The Billionaire's Secretive Enchantress (The Berutelli Escape) (16 page)

“I can’t, baby.  Just tell me what you want me to do and I’ll make it better,” he said and slowed down. 

But she shook her head. “Don’t go slow!” she almost screamed out.  “Now!  Faster, please!” she begged, her hips rising up to meet him, her body throbbing around him in a desperate need to find something, she wasn’t sure what.  “Faster,” she cried out.  “Drake, please, don’t stop!”

He didn’t.  Nor did he slow down again.  It almost killed him, but he increased his pace, pulling her hips up against him, shifting ever so slightly and was rewarded beyond his wildest dreams when she splintered apart once again, her body throbbing, aching and she cried out his name while her fingernails once again dug into his shoulders.  He waited until she was truly in the throes of her climax before he let himself go, reveling in the amazing feel of her body.  And when he poured out his own orgasm, his mind couldn’t stop thinking about how good she felt, how he had never felt anything so incredible in his life. 

Sierra slowly opened her eyes, felt the strong, rough arm around her waist and her whole body started trembling once again.  Looking out the window, she could see the dark rain clouds, her mind slowly coming into focus.  When the reality of what she’d done, of where she was hit her, she gasped and sat up straight.  And the sheet fell down to her lap but she scrambled quickly to grab it once again, covering her nakedness. 

She glanced behind her, noticed that she’d woken up
Drake when she’d sat up so abruptly and bit her lip, not sure how to get out of this awkward situation. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked, sitting up behind her.  His rough chin scraped her already sensitive skin and she couldn’t hide the shiver his touch caused.  When his mouth nibbled on her back, then up on her neck, she wanted to just turn around and kiss him back.

“I…um…I can’t…” she wasn’t sure exactly what she was trying to say.  Her mind was telling her to run, to get out of his place before he realized who she was and what she represented.  But her body was telling her to turn around, to melt into his heat and experience that incredible pleasure his hands had given to her over and over throughout the night. 

“You can’t get up?” he asked, his hand sliding around her waist.  “I agree.  I think you should lay back down and let me discover more of those sexy places on your body that make you scream out.”

She shivered at his words, remembering how many times he’d kissed her or touched her in one place or another on her body and she would cry out with the frustration of needing him.  He was a relentless lover, almost obsessed with ensuring that each experience was better than the last. 

“No,” she replied sternly, closing her eyes to try and push away the feelings his hands and mouth were creating within her.  “I can’t,” she
finally got out. 

He stopped and rested his chin on her shoulder.  “You’re too sore this morning, aren’t you?” he asked.

Sierra wished he wasn’t so perceptive or so sweet and kind.  She could resist angry, irritating or even insensitive.  But when he was sweet and gentle, her heart almost melted. 

“Yes,”
she said, using it as an excuse.  “I need to go.”

He chuckled.  “You’re going to try and get out of spending time with me, aren’t you?” he asked, his hand pulling away.  “But you know what?”  He didn’t wait for an answer.  He simply got out of bed himself, then lifted her into his arms.  “I’m not going to let you get away from me that easily.  I don’t know what it is about you, but I’m going to figure out what it is that drives me crazy when you’re close to me.”

He turned on the shower with one hand, then dove under the warm spray.  “And don’t even try to deny that you feel the same way about me,” he said as he bent down lower, kissing her tenderly.  “I can already feel you trembling and you’re hands are clinging to me just like I want them to.”

She snatched her hands away from him, terrified that she said or did something to jog his memory about her father’s cruelty.  Couldn’t she have
last night in her memory as one perfect evening?  He’d been so gentle, so wonderful but if he finally figured out who she was, and the way he was talking indicated that he might do that pretty quickly, he would hate her.  He would associate her with her father and he’d be furious that she’d duped him.

As he gently shampooed her hair, she let a tear slip out of her eye, hoping he wouldn’t see it or if he did, he’d think it was just the water from the shower. 

