The Winner Takes It All (A Something New Novel) (27 page)

“All I want”—she gave him a long stroke that nearly sent him over the edge—“is you.”

Dinner was a dreadful ordeal. Cecilia couldn’t wait to be done with the whole thing.

The quick, powerful orgasm in that private alcove with Shane had left her shaken, her worldview altered, and she hadn’t recovered since.

The climax had done nothing to take the edge off.

She was more aroused than ever. Every nerve ending seemed on fire, agitated and needy. Her skin was hot, tight to the touch. Nipples painfully hard, rubbing against the silk of her dress and reminding her of Shane’s tongue dragging across her flesh that night in the woods. Between her thighs, she ached, so swollen and wet every shift of her legs made her have to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from moaning. With every breath she caught the faint scent of sex and Shane, and it worked her into a near fevered pitch.

Unable to help herself, her gaze drifted to where he sat several tables over. She clenched her hands under the table, her nails digging into her skin. Tux jacket unbuttoned, shoulders impossibly wide, he leaned back in his chair.

Gooseflesh broke over her skin. He was just so gorgeous.

Like they’d developed a type of sixth sense, he lifted his head, his gaze locking on hers.

Mine, mine, mine.
The words pulsing like a heartbeat between them.

And she felt it, deep down in her belly. His possession. His utter hold on her. Shane captured her so completely she didn’t know how she’d ever let him go.

His arm rested on the table, and very slowly he rubbed his thumb and two fingers together in a slow, rhythmic circle that held her transfixed. She flushed. Nipples puckered even tighter as she shivered. Her breath came in short quick bursts. She couldn’t stop watching, remembering how he’d thrust his fingers hard and fast inside her, almost forcing her to orgasm.

“Cecilia.” The sharp jab of her name on Miles’s lips ripped her attention away.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her dinner companions coming into focus.

Miles gave her a slight frown. “Mrs. Winston asked you if we’d set the date yet.”

She plastered a smile on her face, rubbing her ring finger where Miles’s engagement ring sat heavy and wrong on her hand. A reminder she’d chosen the wrong path and now had to figure out how to fix it. “No, not yet, but we’re thinking next spring.” It sounded good.

“You make a lovely couple,” Mrs. Charles Winston the third said before her gaze dipped to Cecilia’s plunging neckline, her wrinkled lips pursed in disapproval.

“Why, thank you,” she said in her sweetest, most serene voice.

Across from her, Buffy Thompson, a regular on the social circuit, smirked. “What an interesting dress.”

Like most of them, she’d married for money and status over love. At least twenty-five years her senior, her husband sat next to her. His gaze drifted to Cecilia’s cleavage and Buffy frowned. Her sly, shifty gaze raked over Cecilia with a scorn she was unable to express through her Botoxed, frozen face and implanted cheeks.

Cecilia had a sudden urge to say,
You know, all that plastic surgery makes you look all sorts of fucked up.

Yep, Shane was wearing off on her.

They’d be stunned. Gape at her with their mouths open like fish out of water. The devious thought brought a smile to her lips, and she wished she sat here with Shane, who’d understand how ridiculous these people were.

Instead, she said politely, “It’s from a little boutique on State. I went shopping this afternoon and fell in love with it.”

The dress was nothing like her. She stuck to the basics for these events, black and gray with severe lines and classic cuts. Nothing too revealing. Nothing too sexy. Nothing too eye-catching, so she’d blend into the crowd.

But she hadn’t been able to resist when she’d seen it. It flowed over her body in the most daring and provocative way. All she could think of was the look on Shane’s face when he’d seen her.

Her attention drifted back to him. Their gazes locked before she looked away.

The dress had been worth it.

Even though every other person in the room hated it.

Buffy shifted in her seat, shoving up her own inflated cleavage in the process. “I’ve never been there.”

“You should go,” Cecilia said, resisting the urge of Shane. “The owner is quite lovely. She designed the dress herself.”

Buffy’s nose wrinkled. “I stick to only the top house designers myself.”

Cecilia flashed her most polite smile. “They look darling on you.”

