'Tis the Season (3 page)

“That party tonight . . .” He shook his head and sighed. “What a pain in the ass. I love Tess to death, but I didn't want a goddamn party. I don't feel like celebrating anything. I feel about a hundred years old today. Like a grumpy old bastard.”

“You're not,” she assured him in a gentle tone.

He shrugged, his gaze sliding back toward the window, and his shoulders slumped. “It's no joyride being me sometimes, Lisette. It really isn't.”

She'd never seen him look so sad. It pierced her heart. This man had the world at his fingertips. And at the moment, he looked only sorrowful and lost.

She leaned in and touched his knee, the lightest, faintest press of her fingers. “Did something happen tonight, Charles? You wanted to talk. I'm here. Talk to me.”

He shook his head no, but his eyes lingered on her hand that rested on his knee.

“You can trust me,” she said. “I'm a vault. And it seems as if you really need to talk to someone right now.”

“I do . . . But really, when it comes down to it, there's nothing to talk about,” Charles murmured, his eyes lifting to her face. “My life is set in stone. Has been since before I was born. Nothing will change that, so no use in talking about it.”

* * *

Lisette remained silent, apparently not knowing how to respond to that. Her hand withdrew from his knee back to her own lap.

Charles gazed at her. “You look different,” he said, squinting as he tried to figure out why. Her hair. That was it. It was always up—in a French braid, or in other kinds of braids and ponytails, to keep it out of her face as she chased his kids around. Even at the party earlier, it'd been up in a sophisticated bun. But now, her shiny dark hair fell all around her face, tumbling over her shoulders and halfway down her back. “Your hair is down. You look so different this way . . .” He reached up to twirl a lock of it between his fingers. “I never knew it was so long,” he said, fascinated. “Or so soft . . .”

He'd always thought her attractive, of course. But with her hair loose and flowing like this, illuminated only by moonlight . . . she looked softer, even prettier, and God help him, downright sexy. He was mesmerized. Her gorgeous dark eyes, her high cheekbones, her smooth olive skin, her lips that looked like they'd be so soft and warm if he tasted them . . . She was beautiful. A jolt of desire zipped through him, hot and quick, and something deep inside him groaned to life. His blood started pulsing through his veins, and the air around them seemed to get thicker, warmer.

Dropping the lock of her hair, he reached out to graze her cheek with the backs of his fingers. She stiffened beneath his touch, but something in her eyes . . . they darkened, widened, and a hint of color bloomed on her cheeks. Her tongue darted out to lick her lips, and his breath stuck in his chest. He felt drawn to her, hypnotized, as if an invisible electric charge was holding him in her power.

Heat and desire surged through his body as the feel of her soft skin woke dormant lusty demons. He hadn't been with a woman in way too long. Over a year. The last few times he'd had sex, they'd been meaningless and brief encounters, leaving him feeling empty. But at that moment all he could think was that he wanted Lisette, and he hadn't wanted any woman like this in a long, long time. Now, gazing at her, touching her, his body was betraying him with just how much he wanted her. “You're beautiful,” he murmured thickly, trailing the backs of his fingers along her jaw. “You really are.”

She shivered beneath his touch, but didn't back away from it. “You've been drinking. Your beer goggles are fogged up.”

He laughed, but he couldn't stop staring at her mouth. Her full, soft, perfectly shaped lips. All he wanted, more than anything, was to taste that luscious mouth, just one time. He wanted to so badly . . . no,
needed
to. The urge was all consuming, and he gave in to it. His hand cupped around the back of her neck as he leaned in, pulling her to him as he pressed his lips to hers.

She jolted in surprise. He pulled back, but not much, still so close to her mouth that he was breathing her air. She didn't move. With a prick of embarrassment, he realized that the kiss likely wasn't something she wanted. That he was imposing. Obviously she didn't feel the same pull he did.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered, moving back. “You just looked so beautiful, and I—”

Her hands flew up to hold his face, and she crushed her lips to his.

He gave a lusty groan, and his hands threaded through her long, thick hair, holding her close as his mouth consumed hers. Pure lust overtook his senses. Her mouth was as warm and soft as it looked and tasted sweet, like the spiced tea she often made at night.

Charles lost himself in that kiss. In how damn good she felt, and what kissing her awakened in him. In letting go for once, in living in the moment . . . in being like someone other than himself. The fire raged through him in a merciless flash, leveling him, leaving him mindless, but strangely galvanized. His tongue slipped into her mouth and found hers, sending a new rush through him, heady and intoxicating.

