Sheltered by the Millionaire (7 page)

A smile stretched across his handsome face, giving him a movie-poster twinkle in his eyes. “I’ll take that as a yes. See you tomorrow at eight-fifteen.” Stepping back, he picked up the brownies again. “Let’s take these inside so we can get started making plans for the evening.”

* * *

The next day, after finishing up at the Cattleman’s Club, Whit rushed home to shower and make plans for his evening with Megan. God, he needed her and not just for the distraction of forgetting about Craig’s upcoming memorial service. But for the chance to be with her, talk to her, find out why she had this tenacious hold over his thoughts.

She’d clearly had reservations, but she’d still agreed. She’d been emphatic though that he couldn’t arrive until after eight once she had Evie in bed.

As if he didn’t understand how important it was to be careful of the little girl’s feelings.

But one victory at a time.

He finished his shower and pulled out a suit, more ramped for this date than he could remember being...ever.

An hour later, he shifted his sports car into park outside Megan’s cute three-bedroom bungalow south of downtown. He’d left the truck at home tonight and opted for his silver Porsche. He wanted to make the evening special for her. He had things back on track to win Megan over. Tonight was a big step in the right direction.

He’d considered bringing her flowers, but didn’t want to be obvious. So he’d opted to buy her a catnip plant. He’d actually bought two, one for her and one for his greenhouse even though he didn’t have a cat. He’d also picked up a citronella plant that repelled mosquitoes to give him an excuse to stop by the shelter.

Walking up the flagstone path, he took in the multicolored lights on the bushes and a little wooden sign that read
Santa, please stop here.
He climbed the steps and knocked twice just under the holly wreath on the door.

Dogs barked inside and he could hear Megan shushing them just before she opened the door. The sight of her damn near took his breath away. She wore a Christmas-red dress, the wraparound kind with a tie resting on her hip. Those strings made his fingers itch to untie the bow, to sweep aside the silky fabric and reveal the hot curves underneath. His gaze raked down her body, all the way to her bare feet, that tiny paw tattoo on her ankle tempting him all the more.

And he would have told her just how incredible she looked with her hair flowing loose to her shoulders except two dogs ran circles around his legs. He planted one hand on the door frame and gripped the terra-cotta pot with the catnip plant in the other. Some kind of Scottie mix in an elf sweater yapped at him while a border collie bolted out around the porch, then back inside.

“Sorry for the mayhem.” Megan rolled her eyes. “Piper and Cosmo just need a good run in the back yard before I go.”

“No problem.” He passed her the plant. “Catnip.”

“Thank you, how thoughtful. Truffles, Pixie and Scooter will have a blast with it.” Her smile was wide and genuine, her lips slicked with gloss. “Come on inside. Evie is asleep and Abigail should be here soon to watch her. Beth helps out, but since she’s with your friend Drew...I just want to keep any talk to a minimum.”

He swept off his Stetson as she stepped aside to let him in. He focused on learning more about her from her house to distract himself from the obvious urge to keep staring at her.

Her home was exactly how he would have imagined: warm and full of colors. A bright red sectional sofa held scattered throw pillows and three cats. Her end tables were actually wood-encased dog crates. A toy box overflowed in a corner.

And there were photos everywhere. Of her with Evie. Of them with the dogs. The cats too. Years of her life not just on the mantel but also in collages on the walls.

She held up the sprig of catnip. “I’m just going to water this.”

He followed her into the kitchen and sure enough, the refrigerator front was decorated in finger-painted turkeys and a cotton ball snowman. He noticed her recycling station tucked just inside the laundry room, with its neat stacks of bundled newspapers and rinsed milk jugs in labeled bins. “I should take lessons from you on recycling.”

“You should,” she said pertly.

Chuckling softly, he looked past all those precise labels, and saw a large crate with a familiar calico cat inside.

“Is that the same cat I brought to the shelter?” He pointed. “Tallulah? I thought she was staying in your office.”