This had to be the most boring conversation she’d ever had while someone was trying to insult her in that subtle, oh so sophisticated way they had.

Her brow furrowed. Was she any better? She’d never been one to trade insults unless provoked, but she hadn’t stopped them either. How many women had she quietly dismissed because they didn’t look proper enough? Or stuck out in a crowd? How many times had she rolled her eyes at abandoned displays of affection?

Was this the kind of woman she wanted to be? How she wanted to live her life? Full of thinly veiled barbs and insults disguised as wit, breaking people down instead of building them up?

Maddie and her friends weren’t like that. Sure, they teased and joked around, but their affection and loyalty were clear. They loved and supported each other. They liked each other. They were real.

Wasn’t that better? More desirable?

Before she could think any more about it, the chairwoman of the evening went to the podium and started speaking, thanking everyone for their generous donations and making the night a success.

She beamed and held out her hands like a car show spokesmodel. “And please welcome Mr. Shane Donovan, who not only personally donated a hundred thousand dollars, he also generously matched all his employees’ contributions. Without his continued support for the underprivileged in this community, there would be a lot more needy kids out there.”

Polite applause filled the room and Cecilia had to resist the urge to stand up and cheer him on. He buttoned his jacket then made his way to the podium. She was filled with a pride she had no right to but couldn’t contain.

The room quieted and Cecilia experienced an irrational stirring of nerves. Other than his sister’s engagement party, she’d never seen him speak. She clenched her hands in her lap.

His gaze sought her out in the room and his lips lifted in a small, secret smile when he spotted her and her stomach eased.

“Thank you,” he said, his low rumble filling the speakers and making her shiver.

“As most of you know, I didn’t grow up with money. Like a lot of working-class families in Chicago, we lived paycheck to paycheck. But I didn’t know what poor was until my dad died in a car accident that left my sister in a coma. We had no health insurance. Hospital bills quickly became overwhelming, and I remember the frustration I felt because I couldn’t get her the best care. I didn’t have access to the top doctors in brain injuries, or hospitals with state-of-the-art equipment. We were lucky—my sister got better, but many families aren’t so blessed.”

He smiled, completely charming, and her heart swelled. “For a lot of families, the difference between excellent care and mediocre care is the difference between life and death.”

Behind him, a picture of a little African-American boy filled the screen. He was bald, and his huge, melting-chocolate eyes were haunting. The mere sight of him had Cecilia itching to go to her checkbook and write an additional donation. “This is Tyler, who was diagnosed with a rare form of leukemia. The free clinic doctor told his parents he had less than a year to live and there was nothing to be done.”

He was beyond articulate, his speech well modulated and polished. Compassion and warmth rang in his tone as he continued to talk. “But thanks to the programs made possible by people like you, Tyler had the best care money could buy and is now in remission.”

He talked for ten more minutes. With every minute that passed, her heart swelled and she fell for him just a little bit more.

Chapter Nineteen

Shane drove to Harper’s house, forcing himself to maintain a reasonable speed. His mind was so preoccupied with getting to Cecilia, he hadn’t said more than five words.

Next to him, Harper sighed. “She’s getting married, you know.”

Over his dead body. He debated arguing the point but abandoned the idea. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She laughed. “You don’t think that’s fooling anyone, do you? Miles Fletcher would have to be deaf, blind, and dumb to miss that there’s something going on between you and Cecilia Riley.”

Satisfaction settled in his gut. Good, because Miles couldn’t have her. She was his. He’d decided, and when he put his mind to something there was nothing that would stop him, no obstacle he wouldn’t overcome. But Harper didn’t need to know that. “We’re living in the same house; any familiarity you’re picking up on is because of proximity.”

“Whatever,” Harper said, tone filled with disbelief. “I never thought you’d go for someone like her.”

Shane jerked his head, narrowing his eyes. “What do you mean, like her?”

“She’s a socialite. Although she’s quite beautiful, I always thought you’d pick a woman with substance.”

Anger rose to a quick boil. He clenched the steering wheel. “You don’t know the first thing about her.”

“I know enough. Enough to know she’s not like us.”

