Sweeter Than Revenge (20 page)

“I’ll think about it, darling,” Anastasia said, clutching Uri’s arm as she got off the elevator and headed down the hall toward her room. “Uri will do my chart for me, and then we’ll let you know.”

“Great,” David said, hovering between the open elevator doors and staring after them.

Anastasia swayed dangerously and, with a deft move, Uri swept her arm around his neck and supported her as she staggered a few steps. How such a tiny man could support such a huge woman, David couldn’t imagine. Uri looked back over his shoulder, caught David’s gaze and gave him the thumbs-up signal, which David returned. David sent up a feverish prayer that Anastasia didn’t stumble and fall onto Uri, flattening their only hope like a pancake, and that the stars lined up and did whatever the hell it was they were supposed to do.

When they’d gone, David punched the button for Maria’s floor and seethed with anger.

Now that the initial thrill of seeing Maria knock the dragon queen off her throne had worn off, he was really pissed. As if his job with Anastasia wasn’t hard enough without Maria “firing” her and making things worse. Why couldn’t she have controlled her temper a little better, like hehad? God knew he’dwanted to give the old cow the heave-ho from the moment he’d laid eyes on her, but had he? No. He’d kept his eyes on the prize, been a professional, and thought about all the money Anastasia brought to the firm. Now what were they going to do? If the stars didn’t behave and Anastasia left the firm, both he and Maria would have a whole lot of ’splainin’ to do to Ellis.

Fuming, he got off the elevator and stomped down the hall to Maria’s door, upon which he pounded with his fist. For a couple of seconds he didn’t hear any noises inside her room, and then there was a gentle thunk, as if she’d pressed her palms against the door to look through the keyhole. But she didn’t answer and he knew she’d decided to play possum to see if he’d go away.

She should know better.

“I know you’re there, Maria.”

More silence, and then, with a loud sigh, she unlocked the door and cracked it open. He saw a sliver of her flashing eyes on the other side of the brass bars of the dead bolt, which she obviously had no intention of unlatching.

“I’m not in the mood—” she began.

“Open the damn door,” he snarled.

That did it, of course. Cursing, she slammed the door in his face, jerked the bolt off and flung the door open again. Relieved, he strode past her, down the narrow hall and into the deluxe room that was both the mirror image of his own and yet a million times more inviting: table with chairs on either side, entertainment armoire, sofa, lamps, nightstands, paintings and queen-size bed with luxury duvet and sheets. The curtains were drawn, but one of the lamps provided a warm glow, and so did the little flickering candle—leave it to Maria to travel with all the comforts of home—on the nightstand. The scent was something fruity, he thought, maybe peaches—but much more fascinating was the steamy scent of lemons and flowers coming from the open bathroom door, as if…as if she’d just…showered.

Turning slowly, her perfume fogging his brain and blocking all clear and logical thought, he took a good look at Maria for the first time. She hovered in the doorway, well out of his reach, wearing a tiny little white-silk robe that left every inch of her smooth legs bare and barely covered the triangle at the top of her thighs. The vague, dark delta was visible through the thin fabric, as were…as were…

His gaze traveled higher, above the knotted belt, to the tantalizing outlines of her breasts. His groin tightened, diverting even more blood from his poor, floundering brain. Staring openly at those sweet, lush curves, he tried to remember why he’d come even as he willed Maria to respond, to show him some sign, to feel one millionth of the lust that pulsed, hot and furious, through his veins. While he watched, her nipples hardened, giving her away, exerting an irresistible pull over him.

“Nice robe,” he said, taking a step toward her.

“Thanks.”

Flustered, a telltale flush staining her cheeks, she crossed her arms over her chest, blocking his view. Thwarting him. He didn’t like it, nor did he like the violent rush of blood through his veins, filling him with that delicious heat only she could generate, or the fact that Anastasia’s public-relations problems suddenly seemed comically insignificant.

“What are you doing?” he said with all the bravado he could muster.

Raising her chin, she stared down her nose at him in open defiance. “I wastaking a shower.”