“Tallulah came down with an upper respiratory infection, so I brought her home to keep a closer watch over her.” She turned off the water and set the plant on the counter. “I’ve been crating her to keep her separate from the other animals.”

He knelt beside the extra-large enclosure, wriggling his fingers through the wire. The kitty woke, arching her back into a long stretch. She was a damn cute little scrap. “Is she going to make it?”

“She’s doing much better now.” Megan leaned a hip against the doorframe, crossing her arms over her chest as she watched him with curious eyes. “She’s on medication. I’ve been keeping her at home with me at night to make sure she’s eating and hydrated.”

As if on cue, Tallulah went to the double bowl and lapped up water.

Whit stood again, inhaling Megan’s cinnamon scent. “Do you often take animals home from work?”

“We all do. There are never enough foster homes, especially right now.”

“And I added to that burden by bringing in Tallulah. I’m sorry about that.”

“You’re a confusing man, Whit Daltry.” She studied him intently.

“If it makes you feel better, I’m not even close to understanding you yet either. But everything I’ve seen so far, I like.” Unable to resist for another second, he tipped his head and brushed his mouth against hers.

The soft give of her lips and that sweet moan of hers had him reaching for her. She didn’t lean in, but she wasn’t pulling away either. So he moved slowly, carefully. And savored the feel of her.

He slid his hands behind her, along her waist, the silkiness of her dress teasing his hand with thoughts of how silky her bare skin felt. He tasted her, drawing her closer and just enjoying the moment. Things couldn’t go any further, not with the babysitter due to knock on the door at any second.

So he enjoyed just kissing Megan, learning more about the way the two of them fit together. Her arms slid around his neck and she pressed those sweet curves against him as her fingers toyed with his hairline. Such a small gesture, but each brush of her fingertips sent his pulse throbbing harder through his veins.

He backed her against the door and she stroked her foot up the back of his calf. A growl rumbled in the back of his throat, echoing the roar in his body to have this woman, to take her even though his every instinct shouted he would lose her if he moved too fast.

The doorbell rang, jarring him back to his senses.

For now.

* * *

A date.

She was on a no-kidding, grown-up date.

Megan couldn’t even bring herself to feel guilty. Her child was asleep and well cared for and she was enjoying an adult evening out with a sexy, fascinating man.

The valet drove away to park the Porsche as she and Whit climbed the steps of the restored mansion-turned-restaurant. She had heard about the French cuisine at Pierre’s, but never had the spare cash or free time to try it for herself. Her heels clicked on her way up the stairs and she couldn’t miss the way Whit’s eyes lingered on her legs.

A rush of pleasure tingled through her.

Sure, she loved being a mom and enjoyed her job, but it was nice to slip into a dress that wasn’t covered with ketchup or cat hair. She tucked her hand into the crook of Whit’s arm as they stepped over the threshold into the warm, candlelit restaurant. Her fingers moved against the fine weave of his suit jacket.

A string quartet played classical carols in the foyer, elegant strains swelling up into the cathedral ceiling. She was so preoccupied with taking it all in she almost ran smack dab into an older couple. She started to apologize, then realized—damn it—they weren’t the only Royal residents who’d ventured outside the city limits.

She forced herself to relax and smile at Tyrone and Vera Taylor. “Good evening. Imagine running into you two here.”

She’d hoped to keep her relationship with Whit out of the public eye a while longer, but she should have known that would be next to impossible, in most any local restaurant given their wide circle of friends.

“Whit?” Tyrone said. “What are you—? Oh, well, hello, Ms. Maguire.”

“Good evening, sir,” Whit answered the silver-haired man. Tyrone had a reputation for riding roughshod over people, but Whit met him face on without a wince.

Megan considered asking them about their newborn grandbaby in the NICU, about their daughter Skye still in a coma, but rumor had it Vera wasn’t enthused about being a grandmother. The possibility of that poor little baby being unwanted hurt Megan’s already vulnerable heart. So she simply said, “You and your family are in my thoughts.”

