Awaken to Pleasure (7 page)

Perhaps, with this woman who made his heart awaken and body rejoice, he might find a way out of the darkness of his past and into the sunshine of her smile.

It was his wedding night.

The location was an exclusive resort on an island off the coast of Fiji. It was his wedding night and he was all alone in his bed, while his sexy new bride slept across the hall, in the other room of this luxurious seaside cabin. An erotic fantasy involving black lace and soft white skin had been tormenting him for the past hour.

Desperate, he went down to the floor and began doing push-ups, clad only in white boxer shorts. Exhaustion might allow him to catch a few hours sleep.

The gentle knock came when he was on his fiftieth push-up and more aroused than he’d thought humanly possible. Groaning at his pretty little wife’s timing, he growled, “Come.” The single word sent a cascade of sensual imagery flooding through his mind. He could imagine teasing Taylor to that final edge and then ordering her to “come.”

The door opened and the enticing scent of woman whispered over him.
Dio!
A hundred more, he decided grimly and kept going. His peripheral vision showed small feminine feet, toes painted bright pink, padding closer. The edge of an eyelet lace nightgown fluttered around her ankles.

He wanted to reach out a hand, grab onto one slim ankle
and lick his way up his wife’s gorgeous legs. His
wife.
She belonged to him and he wanted to stake his claim.

“What’re you doing?”

Grunt.
“Exercising.”

“It’s almost midnight.” She didn’t sound disapproving. He frowned. She seemed…fascinated. But, by what?

“I like it.” He pushed down, feeling his biceps start to burn.

“I can see that.” Feminine interest laced her tone.

He almost jerked to a standstill but something forced him to continue. To his surprise, he saw her move around to sit on the edge of his bed. Her pretty little feet were flat on the floor, inches away from him.

“Can I stay and talk?”

She wanted to talk? “Sure.”

He waited for her to say something but she remained silent. He didn’t dare break the moment. He had Taylor in his bedroom and at ease with him. That was a huge step. He just wished he knew what the hell she was thinking.

Taylor was mesmerized by the rhythmic bunch and release of Jackson’s muscles. Her cheeks flushed. She waved a hand in front of her face to cool herself down. The man was
built.
All strong lines and corded muscle that she wanted to sink her teeth into. Her sleeveless, Victorian-inspired gown was suddenly too hot. She undid the top two buttons. His back muscles had her fascinated but his arms rated a mention. And those powerful thighs…

She shook her head. What was she doing? Why was she alone with Jackson, with him almost naked? Big and gloriously naked. Why was she feeling hot and needy, when no man had ever been able to touch the sexual core of her?

Because she was lonely.

And it was her wedding night.

And she’d missed him.

And, she’d wondered if he’d really meant it when he’d said that they could try. Wondered if the courage her therapist had kept saying she had, in their long-distance phone call tonight, was real, and not a figment of her imagination.

Now, she wondered if this aggressively male creature in front of her would be patient. She wondered if he’d be tender. Most of all, she wondered if a wife who’d been married for convenience was allowed to stroke her husband’s beautiful body without consequences.

Have the courage to fight for him, she ordered herself. He’s never hurt you. And…he never will.

Mouth dry, heart in her throat, she reached out and ran a single finger down the bunched muscles of his back when he rose on his arms. Smooth, hot skin and rippling strength. She shivered.

Jackson froze and just about stopped breathing. “What are you doing?”

Silence. Had he blown it?

“T-touching you.”

The slight hesitation got him back on even ground. “I’m sweaty.” Why the hell had he said that? That wasn’t how you seduced a woman.

“I don’t mind,” came the very quick response.

He lowered himself to the varnished wooden floor, not caring about dust or the comfort of his heavily aroused body. Resting his head on his arms, he silently gave her permission and wondered what she’d do.

After a pause that seemed to last forever, she knelt beside him, the fine material of her nightgown fluttering against his heated skin. He could feel the soft warmth of her, hear the whisper of her breath, almost smell her desire. The wait had his instincts tugging at the reins, fighting for the freedom to devour her.

Then she touched him.

Hesitant, exploratory strokes that tipped him into sweet insanity. When he remained quiescent under her, she put her hands flat on his back and stroked harder. Kneaded. Played. He could imagine those hands on other parts of his anatomy, all soft heat and soft pain. He wanted to tell her to use her mouth on him, to nibble and caress and kiss. Sweat beaded across his brow when he felt her straddle him, her gown resting atop his back and thighs.