The light turned red and when the car came to a stop he turned toward her. “What do you mean?”

Harper’s red lips parted in the glow of the streetlights, closed, then opened again. “It’s hard for people like us. We don’t really fit in anywhere. The people we grew up with, still working their trade jobs, resent us. The people we socialize with now look down on us because we didn’t grow up with money. We’re nomads.”

The light changed to green and he sped up, wanting her out of the car. There was truth to her statement, but he’d never cared much about acceptance. He had the respect of the people who mattered, and that was good enough. “I don’t give a shit about belonging.”

He pulled over to the side of her building and didn’t bother throwing the car into park, making it clear he wasn’t staying. Harper twisted in her seat, a frown on her lips. “I’m only saying this because I care about you and don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I’m fine, Harper.” He glanced pointedly toward the door.

Expression creased with concern, she pushed open the door. She started to get out but then turned and looked over her shoulder. “Don’t kid yourself, Shane. You might not care what people think, but women like Cecilia Riley sure as hell do. Don’t ever forget that.”

By the time Shane reached Cecilia’s house he’d blocked out his conversation with Harper. He didn’t care what Harper believed. She didn’t know Cecilia.

His stubborn brain rebelled. She
was
marrying someone she didn’t even like, for her image. Of course she cared what people thought.

But he didn’t want to think about that now. He just needed to get to her. Mark her and make her his.

Shane pulled into a parking garage a half block from Cecilia’s house, swung into a spot, then made a mad dash out of the car, walking at a clip that may as well have been a run. He bounded up the steps of her townhome two at a time. He rang the bell, trying to catch his breath.

When the door opened, he lost it again.

She’d changed.

Lungs burning with lack of air, he could only gape at her.

She put her hands on black-lace-covered hips. “I’ve been waiting for you.” The smoke in her voice finally matched the lushness of her mouth.

Still unable to speak, he stepped inside, afraid to even touch her for fear he’d lose all control. She wore black garters, sheer stockings that exposed the smooth expanse of her thighs, and a black corset that made her waist impossibly small and her cleavage spill over.

She looked at the door behind him. “You forgot to close the door.”

While he’d been struck mute, she seemed calm and collected. He managed to grope for the handle and push the door shut.

The second the latch clicked, she sank to her knees.

Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

He was going to have a heart attack and die right there.

Slim fingers worked at his belt, her movements smooth and graceful as she slipped his zipper down.

This wasn’t how he’d imagined this moment. Wasn’t what he’d planned. But damned if he had the power to stop her.

He leaned against the door, threading his hand through her hair, playing with the silky strands.

Thick lashes rose as she looked at him, her eyes dark and filled with heat. His thumb found her pulse, beating rapidly in her neck. She smiled, wicked and sure, sliding a finger into the waistband of his boxer briefs, a slow tease that made him weak in the knees and his cock so hard he thought he might burst.

He fought the desire to take control. It would be much more comfortable for him, but he didn’t want to ruin this for her. He stroked a thumb down her neck. “You are so gorgeous.”

She trailed her nails lightly over his balls and he sucked in a hard breath.

This was torture.

“I think you just like me on my knees.”

He had to taste her. Bending, he twisted her hair in his fist, tilted her head, and gripped her jaw, holding her still for a hard, demanding kiss. A moan vibrated against his palm, setting off an indescribable feeling of power as he ate at her mouth.

Her kiss was a surrender, and he took full advantage, slanting his head to deepen the angle and claiming her until they were both breathless. When he lifted his head, he whispered against her lips, “I love you on your knees.”

Her fingers squeezed his aching shaft. “I’ve been thinking about this all night.”

“Thinking about what?” Arrogantly wanting her to say it.

“Sucking your cock. Driving you crazy. Licking you all over.”

His fingers tightened in her hair. “That’s what you were thinking about through dinner?”

“Yes. And how I’ll finally get to be with you.” She licked his erection, swirling her mouth around the tip, making him dizzy with lust. Never breaking eye contact, she pulled him into her mouth, then slowly, with a suction that made his eyes roll into the back of his head, she sucked before releasing him. “I was so wet.”