“Thank you,” Vera answered tightly before turning to her husband. “Tyrone?”

The blustery man clapped Whit on the shoulder. “We’ll let you get to your meal. I’ll see you at the town hall cleanup...and of course at Craig Richardson’s memorial service.”

“Yes, sir.” Whit nodded curtly.

Megan wondered if the others noticed the tension in Whit’s shoulders at the mention of his dead friend. She tucked her hand into the crook of his arm again and squeezed a light reassurance.

The maître d’ arrived and saved them from further awkward conversation by leading the Taylors to their table while the hostess guided Whit and Megan to theirs—thankfully on the other side of the room.

Megan settled into her seat, the silver, crystal and candlelight a long way from chicken nuggets and fast food on the run. Music from the quartet filled the silence between them until their waiter took their order. They both settled on the special: rack of lamb, white grits and Texas kale.

As she stabbed at her salad, she realized just how quiet Whit had gone and knew with certainty that the mention of his friend Craig had hit him hard.

“Are you okay?” She rested a hand over Whit’s. “We don’t have to do this tonight.”

“I want to be here with you.” He flipped his hand over to squeeze hers. “I’m good.”

“You don’t have to be Mr. Charming all the time.” In fact, she sometimes wanted a sign to know what was real about him, what she could trust, because lately he seemed too good to be true. “We can call it a night and reschedule.”

His thumb caressed along the sensitive inside of her wrist. “No. I need a distraction and you’re a damn fine one.”

“Thank you, I think.” She tipped her head to the side. “I’m just so sorry for your loss.”

“Me too. It was just so....” The tendons in his neck stood out, and even in the dim candlelight, she could see his pulse throbbing along his temple. “Losing him in that tornado was just so unexpected.”

She agreed on many levels. The whole town of Royal, Texas, had been tipped upside down by that storm. “Do you think we’re both just reacting to all that life-and-death adrenaline?”

His gaze snapped up to meet hers. “What I feel for you has nothing to do with a natural disaster.”

“But I kissed you that day and that changed things between us.”

“Lady,” a smile finally tugged at his handsome face, “I was attracted to you long before that kiss.”

She’d suspected, but hearing that gave her a rush far headier than it should have. “I thought I was just a great big pain in the butt since I moved to town.”

He glanced down again. “Craig used to tell me I should just sweep you off your feet.”

“You told him how you felt?”

Whit shook his head. “I didn’t have to. Craig guessed. He said it was obvious every time I looked at you.” And his eyes held hers again now, full of heat and intensity. “But you shut me down cold right from the start. And I can’t blame you. We had our disagreements. I thwarted your business plans. And you were quite vocal in your disapproval of my company buying wetlands. I thought I was saving us both a lot of grief by steering clear. Then you kissed me, and all bets were off. I would have acted sooner but when we got the news about Craig....”

The confirmation that he’d been wanting a relationship with her for so long rattled her more than a little. “You’ve been grieving.”

“I have...still am.” He glanced down for a couple of heartbeats before swallowing hard and looking back up at her. “But that doesn’t stop life from happening. And it doesn’t stop me from thinking about what happened between us that day. We can’t ignore it.”

Her face flamed. “I’m embarrassed that I kissed you.”

“But you liked it.” He leaned back in his chair, watching her over the candlelight. “So did I.”

She couldn’t deny it to him or to herself any longer. She wanted Whit, and she wanted him for more than just one night. “Obviously I liked it.”

He leaned closer, took her hand across the table, the heat in his eyes smokier than the candle between them. “Then let’s do it again.”

Seven

A
fter Whit’s suggestive comment, dinner had passed in a blur of anticipation as she waited for this moment. To be in Whit’s sports car heading to his house. To be alone. Together.

A part of her knew she’d done a grave disservice to the fine cuisine, but she could only think of the promise in Whit’s eyes. Now they were finally at his house for after-dinner drinks and whatever else came next.