Their tongues tangled as the kisses intensified and his greedy hands began roaming over her, learning the feel and shape of her tempting body. Her soft sighs and moans, the way she moved to get closer, only sharpened his desire. Her fingers ran through his hair, dropping to his shoulders and gripping tightly as his teeth scraped along her neck.

He shifted to pull her even tighter against him, but the sudden move put them off balance, bringing them both down. They fell back with a graceless thud and surprised grunts, still locked in an embrace.

“Oh my God, I'm so sorry,” he said, rearing up on his elbows to look at her. “Are you okay?”

Her eyes were wide and round as she stared back up at him, trying to catch her breath. “I'm fine,” she gasped, “but you're . . . well . . .”

Charles realized the full length of his body was aligned with hers. The feel of her lush body beneath his sent a new surge of desire rushing through him. And then she wiggled beneath him, and every nerve ending in his body flamed. His pelvis was pressed against hers, and if she kept that up . . . sweet Jesus. “Don't do that,” he warned.

“Don't do what?” She blinked, confused, then moved again to try to relieve the pressure of his weight. Her breasts pressed against his chest, and her hips rolled under his. Blood surged to his groin; he was hard now, and his breath hitched.

“That,”
he half groaned. Holy hell, she felt so good. His eyes fell to her mouth. Want and need swamped him, his head dipped, and he took her mouth in a hungry, almost desperate kiss.

Her lips parted to welcome him. Moaning into her mouth, the taste of her warm, soft mouth and the feel of her warm, soft body made his mind reel, then go blank. A tiny whimper of surrender floated out of her, and her arms snaked around his neck. His tongue swept deeper into her mouth, tasting, savoring . . . and she kissed him back hard, her body melting against his.

Sweet Mother of God, she wanted him too. Threading his hands in her hair, cradling her head, he kissed her hungrily, devouring her. All that mattered at that moment was having her. Everything else in him fell away.

Chapter Three

That was the thought that kept going through Lisette's mind over and over . . . even as her hands swept over Charles's broad shoulders and strong back, even as he kissed her so passionately and commandingly that it stole her breath away, even as she kissed him back with just as much hunger and demand. It was as if she were drowning, and he was a lifeline. He'd brought her back to life in a bright, split second flash.

There were no words—only intense, consuming kisses; carnal, almost desperate groping; and the sound of their gasps, moans, and heavy breathing as they went at each other with unrestrained, reckless abandon.

She knew she should stop, but dammit, she just didn't want to. How could
any
woman resist him? He was movie-star handsome, smart and assured, sexy and sweet . . . but Charles Harrison III was an incredibly wealthy and powerful man. Someone like her wouldn't ever appear on his radar. The fantasies she'd entertained on long, dark nights were just that: fantasies. She knew they could never actually come true.

But now Charles groaned from deep in his throat as his fingers dug into her hips, his pelvis grinding into hers, shocking her with the power of his obvious desire. His hot mouth, eager and wicked, kissed and bit and licked along her neck as his thick erection rubbed against her core, the delicious friction sending jolts of electricity through her. It had been so long since a man had touched her, much less like this. She'd forgotten what it was like to be desired—it was intoxicating, mind-erasing. Her body had taken over, working on pure instinct. She couldn't stop kissing him back, or letting her greedy hands roam over the smooth, masculine hardness of his body.

Between sumptuous kisses, his hands moved over her too, leaving trails of burning need in their wake. God, the way he kissed and touched her . . . Her whole body was tingling. One of his hands moved through her hair, again cradling her head, while the other reached for her sash, undid it, and pushed aside her robe. It was all happening so fast. She knew she should stop this, but she just didn't want to.

“Charles.” Her voice was raspy, and she barely recognized it. He fondled her hip, then moved to her waist. Heat shimmered across her skin wherever his hands caressed her. “This is crazy . . .”

“I know,” he whispered, his breath feathering her skin. “But God help me, I want you so much right now.”

Her stomach flipped as a new rush of heady passion engulfed her. She wanted him too. She couldn't deny it. “I want you too.”

His hand ran up along her ribcage to her breast, caressing it through her nightgown, giving it a gentle squeeze before he brushed his thumb across her nipple. She moaned into his mouth, and he kissed her even harder.

We shouldn't be doing this . . . for a million different reasons . . .
but dammit he felt
so
good, and she hadn't been touched like this in years.
Years.
She felt like a starving woman who'd been given a long-awaited meal, delicious and forbidden, and she couldn't devour it—him—fast enough. Charles was gorgeous and sexy, and she'd never known he had this kind of passion in him, and he obviously wanted this too, and, ohhhh God, his mouth and hands were everywhere . . .

His hands fondling her breasts, Charles's head lowered, and his teeth gently scraped her nipples through her nightgown. She moaned and arched into him, seeking more of that dark, wicked pleasure. He was kissing her everywhere as his warm, sure hands slid down her body to push up the fabric of her nightgown, up past her thighs, and she let him. Her heart pounding, the throbbing between her legs filled her with desperate need, and something between a gasp and a moan ripped from her as she fisted her fingers in his wavy hair. His hot mouth trailed kisses along her belly as his fingers feathered up her thigh, making her tremble with lust and anticipation. She'd never been swept away by desire like this, never in her life.

And she was right there with him, panting and groping like he was, moaning and writhing beneath him like some porn star. His passion and need were mesmerizing and completely consumed her.

She was spiraling out of control, and, for once in her life, she didn't care about consequences, right or wrong, or anything but how she felt. About her own needs and her own desires, which she never considered, much less put first. He wanted her right then? Okay, fine. Yes, now, since he'd started it, she wanted him to take her, have his way with her, and she'd give back as good as he gave. Just this once, she wanted to feel like a sexy, desirable woman. And, more than anything, after years of feeling numb, she wanted to feel alive again, even if only for a few stolen minutes. And there was no one on earth she wanted to do this with—would have
let
herself do this with—other than Charles.

* * *

Charles was panting. Panting and clawing like an animal. He didn't care. He didn't recognize himself right then, and that was fantastic. He wanted to consume this sexy, gorgeous woman, to take her and to lose himself in her at the same time. To just throw himself over the cliff and let this sudden blaze of mindless, aching need and overwhelming desire burn through him, through both of them.

The fire was mutual. She grabbed at him and kissed him with the same ferocious lust that was turning him into some kind of senseless beast. Her wild passion was a shock to him, but made him want her that much more. She was so beautiful, all soft curves and velvety skin and warmth; he wanted to sink into her lush, enticing body, and nothing else mattered.

His fingers slid up her thigh to find the edge of her panties. “Jesus,” he whispered roughly, blown away by the heat there, the dampness he could feel through the cotton. He pressed harder, rubbing her, and she cried out as her back arched, as she twisted beneath him.

But as he kissed and nuzzled her breast, he paused. Damn. Even in a mindless haze of lust, he had to make sure she really wanted this. He thought she did, but still . . . Barely able to speak over his heavy breaths, he lifted his head and looked into her eyes. “Lisette,” he whispered raggedly, “are you okay?”

Panting just as heavily, she stared back at him, her dark eyes clouded with desire. “What?”

“Are you okay? I'm just making sure.”

“Of course I'm okay.”

“Good. But . . .” Even in his dazed, slightly drunken state, he would always respect the boundaries. “If you want me to stop—”

“No!” she whispered. “Please don't stop.”

His heart felt as if it had jumped in his chest. The raw need of her words undid him. His gaze locked with hers.

“I don't want to stop,” she said quickly. “I know that I should, but I don't.”

“Thank God,” he said. “Because I want you so much right now . . .”

“I want you too,” she said. Her hands cradled his face. “So no more talking. Just . . . take me.”

That did it. He crushed his mouth to hers, not holding back. He wasn't sure he could have held back then if his life depended on it, not after she'd said something so fucking hot. He wanted her, needed her, had to have her . . .

He took her mouth, wild with lust, and his fingers continued to explore her. She pressed her mouth to his neck to muffle her moans; her hips undulated against his hand, and it drove him insane. Her scent flooded his senses, from the trace of sweet vanilla on her skin to the musky smell of her arousal that made him reel with desire. His heart was pounding; he wondered if she felt it as her shaking hands undid the buttons on his shirt. She spread it open wide, then yanked it free from the waistband of his pants and ran her hands along his chest, his sides, everywhere she could reach.

Still kissing her, he pushed her panties to the side, then plunged two fingers into her soft folds, already so wet and warm. She cried out helplessly into his mouth, and her whole body arched, pressing closer. He broke away to kiss, lick, nibble, and suck on her neck, her throat, then back to her mouth as her hips moved in time with the primal rhythm his fingers set. She moaned and squirmed and grasped at him, and every sound, every movement, drove him closer to the brink. He couldn't hold back much longer. His mind had left the building long ago, and he was working on pure sensation.

“Touch me,” he whispered gruffly against her ear. “I need you . . .”