“I see that.” Sweeping a hand wide to encompass the entire cozy scene, including that silly candle, he sneered at her. “You fire our biggest client, call her names, then come up here to treat yourself to a day at the spa while I have to clean up your mess? Does that seem fair to you?”

“Well, what was I supposed to do? You threw me out of the limo.”

“You could act like a professional. Pretend you care about our clients. How’s that?”

“I didn’t know taking a shower to relax after a hard morning and caring about clients were mutually exclusive. My mistake.”

“Don’t get smart with me.”

They glared at each other.

“You may be interested to know,” he said, trying, and failing, to deal with his anger and frustration in a constructive manner, “that while you were up here with your little soaps and lotions, making yourself smell good and whatnot—”

She made an outraged sound.

“—I was down there in the bar begging Anastasia not to fire us. Right now she’s off having Uri do her chart, and as long as Venus and Neptune haven’t collided or imploded or anything, we may have a fighting chance of keeping her.”

“Wonderful.”

“No need to thank me,” he barked.

“Oh, really?” she cried. “Well, there’s no need for youto thank me,either.”

“Why on earth would Ithank you?”

Her incredulous gaze shot to the ceiling, as though she needed divine intervention for dealing with him and all his nonsense. “For sticking up for you,” she said. “For defending you to that hag.”

A beat or two passed, and then there was a subtle but powerful shift in the air between them. Just like that, the conversation no longer had anything to do with Anastasia and everything to do with the four years’ worth of unfinished business they needed to resolve. Quick to take advantage of this opening, he took a cautious step closer.

“Why did you defend me?”

“I have no idea. Especially since I’m sure you couldn’t wait to get on the phone and tattle on me again to my father.”

“I didn’t do that,” he told her, edging closer again. “And this has nothing to do with Ellis.”

She backed away, looking wary and hyperalert now, as though she were a cat trapped in a corner by a dog and she wasn’t quite sure of the dog’s intentions. “I’ll just…I’ll just get dressed. Maybe you could wait for me in the lobby, and then we can have lunch and talk…”

She seemed to lose her train of thought as he stared at her, or maybe she could tell from his face that nothing short of a nuclear strike would get him out of her room now. Turning and clutching the edges of her robe together at the neck, she hurried to the door and put her hand on the knob.

David vaulted across the room, reached over her shoulder and slammed the door shut before she’d opened it an inch. Much of the fight seemed to go out of her. She stiffened and then sagged, leaning until her forehead rested on the door.

“Please leave,” she whispered.

“I can’t.”

He couldn’t. Not when they’d come this far and he needed her so desperately. Not when his tense, rigid flesh screamed for her to touch him and put him out of the agony she’d caused. Not when he knew she wanted him, too. Not wanting to let her go, but not wanting to force her, either, he settled for leaving his arm over her shoulder and his palm pressed to the door without touching her.

“Why are you doing this to me?” she whimpered.

“Doing what?”

“Trying to get me in bed.”

“Because I want you.” Shuddering with the want and with the effort not to bury his face in that thick, fragrant hair, he forced the words out of his tight, dry throat. “And you want me. Don’t deny it.”

“This isn’t about wanting—”

“It’s all about wanting. And needing.”

“I…I said goodbye to you. I let you go. We both know it’s—”

Something deep inside him began to come unhinged. They were not over,and probably never would be. And there was no way he’d stand here and let her lie to both of them.

“Nothing’s over,” he said with much more calm than he felt. “And you’d better not ever say that to me again. Okay?”

She didn’t answer. For the longest eight seconds of his life, only the sounds of their harsh breathing broke the room’s absolute silence.

Finally she raised her head. “I’m so scared.”

He knew what the admission cost her, how much it must hurt, but he wanted to leap with joy, to shout from the rooftops. They were so close. If only she would come a little further, trust him a little more.

“I’m scared too, baby. But we have to try. We have to try.”

There was another long silence while he waited to see what direction his life was about to take. He became aware of his shaky knees, tight gut and throbbing jaw. He wondered what he would do if she didn’t agree with him, and what he’d do if she did. And then, when he thought he couldn’t take the tension of waiting another millisecond, she turned inside the half cage of his arm.