“Am I too heavy?” An intimate question.

“No.” His voice was raw.

“Jackson?” She halted her eager exploration. “I’m hurting you. I’ll go.”

“Don’t!” This
was
torture, but of a kind no hot-blooded man would resist. “Stay,
piccola.”

To his relief, she settled against him again, her hands continuing to stroke and squeeze. Her teeth scraped at the bunched muscles of his upper arm and the sexy warmth of her generous breasts pressed against his back. “You’re so strong.” Warm breath whispered over his arm. “So wonderfully sexy. I want to just…” With a groan, she laid an open-mouthed kiss on his upper back, before suckling the spot. Her tongue soothed even as it stroked the inferno burning up his body from the inside out.

He wondered if a man could die of unadulterated sexual pleasure. Then she was scattering teasing, nibbling kisses across his shoulders and he decided he didn’t care. Her small hands were everywhere, tracing firm muscle and hot skin, shaping and learning. And caressing.

He’d never been petted like this. Bonnie had preferred heat and speed, not interested in this kind of erotic love play. Before her, the women he’d attracted had wanted hard, rough sex—what his strong, muscular body represented to them. He’d thought he hadn’t minded but now found that he’d minded very much. He liked the way Taylor was exploring
him, as if she was delighted with him, as if she’d been saving up all her fantasies just for him.

Wiggling down his body, she grazed her teeth over the taut skin of his lower back. Everything was taut, Jackson thought, as she skipped over his buttocks and rested near his knees. Her fingernails grazed the backs of his thighs.

“Dio!”
He jerked up so hard that he almost threw her to the floor.

“Jackson?” Those fingers had frozen on his thighs. “Did I do something wrong?”

He took a deep breath. “Only when you stopped.”

A second later, she was running those damnably gentle hands up the backs of his legs. “I love the way you feel against my skin—so rough, so different from me. Your body heats me up from the inside out. Sometimes…I just…I just want to rub myself up against you. Naked.”

That halting confession shattered what was left of his mind. For the first time in his life, Jackson Santorini became a totally sensate being, focused only on the feel of the woman who held him in her sweet hands, who found his body delicious and seemed to want to spend hours at her pleasure.

T
aylor woke up feeling so fine. She grinned when she remembered why. Poor Jackson. Wonderful, lovely, beautiful Jackson. He’d let her touch him as much as she wanted, let her squeeze and caress and bite and taste. And he hadn’t moved throughout it. He’d been on the floor when she’d left. Her delectable husband might still be there.

A masculine knock on her door put an end to that silly illusion. Remnants of fear infiltrated her heart. Would he expect what any man would, after his wife had pretty much treated him as her property the night before?

“Come in.” She sat up, sheets pulled up to her chin.

He was dressed in blue jeans and a white T-shirt, his hair damp, as if he’d just showered. His T-shirt was loose, but did nothing to hide the definition of the upper arms she’d lavished such attention on, only hours before. She finally found the courage to meet his gaze, fearing she’d see the red haze
of desire. All that met her was a coolness she’d rarely seen when he spoke to her.

“We need to discuss some things.”

“Okay.” It was a shock to find that she hated her husband’s expression. She’d rather see dangerous passion than this nothingness. “Are you angry with me?”

He shook his head in a sharp negative. “Come down when you’re ready.”

“Tell me what’s wrong. And don’t pretend it’s nothing.” She glared at him.

“Taylor.”

“I told you, don’t Taylor me. Tell me why you’re brooding!” Frustrated, she punched the pillow by her side.

He blew out a breath between clenched teeth and then stalked to the bed, dark eyes glittering. Leaning over her, he put his hands flat on either side of her hips. “I am not angry,” he repeated. “I am also not a saint. You’re dressed like an invitation and you spent last night with your pretty little hands all over me. I didn’t mind. Feel free to do it again any time you please. But,” he paused for breath, “I can’t be in this bedroom and talk with you as if we’re just friends, so let me deal with it. Don’t push.”

Mouth dry at the quietly powerful confession, she said, “I won’t apologize for last night.”

“I didn’t ask you to.” A tiny spark of humor appeared in his eyes. “I’m not an idiot.”

Memories of tactile pleasure had her heart racing. “Can I really do it again?”

He groaned and went to push off the bed. She wrapped her arms around his neck, caught in the tantalizing grip of a sensual world she’d never imagined could exist for her. Without warning, his entire face went taut.

“Let go, Taylor. My control is so close to the edge that you don’t want to continue.”