“This might not work though,” he said as he ran his hands up her sides.  “You’ll smell like me and I’m pretty into your soft, feminine scent.  It reminds me of something in my past that I haven’t been able to place.  But I like it.”

She wanted so much to lean back against him, to feel him against her back while he massaged her scalp, making her more than a little crazy. 
But his words gave her the impetus she needed to extricate herself from the situation. 

“I have to go,” she said, more firmly than she’d anticipated but she probably needed that herself more than she needed to say it to him.  She quickly rinsed out her hair
.  She washed her body then jumped out of the shower in record time.  Usually she preferred to luxuriate in the shower, stand under the warm water and let the heat relax her, give herself a chance to think about the day and figure out how she was going to get everything done that she wanted to accomplish. 

Not today, she told herself firmly.  She had to get out of here.  She was so ashamed, not of what they’d done, but by the fact that she hadn’t been honest with Drake.  He deserved better.

“Where are you going?” he asked, glancing at the clock, grabbing a towel himself and drying himself off.  “It’s only seven thirty in the morning.  You don’t have to work and you’re ahead of schedule on the project.  So there’s no reason you need to go.”  He stood in front of her, his body language stating that he was determined to keep her here. 

She stepped around him,
just as determined to get out of here and work through in her mind what she would have to tell him.  She’d already betrayed him by sleeping with him last night.  She’d made a firm decision that she would be honest with him, that she would tell him on Monday who she was and accept his anger. 

Now she’d slept with him, betrayed his trust.  He thought she was nice and sweet.  But his image of her was an illusion! 

He was going to hate her! 

“Where are my clothes?” she
whispered to herself, searching everywhere for her jeans and her yellow sweater.  She’d had them yesterday.  She knew she’d been wearing them when she’d arrived because remembered him throwing the flannel shirt over the coffee table. 

She looked all around the bed, frantic to be dressed by the time he emerged from the bathroom. 

Unfortunately, her luck had run out and he stood there looking like a dream come true with the towel still wrapped around his waist, his amazing shoulders in full view and those delectable abs that rippled even as he walked across the room to his closet. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, starting to walk towards her.  But she stepped back, her hand gripping the towel to hold it in place so he stopped where he was.  “Sierra, talk to me.  You look like you’ve seen a ghost but I guarantee that I’m the same man who held you in my arms last night.”

That caused tears to slip out of her eyes, dropping down from her lashes despite her best efforts to hide her emotions.  “I’m sorry,” she gasped out, her head dropping in shame.

“Hey,” he said and walked quickly towards her.  “Sierra, you have nothing to be sorry for.  What’s going on?”

“Don’t touch me,” she said and stepped back quickly before he could take her into his arms.  She wanted that so badly but she couldn’t let him do that.  She couldn’t accept his warmth and strength this time.  She would have to tell him everything now.  Today.  This morning, she vowed.  “Just let me get dressed and I’ll explain everything.  I promise.”

He looked hurt by her rejection and that made her feel even more awful.  “It isn’t that I don’t want you to touch me,
Drake,” she tried to explain, her eyes begging him to understand even as the tears fell down her cheeks.  “It’s just that I don’t deserve it.  I’m not who you think I am.”

He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his short hair.  “Okay, I’m not sure what’s going on but I think you’re clothes are out in the family room.  I’ll meet you there in a moment okay?  I’ll make some coffee and breakfast and we’ll talk.”

She nodded her head in agreement, hoping he didn’t see the blush when she remembered how her clothes had been left in the other room.  “Thank you,” she whispered as she padded barefoot out of his bedroom.  She found her yellow sweater draped over the back of his long sofa and her jeans were on the floor, right next to where he’d…

No, she couldn’t think about that now.  Get dressed, give him the full truth, deal with his anger and then move on.  It was a simple plan, she thought as she searched for her black, lace underwear, finding them almost shredded
. 

At least her pink bra was still in one piece.  She quickly slipped her jeans on, laying her torn up underwear on the sofa to be discarded later.  Turning her back towards his bedroom, she pulled on her bra and slipped her sweater over her head, relieved that she was already dressed by the time he walked out. 

