Best Friends With the Billionaire (The Rochesters) (10 page)

Then came the unplanned pregnancy. When she told him, she glowed with satisfaction, whereas he was sick with dread. But there was no going back. With a baby on the way, he’d stick by her no matter what. The miscarriage happened three months later. Alison fell apart. Her devastation moved him; for the first time he felt something more than resignation. She refused to tell anyone about her depression; only Kirk and her doctor knew. As she gradually improved, Kirk discovered a newfound softness for her, but it was nothing like love. They’d long since stopped sleeping together or being any more than housemates, and as their second anniversary loomed, he judged it was time to ask her for a divorce.

The day he planned to bring up the subject, was the day she had a chest x-ray for a cough that had nagged her for months. The experts gave her at most two years to live. Two years of wretchedness, of painful treatments, of humiliation and grief and waiting. But also two years of growing respect and snatches of happiness. As Alison lost her health, her looks, and her friends, so she lost her insecurities and her vanity. She had a horror of hospitals, so Kirk took care of her at home right up until her final day. He was only too glad to do this for her, and when she finally slipped away, he grieved for her, for the pain she’d endured, for the future she’d never have.

Alison had altered for the better, but one thing hadn’t changed. She’d asked him not to tell people how dire their marriage had been. She hadn’t achieved much in her life, the one thing she did have was her marriage, and she wanted to protect that memory. Kirk had agreed. God knew, he didn’t want to discuss his errors in judgment. It was easy to grant her a last wish. Everyone assumed he was grief-stricken because he was so in love with Alison. No one knew he’d cried for her and her alone, not for a love that didn’t exist.

Like everyone else, Cassie didn’t know the truth about Alison, and he hoped it stayed that way. He didn’t want to dwell on the past. He’d far rather think about the future, like what might happen when dinner was over and his relatives left him and Cassie alone.

He shrugged off his gloomy memories and focused on Cassie sitting opposite him.

She was wearing the green-and-yellow sweater that Russell had given her. Why had she done that? Because she’d been thinking of him? Kirk frowned. He loathed that sweater. The more he looked at it, the more he wanted to pull it right off her. Wanted to rub himself all over her, like a mountain lion marking its territory.

Christ, she was turning him into a caveman. He sized up her frame. She might be taller and bigger than average, but he reckoned, if need be, he could easily sling her over his shoulder and carry her off to his lair. And once he got her there, they’d have a lot of fun wrestling each other’s clothes off.

Yeah, he was looking forward to that.

…

Cassie stored the mustard back in the pantry as Kirk returned from dumping the empty bottles in the recycling bin. Lex, Jacinta, and Holly had left fifteen minutes ago, and since then she’d been helping Kirk clear up. She liked it that he cleaned up after himself even though he had a very efficient housekeeper.

“It was good seeing Holly again,” Cassie said. “And I like Lex and Jacinta. They seem a perfect match.”

“Yeah, my cousin sure met his match in Jacinta.” Kirk stacked the last dirty plate in the dishwasher.

The slight tenseness in his voice caught her attention. She remembered that Alison had once been Lex’s girlfriend before she’d moved on to Kirk. “Is there still some awkwardness between you and Lex because of Alison?”

Kirk gave her a strange look. “No. That blew over years ago, and he’s hysterically happy with Jacinta. You saw how they were touching each other all night long.”

“I talked too much about my sister’s wedding,” Cassie said. “I didn’t mean to…”

“To what?”

“To remind you of yours.”

He grabbed a dishcloth and wiped down the bench, his movements vigorous. “You didn’t.”

His short reply hinted that she had. She remembered his and Alison’s wedding with painful clarity—the Gatsby-esque party on the Hancock’s country estate, the glittering reception with Alison transformed by mountains of silk tulle into a fairy princess, the cold sickness that gripped Cassie for days. If only she could wipe that day from her memory.

“Ever think you’ll get married again?” she asked softly.

“No. What about you?”

How quickly he deflected the question away from him. “You sound very sure of yourself.”

“I am.” He tossed the dishcloth aside and rested his hands on his hips. “I’m very sure this isn’t something I want to discuss. And you haven’t answered my question.”

“Me? Get married?” She managed a light laugh. “That’s the last thing on my mind.”

“Good. Now that we’ve got that out of the way, let’s move onto something more important.”

The glint in his eye made her back straighten as a frisson of anticipation ran down her spine. All day she’d relived his kisses, savoring the memory of his arms around her. She’d be kidding herself if she said she wasn’t hoping for a repeat performance tonight. But however much she wanted him, she had to maintain her casual facade.

“And what would that be?” she asked, flicking back her hair.

“That sweater of yours.” He jutted his chin at her. “Why’re you wearing it?”

She glanced down at the piece of clothing. “Why? Because it’s comfortable, and it’s the first thing I laid my hands on when I went to change this evening.”

“It’s the sweater Russell gave you.” He jabbed a finger toward her. “You’re not pining for him, are you?”

She’d forgotten the sweater was a gift from her friend. Kirk seemed quite put out by it, which made her gulp.

“I’m not pining for anyone,” she said as steadily as possible.

He stepped right up to her and curled his fingers into the hem of her sweater. With his gaze fixed on her, he dragged her closer until they were only inches apart.

“Take it off, then,” he murmured, “or I will.”

Her heart stumbled at the dark intent in his voice. Kirk was always so self-contained and controlled, but now his primitive side was showing, and she had to admit it thrilled her.

She tipped up her head. In her flats he had three inches on her, so she rose on tiptoe to meet him at eye level. “I don’t take my clothes off just because you tell me to.”

His eyes flared. He fisted his hand more tightly around her sweater. “It’s obvious you need more therapy to get over Russell, or you wouldn’t be wearing that sweater, which, by the way, is fucking ugly.”

“It is not. It’s a Wallabies rugby jumper.”

“Jumper? You mean a one-piece thingy?”

“A jumper is a sweater in Australia.”

Kirk shook his head. “Looks like I’ll have to Americanize you all over again. Starting with this
sweater
.” His grip tightened.

She put her hand over his to stop him. Excitement tingled through her. She was loving this animal side of him; she wanted to bring it out some more.

“Have you always been like this? I never realized you could be so bossy.”

“It’s you. You’re arguing just for the sake of arguing.”

“I don’t want you to think I’m a pushover.”

He laughed softly, his other hand closing on top of hers. “Cassie, if you were a pushover, that sweater would’ve disappeared long ago. Now quit teasing me.”

He plucked her hand away and folded it behind her back, the movement bringing her hard up against him. Her body tingled as her breasts pressed up against his chest. Almost faint with anticipation, she waited for him to kiss her. When he did, his mouth was hot and ravenous on hers, his passion arousing. She couldn’t help whimpering as she kissed him back, inhibition fading, hunger rising to meet his. He flicked his tongue over her lower lip then slid it into her mouth, the practiced sweep exciting her.

She curled her free hand around his neck and ran her fingers up through the rough silk of his hair. So many times she’d yearned to do this, and now she could without embarrassment. Eager to explore more, she skimmed her lips over his jaw, laying quick, little kisses along his sculpted chin, before moving up to his earlobe where she couldn’t resist giving him a light nibble.

“Oh, mm.” His surprised intake of air showed his appreciation before he gathered her closer and buried his face into the curve of her neck.

The feel of his stubble against her skin was electric. His chest pushed her breasts up, making her nipples tingle, while the feel of his muscular denim-clad thighs rubbing her bare legs sent heat rushing to her center. She found herself shuddering with delight, arching herself into his embrace. God, she couldn’t get close enough to him. He bit her gently with his lips, working his way slowly from her ear right down the length of her throat until he reached the neckline of her sweater.

“This is coming off right now,” he growled in a voice that brooked no argument.

He grabbed the hem of the sweater and hauled it up, giving her no option but to lift her arms to assist him. He yanked off the offending sweater and hurled it across the kitchen, then came to a halt when he registered the white tank top she was wearing underneath.

He hauled in a breath. “No bra,” he wheezed.

A warm blush rose up her neck. She was indeed bra-less, and the thin tank top did nothing to disguise her erect nipples. No need for Kirk to guess how turned on she was.

“My bridesmaid’s bra was killing me. I had to get it off when I got home.”

“And you were hiding this from me all night with that god-awful sweater. Damn, first chance I get, I’m burning that thing.”

He settled his hands on her hips and kissed her again. This time his kiss was slow and deliberate, his lips possessive.

“Isn’t it my turn to take your top off?” she eventually asked after a breathless few minutes that left her nipples even more erect.

His stormy gray-blue eyes dazzled her. “Be my guest.”

It wasn’t that easy to strip him of his black T-shirt. Her hands were unsteady, and the T-shirt was a tight fit, but finally it was off, and for the first time she could feast her eyes without shame on his bare chest. Her fingers caressed the sculpted lines of his pectorals, trying to be leisurely, but the lure of him was too great, and she dipped her head to taste him, gliding her lips and tongue over his warm, delicious muscle.

“Cassie,” he groaned, his hands winding into her hair to bring her up before his mouth crushed onto hers.

His fire scorched her, ruffled her. She let out a squeak of surprise as he lifted her onto the kitchen counter and pushed himself between her legs. The crotch of his jeans fitted right into the apex of her thighs, and there was no mistaking the hot bulge packed into that denim.

Oh God, Kirk had a hard-on for her.

The thought sent her head spinning. For so long she’d dreamed about kissing Kirk, but she couldn’t have anticipated the force of his passion. His heat rolled over her like a brush fire, setting a thousand spots alight in her body. She was helpless against the seduction of his mouth, his hands, his body pinning her to the counter.

He pushed up her flimsy tank top, his hand closing urgently around her bare breast, causing her to gasp with pleasure. Then, he slowed down, his movements unhurried as he cupped and squeezed her, his thumb brushing back and forth across her nipple until she had to bite her lip to stop herself from screaming.

“Go on.” His husky breath urged her on. “Let it out. Let me hear you moan, Cassie.”

His words were as potent as his touch. She writhed in his hold, completely at the mercy of her desire, a gratified whimper trembling from her lips. Dipping his head over her, he brushed his lips across her mouth, keeping in time with the rhythm of his thumb grazing her nipple, soft and rough, rough and soft, until she was delirious and in danger of hyperventilating.

Through her daze, she felt his groin pressing up against hers and his free hand gliding up and over her thigh. How did he know how to touch her for maximum pleasure? The firm stroke of his palm melted her, all her desires concentrating into the tight, white-hot spot in her core.

His hand slid higher, beneath the frayed hem of her denim shorts. Her breathing short-circuited. Sensations swirled around her—the coolness of the kitchen counter beneath her, the fire of his body above her, the scent of grilled steak lingering in the air, the taste of his body on her lips, the rasp of his breathing.

With unerring precision, his hand moved higher under her shorts, his fingers pushing aside her panties, seeking her swollen folds. She was wet through, she knew, drenched with lust, and this time there was no hiding it. Kirk grunted, as if gratified by what he found, his body rigid as he stroked her, pleasured her. He pressed one finger into her entrance and circulated her wetness over her dilated clitoris, sending her into nirvana. She heard herself gasping, panting, felt herself arching, spreading her legs wider, helplessly addicted to his expertise. Giddy colors spun through her mind, heat spread through her thighs, heavy and languorous. The sound of her pounding heart filled her head.

The chink of metal brought her back to reality. Kirk had reached for his belt, she realized. He was unbuckling it, one-handed, the other hand still between her thighs, fingers slipping back and forth across her slick entrance. The flushed intent in his face crashed through her delirium.

Oh my God
. Kirk was going to drop his jeans and take her right here, right now on the kitchen counter.

He had the belt unbuckled. He reached for the buttons of her shorts. She gazed up at him, powerless to resist the tsunami carrying her away, trusting him with everything she had. Hoping she wouldn’t be a disappointment to him.

As his hand slid over her belly, he paused, staring down at her. He frowned, and her stomach wiggled with unease, an unease that spiked when he slowly drew both hands away from her.

“We should stop,” he said, tension vibrating in his voice.

“S-stop?” She pushed a strand of hair away from her eyes.

He refastened his belt. “You’re too damn tempting, Cassie.”

That wasn’t what she wanted to hear, not when he’d withdrawn from her a moment ago. Confused, she pushed herself off the kitchen counter, embarrassment growing when she saw how mussed up she was. Her tank top was half off, her shorts were hanging off her hips, and God knew what her face revealed.