HowMuchYouWantToBet (12 page)

Most times it had been wild, crazy, and emotionless for both sides. But he didn’t have to be an image of a rich playboy with Neil, the type of person who only cared about himself. He also didn’t want to help Neil ignore whatever was troubling her, to pretend that what had happened on the dance floor was only a talk between old friends.

In the past months he had learned she’d talk when she was damn well ready to, something they had in common. Tonight would have to be different. It helped that he could almost hear his mother chastising him, “How can you think of sex at a time like this?”

From the dance floor, he ushered her to the elevator. They would talk in private and leave her with no excuse to avoid the inevitable.

“You’re staring at me like I’ve grown another head.”

“You’re rambling.”

She lowered her gaze from his. “Could be all that champagne I drank, and the fact that all I’ve eaten were the measly little cucumber sandwiches.”

Gib shook his head. He wouldn’t make it easy. “I don’t want to talk in the elevator, but I do want to know what Chez said to you that’s got you all wound up.”

When she met his gaze, he could see a spark of temper lighting her eyes. “That’s between Chez and me. What are we doing in the elevator, anyway? Isn’t James waiting for us downstairs?”

Gib pursed his lips. He could handle this situation two ways—he could push, and Neil, being Neil, would push back, or he could play the role she wanted him to play until he got her into the room. He chose the latter. “Haven’t you ever been surprised with anything?”

She grimaced. “Nothing good, but why?” He sighed heavily and pulled his handkerchief out of his breast pocket. “Close your eyes and quit with the questions.”

His expression must have worried her, because she looked at Gib with narrowed eyes, “I’m not sure if…”

He stopped the next comment with a kiss long and deep enough that it made him think maybe being alone with her wasn’t such a good idea. Gib pulled from her and tied the black handkerchief over her eyes.

“I should have seen that one coming,” she said.

He chuckled and took her hand, urging her through the open doors of the elevator. Once inside the suite, he left her by the door. Telling her over his shoulder to keep the blindfold on, he went to light the candles on the table already set up with food and fine china, perfect for a romantic dinner.

The first step would be relaxation. Gib hated to be calculating, but he hated more the look in her eyes after she had talked to Chez.

When he turned around, the makeshift blindfold was in Neil’s hand. He wasn’t mad, because her surprised expression made up for any annoyance he felt at her stubbornness. The expression faded away, replaced with an emotion he couldn’t name. It made his chest tighten.

“From your expression, I can tell you appreciate my thoughtfulness,” Gib said.

Neil didn’t speak as she came toward him. She placed her hands on his chest and he felt them tremble. “No one has ever given me enough thought to do something like this.” She shook her head. “I’m getting mushy over a T-bone steak.” She quirked a smile at him that made his whole body tighten.

“It could be the cucumber sandwiches,” Gib joked.

Her body brushed seductively against his. The subtle invitation wasn’t lost on him. He couldn’t pinpoint what he was feeling. Definitely desire, but something else. Something that made him want to take her protectively in her arms and never let go. He wanted to always be able to put that look of pleasure on her face, in bed and out.

“What is it?” Neil seemed to notice his change of demeanor.

He shook his head, not sure if he could put what he felt into words. “Nothing.”

Gib tried to clear his head of the want, but she was too damn close and he could remember how her body and the silk had felt under his hands earlier in the evening.

“Neil, what did Chez say to you?”

Her expression darkened, but she didn’t step back from him. “I don’t want to talk about it tonight. Tomorrow. Just not tonight.”

Without words, he knew what she was asking. The invisible band tightening around his chest wouldn’t let him deny her. “I won’t make you bet on it, but it’s a deal.”

For a moment her eyes lit with playfulness and when he wrapped his arms around her waist her lids lowered. “Deal.”

The heat of their kiss then only began to arouse the banked fire that had been building in him since he first kissed her in the smoky pool hall, and when he moved to deepen the kiss, the structure of the heat changed. It rushed the blood from his head down to his groin and changed his concern to desire.

“Let’s get you out of this stupid tie.”

“Let’s,” he replied playfully, though the need to taste all of her began to cloud his brain.