That brilliant brown gaze, still shy but warm now, and hopeful, locked with his. When she smiled, he wanted to shout with relief and joy, to fall to his knees in gratitude. He waited, desperate to hear her say it and confirm that what he thought he saw wasn’t just a beautiful hallucination.

“Let’s try.” With deliberate slowness, she untied the belt and pulled it open to reveal the generous, heaving globes of her breasts with their dark, hard nipples, her tight, flat belly and the triangle of curls he so longed to reclaim. Stepping closer, she reached for him. “Let’s try.”

Chapter 17

Moving closer, rubbing her breasts against the scratchy starched linen of his shirt to relieve some of the ache, acutely aware of the liquid heat pulsing between her thighs, Maria kissed him. Groaning, he deepened the kiss, thrusting his tongue and his hips as one, lashing her to him, stroking her, loving her, watching her.

When breathing became impossible, she broke away, gasping. She raised her heavy eyelids and studied him as she ran her hands through that wavy, fascinating gray hair at his temples, which was a new addition since she’d last loved him.

“What’re you smiling at?” he asked gruffly, holding back his own smile.

“Who gave you all these gray hairs?”

He laughed, pulling away just enough to unbutton his shirt and throw it and his undershirt to the floor. His chest, hard and silky-soft, gleaming and rippling, came into view, inviting her hands to stroke and her lips to kiss.

“You did,” he told her as she dipped her head to lick and suckle one flat brown nipple. “Missing you for four years.” He cried out as she nipped him, tightening his hands around her head to lock her in place. “I’m lucky I have any hair left.”

She reached lower and undid his belt and zipper with lightning speed, desperate to see, and touch and taste. Watching his eyes darken and enjoying that sudden catch in his breathing, she caressed him, her hand rubbing over his hard, heavy length. When that did nothing to satisfy her fiery need to re-learn everything about him, she dropped to her knees and slipped her fingers beneath the elastic of his silky striped boxers to stroke, cup and grip him. He groaned as her mouth closed over his ripe head, savoring him, and she felt his thrilling struggle for breath as his belly heaved above her.

“Ah-hh, Maria, what’re you doing?”

Savoring her power, she sucked and rubbed until he couldn’t take it any more. Crying out, he broke free and scooped her up into his arms, his hands sliding under her robe to her bare skin, his face dark and intent. He swung her around and lowered her to the bed, but when he straightened to take off his pants, she discovered she couldn’t let him go, not even for a minute.

“David,” she whispered, afraid suddenly. He’d left her before, and she hadn’t seen him for four years. What was to stop him from doing it again? She grabbed his wrist and held it, too anxious to worry about being clingy and needy. Still, looking up into his face, she hesitated. Fear won out in the end.

“Don’t leave me again, okay?” she begged. “Not again. I couldn’t…It would…kill me.”

His glittering gaze, white-hot with passion, softened. He pried her fingers loose, flipped her hand over and, holding her gaze, pressed his lips and tongue into her palm and then up to her wrist, nuzzling. “Shh,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere. Never again.”

Kicking off his pants and boxers, he came right back to her outstretched arms, denying her more than a quick glimpse of his huge arousal, tight, rounded butt and endless legs. Later she would stare her fill, but for now, she needed him.

The second his hot, naked body slid across the cool sheets and touched hers, they both lost all control. The waiting had gone on too long. Rolling on top of her, using his delicious weight to press her deep into the mattress, he stroked her overheated skin with rough, impatient hands. Up and down her sides they went, caressing her arms, kneading her thighs, palming her butt.

She cried and whimpered, trying to wrap her legs around him and bind him to her, to kiss him, to stroke shoulders and face and sex, desperate to touch it all now,feel it all now,taste it all now.

Unstoppable whispers poured out of her mouth between kisses and nibbles—things he should know, things she had to tell him. “I missed you,” she said against his mouth, licking those lips, biting him. “I missed you. Don’t leave me again. Promise. I missedyou.”

But he was lost in his own mindless monologue, whispering his own secrets as he settled between her legs and rocked his hard, demanding sex against her, driving her wild.

