spent in her arms.

His willingness to let her hold him had shaken all of Taylor’s beliefs about men, about him. For such a dominant man to accept her need to care…it had revealed a sensitivity to her emotions that forced her to confront some harsh truths. Jackson had trusted her despite the betrayals he’d suffered in the past. Did she have the courage to do the same? Or would she always be a coward, unable to commit to anything?

She saw him ruffle Nick’s hair and he hugged her from behind before playfully biting her neck. “Morning, wife.”

Forcing the uncomfortable thoughts from her mind, she said, “Morning, husband.”