The garage door slid closed behind them, sealing them inside one of the four bays, where they were surrounded by other signs of his luxurious lifestyle. She’d seen the truck, but there was also a boat. A motorcycle. She gulped back a nervous shiver and concentrated on the man in the seat next to her instead. He was about more than expensive toys and an extravagant lifestyle. Whit was real. This was real. She was going to act on her feelings for this man. The attraction that had been simmering between them for days—weeks, years—would finally be fulfilled. She’d ached for him, dreamed of him.

Shifting in her seat, she smoothed her fingers over the red silk hem where it had ridden up one knee just a little. She’d dressed with care, wanting to be noticed. Yet the silk fabric had teased her too, clinging and skimming along her skin every time she moved.

Whit turned to her, the leather seat creaking. Her temperature spiked and heart pounded. She met his gaze and knew what was coming. She’d been waiting all evening....

He sketched his mouth over hers lightly. Once. Twice. Nipping her bottom lip and launching a fresh shower of sparks through her veins.

Then he eased back and looked into her eyes. “Going inside doesn’t commit to anything more than you want.”

She angled her head to the side and lifted an eyebrow. “Really? Are you going to kiss and bolt again?”

“Not a chance.” He tucked his hand behind her head, his fingers massaging a sensual promise into her scalp. “I just want you to know I care about you.”

The simple words were filled with layers of meaning she wasn’t ready to delve into just now. Still, she held them close, savoring the heady warmth of being cared about by this handsome, magnetic man.

“I want to see the inside of your house.” She stroked his face with one hand and reached for her door handle with the other. “So let’s go.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He scooped up his Stetson. “I’m happy to oblige.”

As she stepped out of the low-slung sports car, Whit was already holding the door open for her like the perfect gentleman he’d been all evening. His palm low on her back, he guided her past his Porsche and truck toward the door. The warmth of his hand seared through her silky dress. The silence wrapped around her as they climbed the three stairs into his house.

And holy cow, what a house.

Mansion
would be a more appropriate word. She slipped off her heels and padded barefoot down the corridor leading to the main foyer. She wriggled her toes against cool marble, then into the plush give of a Persian rug. She tipped her head back to stare up the length of the stairway, up to the cathedral ceiling with a crystal chandelier. The scent of lemony furniture polish and fine leather teased her nose. Whit stood silently at her side.

God, the place was quiet compared to the constant mayhem of her home, with Evie’s laughter, dogs barking, and kids’ television shows playing. Curious to learn more about this man full of contradictions, Megan glanced at the dining room to her left, with its heavy mahogany table set, then turned to the living room on her right. She stepped through the archway, taking in the tan leather sofas and wingbacks, tasteful while still being oversized for a man. She trailed her fingers along the carved mantel above the fireplace.

“What do you think?” he asked from behind her, his footsteps thudding on the hardwood floor.

“It’s...” She searched for a word to describe the surroundings that had clearly been professionally decorated, just as his meals were professionally prepared. The place was pristine. High-end gorgeous. Yet missing all the touches that made a place a home. There was no clutter, no scars on the furniture from the wear and tear of making memories.

And there were no pictures, just knickknacks on the shelves and gallery artwork on the walls. But no photos. That tugged at her heart as sad, so very sad. “You have a lovely home.”

His hands fell to rest on her shoulders, his chin against her hair. “It’s a damn study in beige and I never realized that until I compared it to your place tonight. Kinda like how your brownies taste better than anything the best catering service could offer.”

With every word, he made her heart ache more for him. She turned in his embrace and slid her arms around his neck. She saw so much in his eyes. So much caring and even a hope for things she wasn’t sure she could give him.

But she couldn’t think about that now. She refused to ruin this night by borrowing trouble from what might come. For now, she just wanted to enjoy this new connection and all the heady promise of his touch.

She stroked the back of his neck along his close-cropped hairline. “Do you really want to talk about paint swatches and recipes? Because I have something a lot more interesting in mind.” She gripped his shoulders, her fingers flexing against hard male muscle. “The only question in my mind is, do you prefer the leather sofa or your bedroom?”