The soft, dark scent she wore seemed to fill the room, and when he tasted Neil the second time that night he forgot all his plans to take things slowly. He wanted her right that moment, and for as many moments as his body could stand.

Neil tasted the change in his kiss before her own need knotted in her chest. Her hands fumbled with the last button on his shirt when it did. She wasn’t prepared for the depth, the texture. She had wanted to take her mind off her troubles for one more day, had wanted to hide from the life she had buried deep, but this was different, bigger, and much more than she had counted on.

Though it was just mouths touching, the power of it made her tremble. The kisses deepened and became more urgent. Desperate for the feel of him under her hands she pulled at his tuxedo jacket until it fell to the floor. His hands climbed up her back, giving her a reason to shudder from the pleasure of it.

She stepped away from him, keeping her gaze locked on his. She wanted to see his irises change color as his desire went from want to need.

Neil unclasped the thin strip of material that held up her dress at the neck. The black gown pooled at her feet, leaving only the garter belt and stockings she’d worn under it. Neil felt empowered when Gib reached for her and kissed her hungrily, as if the mating of mouths wasn’t enough to fill him of her.

Wanting to feel his bare skin against hers, Neil helped him out of his shirt, arm by arm. Gib beat her to his pants, and those were left and forgotten once they hit the floor. The paper-pusher wear had hidden the body of a god, with skin hot and smooth under her shaky fingers. His body melded with hers, and Neil couldn’t stand the thought of having to wait another moment for him to be inside her.

“I want you now,” she said, her mouth hot against his.

Gently he lifted Neil and laid her there on the carpeted floor. “We’ve got the time. First I want to taste you, all of you. For the past few months that’s all I’ve had a taste for. For this.”

He kissed her again, nipping and suckling her already swollen lips. “For you.” Finally tearing his mouth from hers, Gib explored every inch of her. Sampling each breast wasn’t enough for him. Gib caressed, sucked, and licked until her heavy breathing matched his, until each nipple browned and hardened to a painful, erect position. It wasn’t enough, nowhere near, if damn close.

Gently he scraped his teeth along the curve of her hip but wasn’t satisfied with her breathy moans, nor her sighing his name, begging for more. His mouth moved lower until he was lapping at the sweet honey coming from the core of her. She tasted of secrets, of wants and desires that he’d never known he needed to taste, to own.

That nameless need beat like a drum, making his body throb from it, ache with it. She bucked under the assault of his mouth, his tongue, his teeth. It still wasn’t enough. He felt crazed from the taste of her, the sound of her moans, and when he felt her grow taut with that beautiful tension called an orgasm, he tortured them both and rose over her.

“Remind me to kill you later, after we’re done, for stopping.”

“No problem,” he said, then entered her, quelling any other words.

Neil couldn’t believe it could get better, but each thrust proved her unbelief wrong. Each time her body stretched and settled around him, taking him, squeezing pleasure from every inch of him, was more satisfying than the last.

The sound of their bodies meeting echoed in the room. Her moans, his whispers of how good she felt around him, broke the quiet of the night. The candlelight flickered over their sweat-slicked bodies, causing shadows against the walls. The smell of wax was lost in the haze of their lovemaking.

None of it mattered when she raised her hips, wanting him to be deeper, needing it to be not him or her, just them, and when that sweet tension rose and stretched through her, she let it. The need was so strong, if it had been a noise it would have broken the sound barrier. Instead, it felt like it broke something inside her and then filled the empty space back again with something new and nameless, something that took all her breath and left her replete and stained with the memory of it.

Soon after, when all her thoughts seemed to have scattered on a whim, and when another wave of tension rose, stronger and more damaging to her senses, Gib joined her. Hours later they finally ate their meal, slept, and made love again more times than either could count.

As she watched the morning sun brush pinks and blues across the sky, Neil knew she had to tell Gib the truth. The night of lovemaking hadn’t eased her thoughts, but it had made them more palpable, because now he would demand to know, and for the first time Neil didn’t have the fight in her to deny him.