She grabbed at the button at his waist, brushing against his erection as she lowered the zipper. He hissed at the contact and shifted to give her better access, his fingers inside her never stopping. She reached into his boxer briefs. When her fingers curled around him, hard and throbbing, his head fell forward and he groaned into her neck. He thought he might lose it right then. She stroked him; he stroked her; they panted and bucked and shuddered . . .

He didn't know how it happened . . . It all went so fast, like flashes of light. But he rolled enough for her to roughly push down his pants and briefs, and he tugged down her panties, and she dug her nails into his shoulders, and then he was inside her, thrusting deep into her liquid heat. Both of them groaned as he filled her, stretching her . . . Jesus, she was tight, but he pushed deeper . . .

With a gasp and a small cry, her legs came up to lock around his hips, and they rocked together, clawing to get closer to each other . . . Moving faster, panting, he thrust his hips harder, again, and again, and again . . . God, she felt so fucking good . . . It was desperate, frantic; the pleasure was too much; it felt too good. He moaned her name . . . then her legs tightened, and her nails dug into his back as she cried out, the climax overtaking her. Her throaty moans shattered him, and he went right over the edge with her, unable to hold back another second. His orgasm hit hard, the waves of sensation battering and flooding him. Finding release deep inside her, he gripped her hips, groaned, and buried his face in the curve of her neck and the soft tangles of her hair.

He couldn't catch his breath, and it sounded like she couldn't either. They lay there panting, still holding each other.

* * *

Once the dark and stillness settled over them, Lisette's mind went into overdrive. Full-blown panic mode. “Oh, God,” she whispered raggedly. “Oh, God, what did we—ohhh, my God!”

“Shhh,” Charles whispered back, rearing up on his elbows to look at her. “It's fine. Everything's fine.”

“Everything is so far from fine!” She squirmed beneath him. Good God, he was still inside her.

“Lisette,” he began as he shifted. The couch was too narrow for him to roll off and lie beside her, so he withdrew from her body, then rose from the couch altogether. “Listen—”

“No, please.” Alarm made bile rise in her throat. Now that the fog of lust had cleared, the severity of their actions hit her like a sledgehammer. Oh, God, she'd put everything that mattered in jeopardy. Had she gone temporarily insane? Apparently so. She needed to get out of there, needed to be alone to process what she'd done, and what might follow. Her nightgown had been pushed up above her breasts, and she yanked it down, then stood and pulled her robe around her. Where the hell were her panties? She'd never find them in the dark. Wonderful.

“Let's talk about this,” Charles said quietly, watching her. “Don't just bolt.”

“What should I say?” she asked, unable to keep the note of rising panic out of her tone. “Thanks, that was amazing, but I really hope you don't fire me tomorrow?”

“Whoa, wait.” He stepped to her and put his hands on her shoulders, willing her to look at him. “That's not going to happen. We
both
did this.”

She tied the sash of the robe around her waist with jerky motions, her gaze sliding down. He was still naked, and even in her panic her eyes couldn't resist a quick final tour of his gorgeous body. With a soft gasp, she stepped back, putting distance between them as she averted her eyes. “Yes, we both did this. But we're not both on the same level here, Charles. Not by a mile. And I just broke every rule in the nanny book. Hell, the
employee
book. You're my
boss
. I live in your home. And everything that I—” She clamped her mouth shut. With a hard shake of her head, she headed for the door.

* * *

Charles watched her all but run from the room, her face still flushed, whispering an apology as she brushed past him. He reached for her arm, but she slipped from his grip. “Lisette,
wait!
” He wanted to talk to her, for her to hear him out, but he couldn't just follow her into the hallway naked.

Jesus fucking Christ. He was standing there naked, in the middle of his study, because he'd just had sex with his children's nanny on the goddamn couch.

Vehemently spitting a stream of curses, heart pounding, he grabbed his clothes from the floor and put them back on. For a minute, he paced the room, hands raking through his hair and over his face as his mind spun. What the hell had happened? Sure, he'd always found Lisette attractive, very much so, but this . . . The ramifications of his actions could be staggering.

He stopped in his tracks. One of the most incredible things was the truth: she'd wanted him too. More than willing, she'd been right there with him, practically from the first kiss. It'd been a passionate, hot romp, the sexiest encounter he'd had in years. The erotic sounds of her moans and sighs, of her whispered throaty pleas not to stop, all still echoed in his head, making his blood pulse through his veins. Lord help him, the whole thing had happened unbelievably fast, but it'd been so damn good.

Too good—and too fast. It hit him like a tidal wave: he hadn't used protection. Oh, for fuck's sake . . . A shiver ran over his skin as he winced.