“Maria…Maria…I can’t believe we’re…Ah-hh, Maria. I missed you, missed you…missed you.”

His lips worked their way back to hers again, and another deep, wet, sucking kiss set off the first vague wave of ripples at her core and sent them radiating out to her belly. It was only a hint of things to come before he got through with her. Laughing and crying, she writhed and remembered. It had always been like this with David.

Always would be.

Pulling back, he began his slow descent down her body, missing nothing, killing her. Teasing her breasts with maddening light strokes, pushing them together, licking, nibbling…biting…suckling…torturing.

Her spasms grew as she arced against him, struggling to get away. “Please stop, David. Please don’t…I can’t take it…I can’t—”

He laughed, as she’d known he would, and didn’t stop, as she’d known he wouldn’t. Moving lower, he paused long enough to press his tongue to her navel and the spasms low in her belly continued, as he could surely feel.

Those long fingers came up to stroke between her legs and she tried to brace herself, but of course that was impossible. Flinging her arms over her head, thrashing, she floated in a netherworld between consciousness and un. Dipping his fingers in her dew, he crooned, a thrilling sound from deep in his throat. Taking all the time in the world, those fingers inched back…back…and then slowly forward so that eternity passed before he finally rubbed over her core.

She shattered, hurtling off that razor’s edge into pure bliss, the sharp spasms racking her body in a delicious convulsion. From very far away, above the nothingness in her mind and the loudness of her cries, she heard David laugh again, in triumph, and she remembered, and loved, that laugh.

But then he lowered his head, giving her not one second to catch her breath. Latching on, he suckled, milking the orgasm, drawing more pleasure from her spent body, building her up again only to shove her off the cliff again, faster and harder than before.

How she survived it all, she didn’t know. She’d never known. All she knew was that even if it killed her—and it probably would—she would give him some small fraction of the ecstasy he’d just given her.

Somehow finding the strength from some deep, hidden reserve, she pushed him off her and onto his back. Their gazes locked and some of the smugness in his expression faded, replaced by wary anticipation. She straddled him and he shuddered. And this time, she laughed.

Gripping him, she stroked that straining velvet flesh. Against all odds, her body tightened anew with excitement.

“I need—” she began, looking around, trying to focus for just one more minute.

“Pocket,” he gasped. “Pants.”

Staring down at him, she didn’t know whether to be angry at him for presuming or herself for being predictable. “Cocky bastard,” she muttered.

“No,” he said, and his body tightened as though he were scared or anxious. He shook his head and stared at her with clear, serious eyes. “I hoped. That’s all.”

For an arrested moment she teetered between believing him and not. In the end, the look on his face told her everything she needed to know. Mollified, she smiled and felt his body relax beneath her. She found what she was looking for and slid it on him while he watched and panted, his hips surging as if they couldn’t wait. Straddling him again, she leaned forward to lick his lips just a little—enough to tantalize but not satisfy.

The teasing drove him wild. His dark, glazed eyes, the thrilling sheen of sweat, the ten strong fingers digging into her hips and holding her in a death grip all told her she had him where she wanted him. Shifting just enough, she dangled her breasts in his face, rubbing first one nipple, then the other, across his mouth.

That did it. Growling—he’d always growled—he reached between them, maneuvered her a little, then brought her down, hard, on his penis. He stretched her, and she gripped him, and it was unbearable for both of them.

Lowering herself until they were belly to belly, she cupped his face and stared into his dark, unfocused eyes. She would not close her eyes and miss anything. Not when she’d waited so long.

Licking his lips again, nuzzling, she found a slow, lazy rhythm, and he met her stroke for stroke. His serrated breath feathered her face as he spoke.

“I missed you, Maria…. Missed you…. Missed you.”

The words became a chant, and they were the last things she heard before the pleasure became too great and she couldn’t hear anything. Mindless and wild, she let go of everything: the past, the lingering hard feelings, the doubt. She pushed herself up and ran her hands over her breasts as she rode him with a violence born from missing and needing him—needing this—for years. Bruising fingers clamped onto her hips, anchoring her even as he bucked wildly beneath her and drove her on. At last her body flew apart, and sharp, piercing ecstasy broke over her.

