Project: Runaway Heiress (12 page)

He returned moments later, clutching a couple of distinctive plastic packets. Tossing one on the nightstand, he kept the other, tearing it open and quickly shaking out the contents.

Lily watched with barely suppressed eagerness as he sheathed himself in short, competent motions, then rejoined her on the bed, a dark, devilish gleam glinting in his eye as he closed in on her.

“I told you not to move.”

His voice scraped like sandpaper, but still managed to pour over her in a rush of honeyed warmth.

She arched a brow, flashing him a wicked, unapologetic smile. “I guess I’ve been a bad girl. You may have to spank me.”

Heat flared low in Nigel’s belly, spreading outward until it tingled in his limbs, pooled in his groin and flushed high across his cheekbones.

“Oh, I intend to do much more than that,” he said in a voice gone arid with lust.

* * *

If he’d ever seen a more beautiful sight in his life than Lillian George sprawled naked in bed, waiting for him, he couldn’t remember it. And now he didn’t think he would ever forget.

As aroused as he was, as desperate as he was to be inside her, he couldn’t seem to tear his gaze from the delightful picture she made. Her light brown hair falling loose around her shoulders, sexy and mussed from his fingers running through the long, silken strands. Her pale skin flushed with the rosy glow of desire.

Her breasts were small but perfect, their pale raspberry nipples puckered tight with arousal. And the rest of her was equally awe-inspiring—the slope of her waist, the triangle of blond curls at the apex of her thighs, the long, lean lines of her legs.

But what he loved most was her lack of inhibition. She didn’t try to hide from him, didn’t try to cover her nudity with her hands or a corner of the sheet. She was comfortable in her own skin. And more, she was comfortable with him, with what they were about to do with each other.

Feigning a patience and self-control he definitely didn’t feel, he moved beside her, pulling her legs straight and tugging her into the cradle of his arms. She rolled against him, her breasts pressing flat to his chest, the arch of her foot rubbing lazily along his calf.

He brushed a loose curl away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. “In case I forget to mention it later, I’m awfully glad you agreed to come with me this weekend.”

Her lips turned up at the corners, her blue eyes going soft and dewy. “Me, too.”

“And though I don’t mind sleeping in the other room, it will be nice to spend the night in this nice big bed, for a change.”

She lifted one dainty brow at him. “I didn’t say you could stay in bed with me.”

He narrowed his eyes, fighting the twitch of his lips that threatened to pull them into a grin. “Planning to use me, then relegate me back to that dreadful cot, are you? Let’s just see if I can change your mind about that.”

He watched her mouth curve into a smile just before he kissed her. Her arms wrapped around his neck and trailed down his back as he shifted his weight, bringing her more snugly beneath him.

He’d meant what he’d said—bringing her along on this trip really had been one of his better ideas, even if he hadn’t known at the time that they would end up here. He couldn’t deny, however, that he’d hoped.

Almost from the first moment she’d walked into his office, every fiber of his being had shot to attention and begun imagining scenarios in which they ended up much like this. He’d known such a thing was dangerous, though, and couldn’t—or shouldn’t—happen.

But now that it was...he couldn’t bring himself to be sorry. Or to worry about the consequences. All he wanted was to continue kissing her, caressing her, making love to her all night long.

And if she thought to send him back to that cramped, lumpy roll-away bed after she’d gained her satisfaction... Well, he would just have to keep her so busy and blinded by passion that she lost all track of the time. He would be spending the night in her bed before she even realized the sun was coming up.

He stroked the smooth roundness of her shoulders, her arms, her back. Everywhere he could reach while their tongues continued to mate. He could kiss her forever and never grow bored. But there was so much more he wanted to do with her.

With a small groan of reluctance, he lightened the kiss, drawing away just enough to nibble at the corner of her mouth, trailing down her chin to her throat. She threw her head back, giving him even better access. He took his time licking his way down, pressing his lips to her pulse, dipping his tongue into the hollow at the very center, where he felt her swallow.

They rolled slightly so that he was lying over her again, and she welcomed him by hitching her legs high on his hips and locking her ankles at the small of his spine. It brought him flush with her feminine warmth, and brought a groan of longing snaking up from the depths of his diaphragm.

Her fingers kneaded his biceps while he turned his attention to her lovely, lovely breasts. The nipples called to him: tight little cherries atop perfectly shaped mounds of pillowy-soft flesh. He squeezed and stroked with his hands while his lips circled first one pert tip and then the other.