CHAPTER 12

Showered and dressed, Neil entered the hotel suite’s small kitchen. The smell of the fresh fruit splayed on the counter tweaked her appetite.

Knowing what was to come, she indulgently plucked an apple from the basket. Gib watched her quietly. She knew he was probably sensing her withdrawal, but it couldn’t be helped. She loved him, and he had to know the truth.

The simplicity of how she felt still daunted her, but for some reason Neil was convinced she had to tell him she was a fraud, nothing at all like who he thought she was, because maybe then he could begin to trust her and—was she wrong to think it?—eventually love her back.

Gib’s movements were relaxed as he strolled to the table and set his coffee down. “I’ve never known you to hold your tongue about anything.”

“I didn’t think I was that obvious.” She took a deep breath and sat across from him at the table. “It’s about my father.” She laughed without mirth. “About my screwed-up family, period.”

He stilled. “Are you sure you want to talk about this?”

“It’s time I told someone. Do you mind?” She pointed to the coffeemaker. “I need reinforcements before I start.”

Gib stood before she could move, went to the cabinet and got out a cup for coffee. After filling it to the brim, he set it in front of her. The coffee was strong and black, exactly how she made it at the job, and he had noticed. She was doing the right thing.

“I was fifteen when my mother died. The night it happened, I can remember us being happy. My dad was painting so much, then.” Neil smiled, but couldn’t meet Gib’s eyes, not when her own had begun to fill, with the memory.

“We were at dinner, laughing and joking like we always did, and then Mom got real quiet, and this look came over her face, and all of a sudden everything got quiet. My dad had never moved so fast in his life, but it wasn’t fast enough. By the time he got out of his seat, she had already fallen to the floor, unconscious.”

She shook her head and took a sip of coffee. Gib reached across the table and took her hand. The quiet strength was there, and she drew from it. “The doctors later told my father she was dead before she hit the floor. My little sister went without oxygen for too long to save her. They were going to let me name her. I always loved the name Isabel.”

When she made no move to speak again, Gib asked, “What happened after that?”

“I became a grownup.” Neil said it with all the assurance she had felt at the time, which wasn’t much. “I handled things most teenagers never have to. I made funeral arrangements, for both my mother and Izzie. My father was no help. It was like he’d found a quiet place within himself, and he didn’t come out. Most days he didn’t eat, and more of those days he didn’t sleep.”

“He turned to his painting?”

Neil licked her lips and decided to ignore the question for now. “I paid the bills and I was always good with numbers. I met with his accountants, attorneys, everything, and no one thought to ask my age. They all thought I was older. What fifteen-year-old would know about royalties, or if the corporation that was under my father’s name would be in the black for the next three business quarters?”

Gib straightened and the look in his eyes told her he understood what she was telling him. She had to go on. “And when the projectile earnings didn’t look so good and were actually in the red, I had to do something. Bills still needed to be paid, and my father never saved well. It’d just be there, was his way of thinking.”

“Neil, what did you do?”

“For three years I painted—as Nathanial Sullivan.” Neil swallowed hard after saying the words.

Where was the instant relief people always talked about, that hit after unloading a burden? She didn’t feel any instantaneous change, not even a blip. The weight of remembering her grief held her fast.

Neil folded her hands and continued. “Oils, watercolors, acrylics, I did them all, under his name. Every one of them sold. They sold for thousands. In the papers they said grief had made him a better painter. I could tell myself, then, that I wasn’t lying. My initials were NS, but the lie was in letting people believe it was my father’s work.”

“Nobody close to you suspected?” He sat back in his chair. She hadn’t thought of this part, whether he would still want her after knowing what she did. “Anybody who saw him?”

“No one cared. My father was painting again. Chez, who was his agent at the time, didn’t have to close down his business, because he was on top of the market. He’d snagged the painter many considered the Monet of our time.” Neil shook her head when Gib started to question her. She had to get it all out now, while she still had the strength to do it. “After the first year, my father came out of his depression, but then he became obsessed with my talent. He wanted to know what else I could do, whether I was exactly like him and could only draw and paint. He tore down the nursery he’d built for Izzie and put in an art studio.” Neil couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice.