Tycoon Takes Revenge (7 page)

He cleared his throat and she glanced back at him over her shoulder.

She looked doe-eyed and lost for a second. Her shoulders lowered. “Sorry, I'm being rude,” she murmured.

“I was just going to ask if you needed anything. A glass of wine, coffee.” Me.

He tamped down the well of lust that came unbidden with that last thought.

She forced a little laugh as she turned fully toward him. “Quite a role reversal. Those are things I should be asking you.”

He just looked at her. She was good to look at, her shoulders toned in the top that she wore, her breasts round and full and her calves shapely beneath her longish skirt.

She broke the awkward silence by starting toward him. “I'll just get us both a drink. How's that?”

“Yeah, sure.”

He should have moved back. Instead, he let her brush by him on the way to the kitchen.

The effect was electric. On him, anyway. Had he imagined the quiver that had gone through her?

He shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from grabbing and kissing her. Instead, he watched as she poured him a scotch on the rocks.

She set it on the kitchen counter near him. “There you go,” she said without glancing at him.

Had she been afraid to touch him? He couldn't tell because she refused to look up.

He took the drink, then walked into the living room as he heard her open and close the refrigerator. He took a sip, felt the burn, then loosened his tie with one hand before raking his hair.

He felt more than heard her enter and turned to look at her. She came toward him, all cool Grace Kelly allure dressed up as 1950s bombshell, her stiletto heels clicking on the wood floor before hitting the area rug in front of the couch.

She held up her glass. “Cranberry juice with a splash of vodka.” She clinked her glass to his. “Cheers.”

A smile pulled at his lips. “Feeling reckless, are we?”

“Hmm.” She shrugged. “Aren't you the expert on living dangerously?”

He took another sip, regarding her through narrowed eyes. “If I lived dangerously, I wouldn't be standing over here and you wouldn't be standing over there.”

She smiled, a gleam in her eyes. “But I'm only inches away.”

“Exactly.” Tonight, it seemed, was the night for her to confront all the disreputable males in her life: her biological father,
him.
“Let's get to the bottom of what this is about, okay? Running into Bentley Mathison threw you for a loop.”

“Mmm.” She licked her lips.

He forced his mind to stay on topic.

She walked away. “So boring. Can we talk about something else?” She sat on the couch, crossed her legs and patted the seat next to her. “I don't understand how you got your reputation as a great seducer when you use lovely conversation starters like deadbeat, jailbird fathers.”

He was tempted to show her just how he'd gotten his reputation, but her current performance could have rivaled Buffy the Man Slayer's. And, that's exactly what it was: a performance. She was playing the seductress—did she realize how naturally the role came to her?—intent on conquering him, the great seducer.

He swirled his drink. “Tell me how your mother fell under the spell of the great Bentley Mathison.”

Kayla wrinkled her nose, then took a sip from her glass. The reckless gleam hadn't disappeared from her eyes. “It's a tragedy in three parts. I like comedies better, don't you?”

“How does act one begin?”

She heaved a sigh. “Act one begins with a young woman from a close-knit family going off to college on a scholarship.”

“Your mother?”

“Mmm-hmm. She gets a summer job at a financial
services firm. Happily, it pays well and will help with the rest of her college bills. One of the partners takes a liking to her.”

“Bentley.”

“Yes, and reportedly quite the smooth operator even when he was younger.”

“So,” he guessed, “the summer intern proceeds to get pregnant by said partner, basking in the thrill of his attention.”

“Yes, that would be act two.” She swirled her drink.

“You're too smart not to know act three.”

“He refuses to have anything to do with her,” he said flatly.

“Right,” she confirmed, her tone harsh. “You see, Bentley was about to become engaged to the daughter of a well-connected financier. Of course, a connection like that was going to make his career.”

“What happened to your mother?”

“Well, she was too afraid to tell anyone about the affair at first. Who would have believed her? Bentley had encouraged her to keep their relationship under wraps in order not to raise eyebrows at the office.”

She shook her head, then went on. “But eventually she told her family. They took her in. She dropped out of school for a time to have the baby. With her family's help, though, she finally finished her degree.”

“And your sister?”

“Well, there's the happy postscript.” She put down her drink on the end table. “Several years on, the woman meets a man who's her soul mate. They fall in love and
marry. He adopts her child and, later, they have a daughter together.”