Beneath him, Lillian wiggled impatiently and made tiny mewling sounds while his mouth grew bolder. He kissed and licked and suckled, trying to give each breast equal consideration until the press of her moist heat against his nearly painful arousal grew too distracting to ignore.

Lifting his head, he pressed a quick, hard kiss to her mouth. “There’s so much I want to do to you,” he murmured, brushing her lips, her cheekbone, the curve of her brow with the pad of his thumb. “So much time I want to spend just touching you, learning every inch of your body. But we may have to wait until later for all of the slow, leisurely stuff. Right now I simply need you too much.”

He canted his hips, nudging her with the tip of his erection to emphasize his point. Bowing into him, she brought them into even fuller, more excruciating contact. He hissed out a breath, closing his eyes and praying for the endurance to make it through this night and shag her properly without embarrassing himself.

To his shocked delight, she clutched his buttocks with both hands and leaned up to nip his chin with her teeth. “I’m all for fast first. Slow is overrated.”

Nigel chuckled, wondering how he’d gotten so bloody lucky. Hugging her to him, he kissed her again, melding their mouths the way he fully intended to meld their bodies.

Skating a palm down the outside of her thigh, he hitched her leg higher on his hip, opening her to him and settling his sheathed arousal directly against her cleft. He sucked in a breath as her moist heat engulfed him as though the thin layer of latex wasn’t even there.

If he was this affected, this close to the edge just by resting against her so intimately, what would happen once he began to penetrate her? Once he was seated to the hilt, with her tight, feminine walls constricted around him? He was almost afraid to find out, and imagined something along the lines of the top of his head flying off and consciousness deserting him entirely.

Lillian ran her fingers into his hair, raking his scalp and tugging his mouth down to hers. Impatiently, she writhed against him, inviting him in, making it more than clear what she wanted.

Peppering him with a series of biting kisses, she murmured, “Stop teasing, Nigel. Do it already.”

He would have chuckled at her less-than-eloquent demand if he wasn’t just as desperate for her. Sliding a hand between their bodies, he did tease her, enough to draw a ragged moan from deep in her throat. But only to test her readiness and be sure she could accommodate him.

Gritting his teeth, he found her center and pressed forward. She was tight and hot, but took him willingly, inch by tantalizing inch. Their panting breaths and staccato moans echoed through the room while he sank as far as he could go. Filling her, torturing himself.

She fit him like a glove—silken, warm, heavenly. It was a bliss he could have easily spent the rest of the night savoring. If only he hadn’t been so desperate to move, the fire, the desire racing through his veins. Lillian’s teeth at his earlobe, her softly whispered encouragement, and the way she spoke his name on such a breathy sigh let him know she felt the same.

His whole body taut with need, he drew back. Sliding forward. Slow, even motions that brought exquisite pleasure even as the impulse to thrust faster and harder grew.

Mewling in his ear, Lillian’s arms tightened around his neck, her legs around his waist. Her breasts rubbed eagerly against his chest, spurring him on.

“Nigel,” she murmured into his neck. The sound of his name on her lips, the feel of them on his skin sent pleasure skating down his spine.

“Please,” she begged, slanting her hips, driving him deeper. It was a request, or possibly even a demand, for more.

With a growl he gripped her hips and began to move in earnest. Long, slow strokes followed by short, fast ones. Then the opposite—long and fast, short and slow.

He mixed it up, throwing off any semblance of gentlemanly behavior in an effort to increase pleasure and bring them both to a rocketing completion. With luck, he would be able to hold back his own orgasm long enough to see that Lillian was well-pleased first, though that was becoming more and more of a priority.

And then she started bucking beneath him, her nails raking his back as she cried out. His name, a plea, a litany of
yes, yes, yes, yes.

Fever heated his blood to a boil while he silently joined in her chorus of need. His muscles tensed, grew rigid. Slipping a hand between them, he drifted his fingers through her downy curls and found the tiny bud of pleasure hidden there.

At the very first touch, Lillian threw her head back and screamed, convulsing around him. Nigel plunged deep, again and again, wanting to prolong the ecstasy, but having no control over millions of volts of electricity setting off fireworks beneath his skin and low, low in his gut.

With a heartfelt groan, he stiffened inside of her, thrusting one last time as ecstasy exploded behind his eyes and spread outward to every cell and nerve ending.

Long, silent moments passed while his heart pounded beneath his rib cage and they both tried to school their breathing. Sweat dotted their skin, sealing them together as he rolled them carefully to one side.

He kept an arm around her, one of her legs thrown over his hip. Her riot of wavy brown hair spilled across the pillow beneath her head, and he smiled, reaching out to pluck a stray strand from where it was stuck to her lips.