“David,” she cried, arching backward as her eyes rolled closed. It felt like she’d lost all control over herself, and her hands flew to the sides of her head and pulled her hair because they didn’t know what else to do. The pain only intensified the endless, throbbing pleasure, and she keened, crying for him like a wounded animal. “David…David…David.”

This time he didn’t laugh. In a single rough motion, he rolled her beneath him and then he was on top, thrusting and riding. Maria’s heavy limbs no longer wanted to work properly, but she managed to pull him closer, digging her nails into his neck so he couldn’t get away, and locking her legs around his waist. Sensations swirled around her: the delicious, musky scent of their mating, the slick heat of his hard chest flattening her aching breasts, the thrilling friction of him stretching her where they joined. It wasn’t enough. Could never be enough. Floating and euphoric, it took Maria a while to realize he was talking to her. Cracking her lids open, she saw glittering, focused eyes staring at her from his strained and sweaty face.

“Do you still love me, Maria?” he demanded.

Some lingering flicker of her instinct for self-preservation flared, but she ignored it. How could she deny something that was as plain as the nose on her face?

“Yes.”

His eyes drifted closed and a smile flickered across his mouth. Lowering his head, he nuzzled her lips, teasing her with his tongue but not kissing deep like she needed him to. She whimpered a complaint.

“Do you?” he asked again.

“Yes,”she gasped.

Another kiss, another lick, another nuzzle, and then, “I don’t believe you.”

Maria’s full heart and the pleasure bursting inside her strained to break free until she wanted to come out of her skin. “I do.”

“I don’t believe you,”he insisted, though his lips were trying to smile again and the strain was leaving his face. “. don’t—”

“I love you.”Arching backward into the pillow, trying to get away from the excruciating rapture that kept growing and growing, she struggled to hold on to consciousness. “I love you…love you…only you.”

Some noise—a laugh, a groan, a sigh—came out of his mouth, and for one frenzied moment his pounding threatened to rip her body in two. And then he was coming, and she felt him jerking and wished there was nothing between them to keep her from soaking up the part of himself that he poured inside her.

“Maria,” he cried. “Maria…Maria…”

His hoarse, joyful voice endlessly calling her name filled her ears, and her heart.

Later, lying face to face, with their arms and legs intertwined, they talked for a long time and tried to cover all the ground they’d lost in each other’s lives.

“David,” she said, running her thumb along his bottom lip and marveling at its softness, “why didn’t you ever get married?”

His face darkened. He gave her thumb a sharp nip, and she yelped. “Why do you think?”

She’d suspected it was because of her, but she’d needed to hear it from his lips. There was one other thing that nagged at her. “Why did you come back?

“To punish you.” He paused, then gave her a drowsy smile. “To get you back.”

“Can I tell you something? It’s about…my marriage.”

He stiffened, his arms tightening around her as if he feared George were hiding somewhere in the room, waiting to swoop in and snatch her from him a second time.

“I don’t want anyone in this bed with us, Maria,” he warned.

“There never has been. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

Now she had his attention. He pulled back a little, propped his elbow and leaned his head on his hand. “What’re you talking about?”

“I spent most of my wedding night in the bathroom of the honeymoon suite, crying my eyes out. And Geo—” She swallowed the rest of the name, knowing how much David didn’t want to hear her say it. “He was furious. He knew I’d never have married him if you’d wanted me. We argued our way through Europe, and I never let him touch me. So our marriage got off to a very bad start and got worse.”

“Oh,” he said faintly. Thoughtful, he stared off in the distance for a long time. “So you never—?”

“Consummated my marriage? Eventually. We should’ve annulled it, but if I’d been smart enough to do that, I’d never’ve married him in the first place.”

Looking remarkably unhappy about the consummation of a failed marriage that’d occurred years ago, he tried to turn his face away, but she caught his chin and turned it back, forcing him to look at her. “I just want you to know this one thing,” she said.