“Understood,” he said, “except for one small detail.”

“What's that?”

“I'm not Bentley,” he said deliberately.

“I never said you were.”

“No, but you act like it.”

She uncrossed her legs and stood up, armor in place.

“I get enough pop psychology from Samantha.”

He wasn't letting her off the hook. “I got it wrong, didn't I?”

“Got what wrong?”

He shook his head and set his glass down, then let his gaze rake over her. “I'm not the favorite whipping boy of your column because you're secretly attracted to playboys. Just the opposite, in fact. Players remind you of your biological father, so you're determined to rake them over the coals.”

She tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Believe what you want. You don't know me.”

He sauntered closer. “Of course, that's too bad for me,” he mused. “I prefer the story about your secret attraction to playboys.”

She threw up her hands in exasperation and he caught her chin in his hand.

The air went out of her and her eyes widened. “What are you doing?” she said, stumbling over the words.

“Putting you to the test,” he muttered, his gaze focused on her mouth.

“W-what test?”

“You know, the one where you prove that, unlike your mother, you can't be taken in and seduced by the cads of the world.”

He raised his eyes to look into her stormy brown ones, and then he kissed her.

T
he second Noah's lips touched Kayla's, she felt herself yield. His kiss this time was not a fleeting brush, but a command. It took her breath away and her mouth opened under the pressure of his soft, coaxing lips.

He took the kiss deeper, his hands stroking up and down her arms, forcing her to deal with the emotions roiling inside her, forcing her to deal with
him
.

He was
so
wrong about her. She didn't write about him in her column because she had an ax to grind with player types who reminded her of Bentley Mathison.

If she wrote about Noah in her column, it was only because he led the type of glitzy private life that people liked to read about. Nothing more, except perhaps her own prejudice against someone whose glamorous and
charmed life seemed so far from the everyday concerns of an average person like her.

She supposed he expected her to push him away now and break their kiss. Instead, she slid her arms around his neck.

She met him kiss for kiss.

She wasn't going to run away from his challenge. She'd seen the way he'd looked at her tonight. He'd eaten her up with his eyes. No, Noah was far from immune to her, and she knew she had good odds of being the seducer rather than the seduced.

His arm snaked around her and pulled her flush up against him. He was all hard planes and muscles, big and male. And aroused, she thought, as a shiver went through her.

He lifted his head and sucked in a breath. His gaze was hot and intent. “You're weakening,” he said, his voice raspy and hoarse with sexual excitement.

“So are you.” She sounded breathless.

“Just the invitation I needed,” he murmured.

“It wasn't an invitation. It was a warning.”

He laughed softly and nuzzled her temple, then trailed whisper-light kisses along the side of her face.

“I'm a risk taker, remember?”

He blew lightly into her ear and she shuddered. She felt sensitized to his every move.

He kissed and then sucked on her earlobe before nibbling along her neck. One hand was splayed on her bare upper back; the other had gone to cup her backside, nestling her closer to his arousal.

Her head fell back to afford him better access and she closed her eyes. It was becoming harder to tell who was the seducer and who the seduced as they both became caught up in the moment.

Only when light fingers of cool air caressed her did she realize he'd lowered the zipper on her halter top, which now gaped around her to reveal her strapless black bra.

She sought his gaze.

His face was flushed, his gaze taking her in. “You're beautiful.” He trailed his fingers along the satiny fabric of the bra. “Sexy. Like a Christmas package just waiting to be unwrapped.”

Her breasts felt hot, heavy and tight under his hungry gaze, and a quivery warmth settled in her middle.

Then he was kissing her again, and she soon discovered that, not only was it unclear who was seducing whom, but it no longer seemed to matter.

All that did matter was that he continue to do wickedly pleasurable things to her. Because she wanted him with an intensity that surprised her.

When he'd finished unhooking her bra, he broke their kiss and sat on the edge of the couch behind him to kiss and nuzzle her breasts.

She ran her fingers through his hair, which felt soft, thick and inviting, and caressed his thigh, which felt hard and sinewy, the muscles bunched.

She moaned as he laved one nipple and then blew softly on it, sending all her nerve endings into overdrive in the process.

“Noah…”

“Shh,” he said. “Don't think. Just feel.”

He moved to her other breast, repeating his attention, as she shuddered against him.

It was too much and not enough.

Finally, he lifted his head. “You've got the most beautiful breasts I've ever seen,” he said thickly. He traced the edge of one nipple, then the curve of her breast until she wanted to moan in response. “They're full but firm and uptilted. The nipples are tight and hot. Gorgeous.”

His words sent heat coursing through her veins, arousing her even more. She tugged at his tuxedo tie until it hung loose and undone. “Let me see you.”

Her hands went to the buttons of his shirt, while he shrugged out of his tux jacket. Once he'd gotten rid of his jacket and shirt, he pulled his white undershirt over his head and she was greeted by the sight of his smooth chest with its flat abs and defined muscles.

“Tit for tat. We're even,” he said, his voice husky.

She ran her hands over his biceps, then trailed them over his chest. “You're in fantastic shape.”

“I try even with my work schedule,” he murmured back, cupping her face and drawing her down to him.

He kissed her deeply, giving her his tongue again and again, his hands on her breasts, then caressing her back, and then hiking her skirt so she could straddle his bent leg.

She moaned, her fingers tangling in his hair.

On and on, it went. Their movements more feverish, the slide of his leg against the juncture of her
thighs sending her higher and higher while the brush of her leg against his arousal brought him more fully erect.

Finally, when she thought she could stand no more, he lifted his head and gazed at her. “I want you. Badly.”

She shook her head, sanity returning with a
thunk
. “We can't.” She started to pull away but he held firm. “We shouldn't even have kissed! I'm writing an article about your company. I need to remain impartial.” Not to mention the fact that she had an absolute rule against casual flings; they just didn't agree with the women in her family.

He grimaced. “Believe me, I don't think you've shown any problem remaining
impartial
where I was concerned in the past.”

“I don't know what's wrong with me tonight.”

He looked into her eyes. “I'll tell you. Bentley Mathison. You were thrown for a loop.”

He saw too much, and she still didn't want to talk about it. She gave him a shove, intending to get him to loosen his grip, but instead, she threw off his center of gravity, and he fell backward onto the couch, taking her with him.

They landed in a heap. Her breasts pressed against his chest, his erection nestled against her and their legs tangled together.

She froze. She felt him everywhere, and he felt
so
good. It had been months since she'd had sex, and before that she'd hardly been a swinger. Despite her seemingly glamorous life, a lot of her socializing was work-related.

And now here was Noah Whittaker: Heartthrob. Former racing stud. Playboy millionaire. Scion of one of Boston's leading families. Underneath her. On her couch.

Oh boy.
She lifted her head and her eyes connected with his green ones.

The sides of his mouth had teased upward. “If you wanted to be on top, all you had to do was say so.” Then he kissed her.

It was easy to kiss him back. After all, gravity was in Noah's favor. All she needed to do was relax—relax into him. It was all too easy.

He didn't grope. He didn't come on too strong or too fast. It was all seamless and smooth. She realized it took a lot of skill to make things seem so natural.

She was barely aware of his fingers slipping up her stockinged thigh, raising her skirt in the process, until his hand slid between her legs and made contact with the spot that was already hot and wet and wanting him.

She felt his touch—light, feathery and quick—and tensed against it. They really shouldn't be doing this.

Still, he was evoking a response from her. She moaned, pressing into his hand. Being with Noah felt delicious, wicked and, yes, forbidden.

“Let go, Kayla,” he breathed into her ear. “Let go.”

Yes.
The whisper of his breath in her ear was the last push that led to her unraveling. She came then, responding to the sure touch of his fingers at her center, the tension of the evening rolling away from her, leaving her sapped and languid.

Slumped against him, she let out a shaky breath, surprised to find tears pricking her eyes, her head relaxing on the curve of his shoulder.

He stroked her back, not saying anything. At some point he caressed her hair, moving the sheet of it back to uncover her face.

She found it all very soothing—tender, really, which was the last emotion that she would have expected to experience with Noah.

“All right, now?” he said, his voice deep, and she felt his question as it rumbled up from his chest.

“Yes,” she said quietly. And yet, she'd never been less all right in her life. A lot of things that she'd accepted as fixtures in her life had come unstuck tonight, and there was no putting them back into place.