His eyes immediately caught sight of the scrap of black lace and he lifted them, his eyes dancing with the memory of how they’d become so damaged last night.  “So you have nothing on underneath those jeans?” he asked, his voice deep and husky, his eyes traveling down her body to see if he could notice a difference.

Sierra’s hands automatically went to her bottom to try and cover up the space where her underwear should be.  She
couldn’t answer him, but her blush told him everything he needed to know. 

Actually, the piece of torn lace answered his question but the look on her face, the embarrassment she couldn’t hide, was pretty cute and answered a whole bunch of other questions.

“Come along,” he said and led the way into his kitchen.  He pressed a button and the fire immediately flamed to life once again, dispelling the gloom due to the overcast skies.  “So tell me what’s wrong,” he said as he pulled down two cups from a cabinet, pouring both of them a cup of fragrant coffee. 

She took the cup he placed in front of her, warming her hands with the heat.  She took a deep, fortifying sip, ignoring the pain from the hot coffee because she needed the sustenance more than she needed taste buds on her tongue at the moment. 
Besides, the burning sensation in her mouth gave her something to focus on besides the anger he would feel very soon.

He busied himself getting out eggs and milk then whisking them together, waiting patiently while she gathered her thoughts.  “It can’t be all that bad, Sierra.  I think I know you well enough to be a good judge of character and you’re not a horrible person.”

She bowed her head slightly, staring into her black coffee.  “My father is,” she choked out, another tear escaping and running down her cheek.

She felt his stillness more than saw anything.  “Excuse me?” he encouraged.  “If you’re mad at your father, I can deal with that.  In-laws are all part of the package, I know that.”

Her head reared up at his comment.  “In-laws!”  Her mouth fell open and she shook her head.  “I don’t have any in-laws!”

He smiled slightly and started chopping up onions for an omelet.  “You will once we’re married.”

She pushed away from the counter, pacing back and forth.  “You won’t,” she finally said.  “My mother died when I was a child and my father…” she hesitated, her eyes searching out his so she could be clear and not have to repeat this, “my father died in prison.”

One of his dark eyebrows went up in surprise.  “Okay, so your father went to prison.  It doesn’t mean that you’re a bad person.”

“You don’t really know my father,” she laughed derisively, thinking of all the horrible things her father had been convicted of plus all the other brutal actions the authorities couldn’t find evidence of.  “He was bad.  Really bad.  And you don’t actually know who I am.”

He sighed and put the knife down, coming around to the other side of the counter to take her hands in his.  He pulled her over to the low sofa, sitting down next to her.  “Sierra, whatever your father did in the past, it doesn’t affect how I feel about you.  And it doesn’t make you a criminal by association.”

She choked and shook her head.  “You don’t understand.”

He took a deep breath, trying to maintain his patience but he wanted to yell at her that he knew that she wasn’t a bad person. 
“Possibly because you aren’t explaining it to me very well.  Perhaps if you could start from the beginning, I might have a better grasp on what you’re trying to tell me.”  It occurred to him that he was having a slightly ridiculous conversation.  He was trying to convince a woman he’d just made love to that she wasn’t horrible? 

Yes, the day definitely could have started out better if he’d had any say it.

She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and nodded.  He was right.  She wasn’t making any sense and was just jumbling this up even more by her bits and starts regarding the real problem. 

“I knew you before you came to Denver,” she said softly, staring down at her fingers which were clasped tightly in her lap.  “I saw you one day at a party my father was throwing.  In Chicago.”  She didn’t wait for his reaction.  Standing up, she started pacing the kitchen area once again, needing to move because of the nervous energy that was building up.  “You must have done something to offend my father, because the next thing I knew, you were being thrown into the back of a car, then dumped into an alley.”  Every muscle in her body tensed with fear.  “My father’s name is Joe Berutelli.  I’m his daughter.   I changed my name when I left his house, not wanting to have anything to do with him.”