* * *

Megan’s proposition fueled Whit’s already smoldering need for her. Dinner had been a delicious torture as he waited to get her in his home, in his bed.

Although right now, the sofa sounded fine to him.

He skimmed the back of his fingers along her face. “You’re sure this is what you want?”

“Are you kidding?” She tugged his hair lightly. “I thought I’d made my wishes abundantly obvious.”

“I just want you to be clear.” He cupped her face, resting his forehead on hers. “This won’t be a one-night thing.”

She hesitated, but only for an instant before whispering, “I hear you.”

“And you agree.” He needed to hear her say it. He’d waited too long to have this woman in his arms to wreck it all now.

“How about this.” She angled closer into his embrace, her cinnamon scent filling his every breath. “It isn’t a one-night stand, but we’re still going to take it one night at a time.”

He’d wanted more, but she hadn’t said no outright. He was a smart man. He’d made progress, and he wasn’t going to wreck his chance with this amazing woman.

He wrapped his arms around her and pressed her soft body to his. “I can live with that for now.”

“Good, very good.” She swept her hands into his suit coat and shrugged his shoulders until the jacket fell to the floor. “Because you’ve been filling my dreams for a very long time.”

“I would bet not as long as you’ve been in mine.”

“Really?” Her green eyes went wide, her voice breathy. “Tell me more.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’d heard about the hot new director at the shelter, then I saw you and you were—are—so much more than hot.” He took a step toward the wide leather sofa, then another step. “But you shut me down cold because of the property dispute.”

“I noticed you all right.” She tugged at his tie, loosening it and pulling it free from his collar. “But yes, you made my life more than a little difficult by putting up roadblocks for the original shelter plans. And you’re right that I don’t approve of your company’s history of buying up wetlands. But, to be honest, there’s more. I was still wrapped up in getting my feet on the ground with Evie and being a mom.”

“It didn’t have to do with trusting men because of Evie’s father?” he couldn’t resist asking.

“This conversation is getting too serious.” She backed toward the sofa, their feet synching up with each step. “Can we return to the part where you tell me I’m beautiful and I tell you I admire your abs?”

“You like my abs, do you?”

Her fingers stroked down again until she cupped his butt. “I like a lot about you, Whit Daltry.”

“Nice to know.” He leaned down to kiss her just as she arched up to meet him.

The taste of their after-dinner coffee mingled with the flavor of pure Megan. A taste he was coming to know well and crave more with each sampling.

Every time he held her, it was only more intense. He leaned forward at the same time she fell back. They landed on the leather sofa in a tangle of arms and legs and need. The sweet give of her curves under him sent desire throbbing through him, making him ache to be inside her. The silk of her dress as she writhed against him only tormented him with the notion of how much better her skin would feel. He wanted her now on the sofa and again upstairs. But he also wanted to make this moment perfect for her. No rushing.

Although that was getting tougher to manage with her tugging his shirt from his pants and working his belt buckle open. He toyed with the hem of her dress, his knuckles brushing the inside of her knee and drawing a husky moan from her lips.

He’d been fantasizing all evening long about untying her wraparound dress, and he intended to fulfill that fantasy. Soon. For now, he lost himself in the pleasure of kissing her, stroking along her creamy thigh. Taking his time. Taking them both higher and higher still until the need was a painful razor’s edge.

Drawing in a ragged breath to bolster himself, he lifted off her. The image of her kissed plump lips, her flame-red hair splayed across the buff-colored sofa, was pinup magnificence.

She looked up at him with a question in her sparkling green eyes. She extended a hand. “Whit? Where are you going?”

“To carry you to my bedroom.” He scooped her into his arms and against his chest.

Her gasp of surprise made him smile.

She got past her surprise quickly, though, and toyed with the top button of his shirt. “Luckily for both of us, that’s exactly where I want to be.”