 

Over the next few days, Kayla had a lot of time to ponder what had
almost
happened in her apartment on Saturday night and what, in fact,
had.

Noah had taken down her defenses and had had a glimpse of what lay behind them, and there was no undoing that. He'd just been so
persistent,
but she couldn't seem to find it in her to get mad about it.

She'd also seen a side of him that, she was sure, was rarely on public display. He'd been amazingly kind and concerned when he'd seen her reaction to Bentley Mathison.

The only problem was that along with the newly found peace that had descended on her relationship with Noah came the realization she'd gotten intimately in
volved with the subject for her news story. A definite nono in journalism.

And, she couldn't let herself forget, Noah was well skilled at seduction, just like Bentley Mathison had been twenty-eight years ago.

Therefore, there was no doubt in her mind, as she followed Noah around Whittaker Enterprises later that week, that she had to lay down the law: no kissing, no sexual touching and, above all,
no orgasms.
Just thinking about how she'd responded to him on Saturday night caused her to heat.

She jotted notes as Noah kept up a running monologue about nanotechnology, among other things, as they strolled the halls, occasionally stopping to talk to a team leader or other tech employee. The conversations were sprinkled with references to proton-powered molecular biomotors, zero-dimensional objects, quantum computing and entangled particles.

Finally Noah stopped and slanted her a look. “Are you getting all this?”

She looked up from her scribbling. “Yes.”

“Great.” He looked at his watch. “It's already after six. Want to catch some dinner?”

She took a deep breath.
She had to do this.
“Sorry. I can't.”

“How about tomorrow night then?”

She shook her head.

Following him around today had been doing fluttery things to her pulse, not to mention making her all nervous and quivery. Being so close to him now, looking
into his deep green eyes, she felt the full force of his compelling charisma, the type of charisma shared by the best sports stars and that sent their fans into paroxysms of screaming worshipfulness.

Plus, now that she'd experienced his warm and caring side the other night, she'd just lost her best defense against him. But resist him, she had to.

“Okay,” he said easily, “what about the night after next?”

She took another fortifying breath. “Noah, we—I can't. It would be wrong. I'm here to do a story about Whittaker Enterprises. I can't compromise that. Thank you for being so supportive when I needed a shoulder to lean on after the charity benefit on Saturday night, but what happened afterward…”

“Shouldn't have?”

“Right.” This was so hard, especially since she wanted him like crazy, and even though she was
crazy
for wanting him.

He took his time answering, shoving his hands into his pockets. “You should know I don't give up easily. Saturday night something started between us. I don't know about you but I vote for doing some more exploring.”

She experienced a little thrill at his words despite herself.
Stop it,
she warned herself. Aloud, she said, “You promised you'd cooperate for this story.”

He smiled wolfishly and leaned down toward her. “Yeah, but I didn't promise not to pursue you.”

Suddenly she felt as if she'd been caught in a Venus
flytrap. From what she'd already seen, Noah's seduction skills were well honed. And she was weak.
Weak.

He searched her face, then sighed and straightened. “How much more time did I promise you for this story?”

“Two weeks.”

“Okay, you've got them, but after that, sweetheart—” he gave her an intense look “—the gloves come off. You've got two more weeks to finish this story. After that, I'm coming after you.”

She should have responded that he could pursue all he wanted—she had no intention of giving in—but the words wouldn't come. Weak.
Weak.
All she managed to say was a lame “But people will think we were involved while I was writing this story, despite all our denials up until now. It'll undermine everything.”

He took a step forward and rested his hands on the cubicle wall behind her so that she was trapped between his outstretched arms. Fortunately, it was after regular business hours and most of the staff had already departed.

“Let people think what they want,” he said, gazing into her eyes. “I got used to ignoring most of what people say a long time ago.”

“But—”

He ducked in for a quick kiss. “But nothing. Are you going to deny you're attracted to me?”

Unfortunately, she couldn't. And, if it was up to her to hold out against jumping into bed together, they were in big trouble.

 

Noah made his pursuit of Kayla more dogged as the days passed. He lured her to dinner one night. Two days later, when she was at Whittaker Enterprises again, he coaxed her into having a drink with him after work.