She released him, convinced by the dark passion she saw prowling behind the civilized mirage of his eyes.

When she came downstairs, Jackson was sitting at the table on the verandah, waiting for her. Breakfast had been delivered while she was upstairs.

Taking a seat, she asked, “What are those?” when he lifted a document from the pile at his elbow.

“Legal papers.” He raised his head and those dark eyes wouldn’t let her glance away. “I want to adopt Nick.”

She put down the melon wedge she’d chosen. “Why?”

“I’m certain that Hegerty will back off on his custody application. But, if we manage to do this, it’ll be almost impossible for him to come after Nick later on.”

“Is that the only reason you want to adopt Nick?”

“Is it not enough?” Nothing in his tone gave her a hint of his emotions.

She shook her head. “It will mean something to Nick. He’s never really had a father and I don’t think he could bear the hurt if you adopted him and then forgot him.” As a child, she’d experienced that brutal truth over and over.

“You’d share him that much with me?” The quickly masked hope in Jackson’s eyes was unexpected. Then she remembered his desire for a baby. Maybe, in spite of her recent courage, she might never give him a child who was his flesh and blood, but she could give him this.

“Of course,” she said, softly. “He needs you but it’ll only work if you can go the distance, even if we part. If you adopt him, you’ll have to be his father.
Forever.”

“Yes.” It was an answer so strong that she didn’t need to hear any more. Nick’s heart was safe with Jackson. Right now, she didn’t want to think about her own.

“Can I authorize the adoption?”

He nodded. “To a point. You’re a legal guardian.”

She picked up the melon wedge. “Mrs. Willis suggested that Mom make me a testamentary guardian in her will.”

“Under the law, it’s likely that we can dispense with Hegerty’s consent since he abandoned Nick. But, we have to consider the possibility that it might be needed in case the court refuses to make a finding of neglect.”

Her head jerked up. “He won’t give consent.”

Jackson’s smile was without humor. “Somehow, I think I can talk him around if it comes to that.”

She believed him. No one could stand in Jackson’s way once he was set on a course. While she ate, he made a quick call that set the new train of legal proceedings in motion. Afterward, he sat opposite her, not eating, just looking out to the blue, blue sea with eyes that seemed to be lost in memories. She couldn’t bear his withdrawal. Standing, she walked around behind him and bent down to hug his neck.

He looked up, one hand on her arm. “Hey.” Surprise was evident in his Italian-dark eyes.

“Don’t.”
It was wrenched out of her.

“Don’t?”

“Don’t go away from me,” she ordered. “Please, Jackson.” A softer plea.

Her mother had shut her out. Neither her biological father nor her stepfather had ever truly acknowledged her existence. Nick saw her, but today she realized it wasn’t enough. She needed this beautiful man to see her, too.

Jackson tugged at her hands until she came around to stand in front of him. He pulled her into his lap. “I’m right here,
cara.”
His attention was focused wholly on her.

Touched by his unexpected tenderness, her smile came from the heart. “Where did you go?”

“It is not something to speak of this bright day.”

She touched his jaw in a firm gesture. “Yes, it is.”

A hint of amusement softened his stern expression. “Bossy little madam.”

“Your
bossy little madam,” she said boldly, testing her wings, seeing how far her very dominant husband would let her go, learning how much she would have to fight to ensure he didn’t become a despot.

His smile widened. Leaning over, he pressed a hard kiss to her lips. “Yes.
Mine.
Don’t ever forget it.”

She was startled by her enjoyment of the fleeting pressure. “Don’t you get ideas about being possessive.”

“Too late.” The look in his eyes was dark fire, slumbering heat. And suddenly, she remembered the feel of his skin against her mouth. The hands she’d put on his shoulders clenched as desire flooded her bloodstream.

His eyes took in her flushed cheeks. “You look at me like you want me.”

“I do,” she acknowledged. “Will you kiss me again?” Her fingers stroked the vulnerable skin of his nape.

The look he gave her was pure male heat. “My body is for your pleasure,
mia moglie.”

Fire rippled through her as he tipped her head down with a gentle grip on her chin and tasted her—slow and thorough, as if he had all the time in the world. He played with the seam of her lips and bit down on the lower one, suckling it into his mouth but never entering hers.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and parted her lips, greedy for the pleasure she knew he could lavish. Chuckling at her eagerness, he accepted the invitation with male enthusiasm that made her head spin. She moaned at the sensation of his tongue inside her mouth, flirting with hers. Desperate to deepen the kiss to a higher level of intimacy, she dared the slightest touch in return.