He headed back into the foyer and past the stairs with long-legged strides that couldn’t eat up the distance to the master suite fast enough.

Finally, finally, he crossed the threshold into his room. He’d never thought of it as more than a place to sleep. Houses—homes—weren’t things to get attached to.

Just short of the four-poster bed, he set her on her feet. As she slid down his body, she thumbed free two more buttons on his starched cotton shirt.

She angled back as if to sit on the edge of the bed and he stopped her with a hand to the waist.

“Wait,” he said, “we’ll get there soon enough.”

He dropped to his knees, his hands grazing over her breasts on his way to hug her hips. Her husky sigh urged him on as he eyed the tie of her dress, the loops right there for the taking, releasing. He took one end of the sash between his teeth. He looked up at her, holding her gaze with his. Her hands fell to his shoulders, but not to push him away. In fact, she swayed a bit, her fingers digging into his back, as if she was bracing herself to keep her balance. She dampened her lips with her tongue.

He tugged, slowly, imprinting the moment on his mind. Her dress parted and with a shrug of her shoulders she sent it slithering off into a pool at her feet. His breath lodged in his chest, then he exhaled in a long, slow sigh of appreciation.

The sweet swell of her breasts in red lace, the curve of her hips in crimson satin panties had him throbbing harder with the urge to be inside her. Now. And thanks to her bikini undies, he found the answer to his question about whether she was hiding more tattooed paw prints. She had a tiny trail along her hip bone. He took the edge of her panties in his teeth and let it lightly snap back into place.

“Megan, you are...beautiful beyond words. More than I even imagined, and what I imagined was already mighty damn awesome.” His hands trembled as he reached to stroke her arms. Sure, he’d touched before but the feel of naked flesh was so much more intimate now that her curves were bared.

A flush swept over her lightly freckled skin. “And you, Whit, are seriously overdressed for the occasion.”

She tugged him back up to stand again and unbuttoned his shirt the rest of the way, one deliberate move at a time, kissing each inch of exposed skin. Her licks and nibbles had him bracing a hand against one of the bed posts to keep from stumbling to his knees again. He kicked off his shoes while she made fast work of unzipping his pants and shoving them down and off. Her eyes widened with appreciation and she stroked the length of him. He gave up and let gravity take them both onto the mattress.

Whit laid her back on the bed, his bed. In his room. His house. Finally, he had her here after three and a half long years.

He stretched out on top her, hot flesh meeting flesh. Her curves melded to him, enticed him, made him ache all the more to be inside her.

The thick comforter gave underneath them. He stroked up the creamy satin of her skin, cupping her lace-clad breasts. Her nipples tightened against his palms. A low growl rumbled in his chest and he took one of those hard pebbles in his mouth, teasing and circling with his tongue through the fabric.

He reached a hand behind her and unhooked her bra. Then, yes, he took her in his mouth again, bare flesh this time, and she tightened with pleasure at the stroke of his tongue. Her fingers dug deeper into his shoulders, cutting tiny half moons in his skin.

The moment was so damn surreal. He’d been hoping for this chance to be with Megan since the day he’d met her. He’d held himself in check because she’d shut him down cold for so long.

She wasn’t cold now. Not even close.

Megan matched him stroke for stroke, taste for taste, exploring him as he learned the landscape of her naked body. Each panting breath came faster and faster, hers and his, and he knew restraint was slipping away. He angled off her to reach into the bedside drawer and pull out a condom.

She smiled a thanks before plucking the packet from him. She tore the wrapper open, her eyes intent but her hands trembling. He understood the feeling well. She pressed a hand to his shoulder and nudged him onto his back.

With a smooth sweep of her leg, she straddled his legs. Her fiery red hair tumbled over her shoulder in a gorgeous tangled mess of curls. He reached to cradle her breasts in his palms, his thumbs circling. Her eyes fluttered closed for a second before she looked at him again and rolled the condom over him, one deliberate inch at a time, never taking her eyes off him.