At the featherlight touch, she blinked dreamily and opened cornflower-blue eyes to stare up at him.

“Mmm,” rolled from her lips in a throaty purr.

Nigel chuckled. “I’ll take that as a sign that I left you moderately speechless.”

Her mouth curved in contented acquiescence, her eyes fluttering closed again.

Assuming she’d drifted off to sleep, he extricated himself from their tangle of arms and legs and padded to the loo to dispose of the condom and clean up. Returning to the bed, he crawled in beside her, arranged the covers over their still-naked bodies and pulled her back into his arms once again.

She snuggled against him, resting her head on his shoulder and throwing one of her legs over his thigh. Amazingly, the close proximity had arousal stirring to life a second time. But more than mere desire, a warm wash of satisfaction seeped through him unlike anything he’d ever felt before after what was supposed to be only a casual, rushed sexual encounter.

He’d known Lillian George was different—special even—from the first time he’d seen her. He just hadn’t known how special, and he wasn’t certain even now. All he knew was that she evoked emotions in him he couldn’t remember ever feeling before. And created thoughts in his head that he’d never before been tempted to consider.

Stirring beside him, Lillian turned her face up to his, letting her eyes fall open a crack. Her breath danced across his skin and she made a low humming sound deep in her throat before parting her lips to speak.

“I changed my mind,” she said drowsily. “You can sleep in the bed with me, after all.”

Considering that he was already quite near to doing that already, he couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Why thank you,” he said, doing his best to feign gratitude when what he really felt was amusement. “That’s terribly generous of you.”

“I’m a generous person,” she mumbled, but he could tell she really was slipping off to sleep this time.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, waiting until her breathing became fluid and even. “I hope so,” he murmured more to himself than to her. “I certainly hope so.”

Eleven

T
hey woke up just in the nick of time the next morning. Nigel counted himself lucky they’d woken up at all, considering how...active they’d been throughout the night.

They’d made love once, twice...he’d lost track at three. And that didn’t include the time he’d stirred her from sleep by lapping at her honeyed sweetness and pleasuring her with his mouth. Or the time she’d awakened him by returning the favor.

Which made it a miracle that they were up now, dressed quite fashionably, and on their way to the charity runway show that was scheduled to start in a little under two hours, without looking like the walking dead. He was wearing a simple tan suit, white dress shirt open at the throat in deference to both Miami’s weather and its casual, oceanside style of dress. It had taken him all of twenty minutes to shower and get ready.

It had taken Lillian slightly longer, but the added time had been well worth it given the results. Her hair was a mass of pale brown waves, drawn up at the sides and held in place while the rest fell down her back in a loose, sexy ponytail. Her makeup was light and flawless, showing no underlying signs of her lack of rest. And she was wearing a short, brightly flowered sundress that definitely hadn’t come from the Ashdown Abbey collection. It was, however, perfect for the Florida sunshine, and she looked good enough to eat.

He rather wished he could skip the fashion show altogether, drag her back to the hotel suite and do just that. It took a number of stern mental lectures and dressings-down to keep from telling their driver to turn around and return them to the Royal Crown.

He was Ashdown Abbey’s CEO, after all; he was required to be there. And as upset as his father was already with the company’s performance since opening stores and a manufacturing plant in the United States, he doubted the old man would be happy to hear Nigel had blown off a big event to spend the day setting the sheets afire with his lovely new personal assistant.

But despite all the reasons he knew he couldn’t, he still wanted to. Especially when he reached for her hand in the lift on the way down to the car and she let him take it, leaving her fingers in his on the walk through the lobby, then again in the limousine. And when she sat mere inches from him in the back of the car—still a respectable distance, but much closer than she had the previous night.

They arrived at the event location and joined a line of vehicles waiting to discharge their passengers. People were pouring into the giant white tent set up for the runway show. Slowly, the limo moved forward until it was at the head of the line, and the driver came around to open the door and let them out.

Nigel stepped out first, then assisted Lillian, keeping her close to his side while camera lenses approached and flashes of light went off all around them. Today’s show wasn’t exactly a red-carpet event, but there were enough big-name designers showing and celebrities in attendance that it brought out a crowd of paparazzi and legitimate media alike.

Nigel smiled, nodded, played the part, all the while guiding Lillian through the throng with nothing more than a hand at her back. He was careful not to touch her anywhere else or give any hint to the public of the true nature of their relationship. Or what could be considered the true nature of their relationship after the way they’d spent last evening, at any rate.