He broke off the kiss with a gasp.
“Piccola,
you will kill your poor husband.” Dark eyes glittered.

Then before she could protest, he took her lips in a kiss that was undeniably intimate, unquestionably possessive and incredibly tender. He tasted and licked and nibbled like a man who knew his woman’s every desire, the quick jabbing of his tongue inside her mouth letting her know that while he’d wait for her passion, he wasn’t averse to persuading her. She wasn’t averse to being persuaded.

Waves of heat and almost painful desire rode her body, inciting her to cling to his male bulk, silently asking for more. In response, he gave her such a rawly sensual kiss that had she been standing, her knees would have buckled.

This time, when the kiss broke, she lay her head down on his chest, breathing hard, trying to find her feet again. Maybe, her mind whispered, if this felt so good, the rest would be even better? Fighting to find something less inflammatory to break the tension, she recalled his earlier preoccupation. “I haven’t forgotten you know.” She sat up.

“What?” His tone was very male, pitched to send her sensitized nerve endings skittering.

Struggling against her reaction, she realized that she was stroking the bunched muscles under the edge of his sleeve. Because she adored touching him, she didn’t stop. “That you didn’t answer my question about what it was that took you so far away from me.”

“Taylor.”
He said her name as he always did when annoyed with her, a bit exasperated, a little stubborn.

“Where?” she repeated, determined to find out what was haunting him. This marriage would only work if he trusted her as she was being forced to trust him.

He looked at her for a long moment. “Your speaking of Nick reminded me of my own childhood.”

“What was it like, being the child of a director and an actress?” His parents were both winners of awards at Cannes and the Oscars. His half sister, Valetta, looked to be follow
ing in their illustrious footsteps, while his two half brothers, Mario and Carlton, were having a somewhat rockier road to fame on the silver screen.

“Lonely.” The honesty was raw. “I was the only child from their brief union, nine years older than Mario. My parents were very young when I was born. My half siblings are strangers to me. My mother kept Carlton after her marriage to his father, her third husband, broke up, and my father decided to build Mario and Valetta’s mother a home next to his. I grew up with nannies and then boarding schools—aside from my name, all they ever gave me was the best care money could buy. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

There was, she realized, no self-pity or anger in his tone at the injustice of being emotionally abandoned by his parents. Jackson Santorini’s past had shaped a strong man, a man who would not easily break.

“I began boarding school at age five,” he continued. “I saw my mother twice that year.”

“And your father?” Taylor asked, hurting at the intense loneliness she heard behind the calm words. Despite everything, she’d never really been alone. Helena had not been the best of mothers but she’d never abandoned her children, and sometimes she’d even helped Taylor through the things a girl needed her mother for. Then there had been Nick to love and he’d loved her back.

“Once that year.” His mouth quirked. “To introduce me to Amber or was it Mandy? Another big-breasted blonde. They get younger with each wife.”

“They sound like absolutely terrible parents,” she declared, without thinking that it might not be politic.

He stared at her for a moment and then started to chuckle. “I guess they are.”

“Sorry.” She was abashed by her rude words.

“No, you’re right.” He kissed her neck, as if he was tast
ing her. His lips were soft, his breath hot. “I was determined to never be like them.”

“And you’re not!” Snapped out of the sensual fog he could spin so easily, she sat up, scowling at the self-disgust she heard in his tone.

“I am my father’s son.” Jackson acknowledged the awful truth. “I may have inherited his frailties.”

Taylor rolled her eyes. “Don’t be silly.”

“I once married a young blonde.”

“You and the blonde both happened to be the same age at the time. Your father tends to go for the cradle.” Her quick response was accompanied by a dry smile.

“I can’t promise you loyalty.” He didn’t trust himself, not when his father’s philandering genes ran in his veins. He’d never once cheated on Bonnie, but who knew when the badness would kick in.

“You’re not a dog.”

He scowled at her. “Stop being flippant.” He knew how hurt she’d been at being abandoned by Lance, and yet he couldn’t help himself from telling her the truth, needing her to accept him despite his flaws. It was an impossible situation because once she knew the truth, she would never trust him with the love he wanted. The love he needed.

One eyebrow rose. “Why not? You’re being overdramatic. Must come from working in the movies.”

“Taylor.”
Nobody else ever reduced him to growling.

“That doesn’t work anymore,” she said, gleefully.

“It never did.” He was undone by her irreverence. “Don’t you want to know the truth?”