It seemed to take forever to make it through the tent, stopping every few feet to say hello or speak to people he knew, people who wanted to know him, or simply big associates it was best to share pleasantries with. Until finally they reached their reserved seating near the runway.

Before sitting down, Nigel took Lillian’s hand and leaned close to whisper in her ear. “I need to go backstage and check on preparations for the show. Would you like to come with me or stay here?”

Her fingers tightened around his and she looked more excited than he would have expected, her eyes lighting with anticipation. “I’ll go, if that’s all right,” she replied.

He led her along the long, long frame of the raised runway, weaving around bystanders and finding the entrance to the rear staging area tucked off to one side. Backstage was a mad mass of wall-to-wall people rushing here and there, yelling, calling out, trying to hear and be heard over the cacophony of noise and other voices.

He had a general idea of where the Ashdown Abbey staff and collection were set up, and headed that way.

When they reached the proper area, models were at different stages of hair and makeup and dressing in the chosen Ashdown Abbey designs that would be walking the runway today.

At the center of it all stood the head designer of the collection, Michael Franklin. Calling out instructions, pointing this way and that, keeping everyone on task. As frantic as it looked, Nigel knew from past runway shows that it was all a sort of controlled chaos. Once everything was ready and the show was underway, Michael and everyone else would sit back and declare that things had gone off with nary a hitch.

When the designer spotted Nigel and Lillian standing at the edge of the activity, he lowered his arms, took a deep breath and bustled over.
Time to put on a confident air for the boss,
Nigel thought with amusement. Though he wasn’t the least alarmed by what he was witnessing. In his experience, what was taking place behind the scenes of the runway was perfectly normal, Michael Franklin perfectly capable of choreographing the necessary stages of preparation.

“Mr. Statham,” Franklin greeted, shaking Nigel’s hand.

Nigel said hello and reintroduced him to Lillian before asking how everything was going.

“Fine, fine,” Franklin replied. “We’re short one model, though,” he added, glancing to see if she might be somewhere in the crush of people surrounding them. “I’m sure she’ll be here, but if she doesn’t show up soon, we’ll be pushing back the prep for the champagne gown. We had special hair and accessories lined up for it, since it’s our final design to walk the runway.”

Nigel pursed his lips, wondering if he should put voice to the idea flashing through his head. It was brilliant, of course, at least to his mind. But he wasn’t so certain Franklin or Lillian would agree.

Mistaking his drawn brows for upset, Franklin rushed to reassure him. “Don’t worry, Mr. Statham, everything is under control. We’ll get the model here or find another. If I have to,
I’ll
squeeze into the dress and walk it out there myself.”

“Actually,” Nigel said, deciding to take a chance Lillian wouldn’t slap him for his presumptuousness with so many witnesses standing around, “I have a thought about that myself.” Turning to Lillian, he took her arm encouragingly. “Why don’t you stand in for the missing model?”

Her eyes went wide, her face pale.

“What? No. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“What’s so ridiculous about it?” he argued. “You’re beautiful, poised, more than capable. And we both know you look amazing in the gown, since you wore it to the cocktail party just last night. I’d say it’s an ideal solution.”

Before she had the chance to say anything more, he turned back to Franklin. “Send her to hair and makeup and get her into the dress. Make sure she looks like a million bucks. She’ll be the perfect close to our portion of the show.”

“Nigel,” Lillian said, shaking her head, looking on the verge of panic.

He leaned in, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “You’ll be fine,” he assured her. “Better than fine, you’ll be marvelous.”

When she still didn’t look convinced, he added, “Please. We need your help.”

He heard her sigh, knew she was on the verge of acquiescence and didn’t give her a chance to change her mind.

“Go,” he commanded, pushing her toward Franklin, pleased when the man wasted no time grabbing her up and bustling her off to get ready.

With a smile on his face and heady anticipation thrumming through his veins, he made his way back out front, taking his seat and awaiting what he suspected would be the best runway show of his life. Career aspects be damned.

* * *

Hours later, Lily was still shaking. She’d never been so nervous in her life. Not even on her first day pretending to be a personal assistant for Nigel.

What had he been thinking? She wasn’t a model. Far from it. She was a designer, for heaven’s sake. Her place was well on the other side of fashion—behind the scenes, not out in front, walking a runway with hundreds of eyes riveted on her and flashbulbs going off in her face every tenth of a second.

Not that Nigel was aware of any of that. But that still didn’t give him the right to dress her up and shove her out there without warning.

She’d survived, of course. She even liked to think she’d done an exceptional job. At least she’d stayed on her feet, hadn’t fainted and had made it all the way down the runway and back without falling off into the crowd of onlookers.

But what if someone recognized her? From the audience or later, from all of the pictures and video clips that were sure to be circulating across the globe.

Too many people knew her as Lily Zaccaro. Even with her hair a little darker than her natural shade and heavier makeup than usual for the runway, somebody out there was sure to notice her and wonder what she’d been doing walking the runway for one of her competitors.

With luck, they would call her cell phone to ask what was going on. But much more likely, they would call the apartment and end up talking to either Juliet or Zoe. Her sisters would be clueless, but they’d begin to put two and two together, track her down in Los Angeles and blow her entire ruse as Lillian George.

Nigel would be furious—for good reason. But worse, she would be kicked out of Ashdown Abbey. Before she’d figured out who was stealing her designs.

Dammit. How did she get herself into these predicaments?

Running her fingers through her hair, she shook it out of its overly sprayed upsweep until it resembled at least a modicum of normal, natural, non-runway style. She was out of the champagne-colored gown and back in the sundress she’d been wearing when they first arrived.

The makeup, however, would have to remain until they returned to the hotel suite and she could take some cotton balls and about ten gallons of makeup remover to it. Not that she looked like a clown. It was just that everything—eyeliner, shadow, mascara, blush, lipstick—was thicker and heavier than usual to be seen from a distance and on camera.

She was about to turn away from the oversize mirror and head back out front when a pair of hands spanned her waist and warm lips pressed against the side of her neck. Her gaze flicked to her reflection, and now Nigel’s, close behind her.

“You were wonderful,” he spoke near her ear, barely above a whisper. “I knew you would be.”

Stepping away before someone noticed his familiarity with the person who was supposed to be simply his personal assistant, he added, “That model never did show up, so thank you for saving the show.”

“You’re welcome,” she said with a touch of reluctance. Then she turned to face him, crossing her arms and hitching one hip in annoyance. “You might have
asked
if I wanted to play supermodel before pushing me out onstage against my will. Do you have any idea how petrified I was? You’re lucky I didn’t throw up on one of the other models or pass out right in the middle of the runway and ruin the whole show.”

To her surprise, he chuckled at her aggravation, a wide smile stretching across his handsome features.

“Nonsense. You were exceptional. And I can’t imagine anyone else looking as lovely in that gown...not even a professional model paid to look good in designer creations.”

As much as she wanted to hold on to her mad, his flattery was working. She was glad she’d been able to help out in such a way when he’d needed her, happy that he was pleased with her performance.

But that didn’t change the fact that she was in trouble. Bad enough they’d slept together last night. That she wanted it to—
hoped
it would, even—happen again.

Now she needed to worry about someone recognizing her and figuring out what she was doing playing out a second identity. That
Nigel
might realize what she was up to and hate her forever.

Her heart gave a painful lurch. She might be lying to him. What they had might be casual, temporary and doomed to be short-lived. But the thought of him finding out who she really was, what she’d been doing pretending to be his personal assistant all this time, nearly brought tears to her eyes.

An ill-fated romantic fling she could handle. Seeing a look of betrayal, possibly even disgust, in his eyes after what they’d shared... No, she didn’t want her time with him to end like that.

Which meant she needed to be very careful from this point on. She needed to guard herself against any further attachment to this man. Whatever else transpired between them, she couldn’t let it affect her emotionally.

Most importantly, though, she needed to get back to the Ashdown Abbey offices in Los Angeles and find out once and for all who stole her designs for the California Collection.

Oblivious to the twisting, hazard-strewn path her thoughts were taking, he ran his hands down her bare arms, threading his fingers with hers. “If you’re ready, we can go. We’ll have to make pleasantries as we weave our way through the crowd out there, but the car is waiting to take us back to the hotel.”

“Don’t you need to stick around awhile?” she asked. “Rub elbows and talk up the company to key account holders?”

“Already done,” he replied. “I spoke to several buyers just after the show, while you were changing back into street clothes, and anyone else who might be interested in acquiring our designs has my card. They can call me at the office on Monday.”

“That was quick,” she said. “I would have thought you’d need to spend the rest of the day schmoozing.”

He offered her a gentle smile. “Sometimes I do. But for the most part, these types of events drag on for the public’s enjoyment. Those of us who are there for business tend to know each other, look for each other and get straight to the point. Besides,” he said, leaning in and lowering his voice to a sultry whisper, “I don’t want to be stuck out there, making nice with mere strangers, when I could spend the rest of my time in Miami alone with you.”