No Holds Barred

Chapter One

Ella set her empty champagne flute on the passing waiter’s tray. She didn’t need champagne to appreciate the large tuxedo-clad Viking stalking across the room but another glass would be all it took to talk her into believing that she,
Raphaella
Dotti
, the
handsome
Dotti
daughter, had put the determined glint in Jake
Truhorn’s
blue-gray eyes.

She’d caught a glimpse of the reclusive young artist’s back earlier. His signature dark blond braid trailing between his very broad shoulder blades had fascinated her and then he’d turned around. Tall, muscular and Nordic didn’t hurt. Oh yum. And it
was
her birthday.

He walked past beautiful women in designer dresses who touched him in passing, a group of Fortune 500 donors who’d flocked to the trendy Chicago gallery Snap!
to
support the local Inner City Youth Center by bidding on donated artwork including New York artist
Truhorn’s
newest mural entitled
The Forgotten
. He passed a harried tray-laden waiter, deftly snagging a flute of champagne while he still pinned her with his gray-blue gaze.

Happy Birthday to me, Happy Birthday to me
, she hummed quietly as her panties dampened.

“You look…like you can’t decide what to do next,” he said, insinuating the flute into her hand.

The timbre of his voice vibrated through her and her nipples tightened. She couldn’t keep the smile off her face. “And you look interesting.”
And young.
Happy Fortieth, Ella!

An hour later she found out just how interesting and young he was while they were enjoying a glass of wine and oysters on the half-shell in one of Chicago’s lesser known treasures, the Wine Cellar. Jake was thirty, impressed by her passion for her job as style editor for the local city magazine
Whimsy
and everything from his infectious smile to his velvety voice lulled her into her favorite bit of foreplay—the chase. He was still looking into her eyes and smiling when he suggested a little exercise.

The line charmed her until they actually walked the six blocks to his hotel, his arm around her at her first shiver. The September breeze had nothing to do with her body temperature. A delicious ripple of anticipation and the Viking marauder with the hungry glint in his very determined gaze was what made her pull her black silk shawl tighter.

She thought he’d kiss her in the elevator but his hand barely brushed her fingertips and the little zing was like an electrical shock sizzling through her. When the doors opened he took her hand and drew her down the hall into his room, backing her against the door as he closed it.

Delicious heat radiated from somewhere behind his very starched shirt and the thought that she’d never be cold again slipped through her mind before she could stop it and then his hot insistent mouth was on hers and she stopped thinking.

She was vaguely aware of her shawl slipping away. Jake’s hands were everywhere, tracing her shoulders, molding her back, exploring her. He found the side zipper of her very elegant black silk dress. She bit her bottom
lip,
smiling as he drew the zipper down with the same slow deliberate ease he was doing everything else.

“This dress should be enshrined,” he rasped, drawing the shaped bodice away until her breasts bounced free. He kissed them while he peeled the satiny fabric over her ribs, followed the path with his tongue, licked into her bellybutton, feasted as if she were a rare delicacy to be savored.

“You’re very good at this,” she whispered when he skimmed her out of her garter belt and stockings. He wrestled her panties down with his teeth and she shivered when the air hit her bare bottom.

“I’m very inspired,” he whispered back, kissing her pussy as if he was kissing her mouth and that was all it took. Her knees buckled, she shook, was still shaking when he swung her into his arms.

Breathless and naked against his fully clothed chest, her skin tingled but it was his possessive gaze that ensnared her. “The next time will be better,” he said, lowering her to the bed, ripping at his tie. “After that, we’ll be amazing.”

After that?
She arched her brow, and bit back a nervous laugh. She’d be gone after he rolled over and started snoring.

“Oh that looks like a challenge,
Raphaella
Dotti
and if there’s one thing I like, it’s a challenge.” He grinned, looking young, potent and just the slightest bit dangerous.

He pushed his slacks over his bare hips, ripping open a condom packet with his teeth and rolling the protective sheath over his cock with a caress that had her mouth watering.

Her skin prickled and the hair on the back of her neck fluttered like a caress. She lifted her arms, smiling, until he slid into her so quickly she gasped. He gave her just enough time to settle before he rocked her into a rhythm that turned hard, sharp and fast at exactly the right moment.

She groaned and reached for him when he slid out of her, arched when his warm tongue circled her clit and speared inside, thrusting like a small, warm cock. She caught the rhythm.
Almost there.

Until he slid back up her body and eased his tongue into her mouth. She could taste herself, salty and sweet at the same time. Quivering, she almost came when he thrust his cock back inside her. She clenched her inner muscles, trying to draw him deeper. And then each thrust became sharper than the last and she coiled, tightened, shattered. His roar reverberated through her and sent her crashing into another wave of pleasure.

She was still shivering from her orgasm, boneless and replete when he kissed her, whispering against her lips, “You are so beautiful.”

Ella didn’t have enough energy left to laugh. She was used to men telling her that to get her into bed, not after they’d already gotten her there. A bigger surprise came when she was the one who drifted off, coming awake suddenly to find he was still inside her, still watching her.

He looked almost as stunned as she felt and then he began to move again in slow easy strokes, kissing her as if he was never going to get enough of her mouth. She knew a moment of panic but her body refused to let go of him, rose to meet him at every thrust.
Mine
, it kept telling her even when she tried to disconnect from it, tried to put the feelings where they belonged.
You’re my
Happy Birthday present to myself nothing more
, Ella told herself even as she wrapped her legs around his hips, inviting him deeper, closer.

Twelve hours later, convinced she was doing the right thing she slipped out of his hotel room while he was asleep and hailed a cab instead of walking six blocks to her apartment in her evening clothes. They hadn’t exchanged any personal information other than names and that they were both healthy responsible adults with inquisitive voracious appetites.

She’d been so tempted to stay but Jake was ten years younger, looked even better naked than he did in a tux and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this sexually satisfied. Why spoil the euphoria with a drawn-out awkward goodbye?

She’d been leaving first for a long time now, before anyone could suggest a diet or a nose job or her personal favorite, liposuction. Before she fell into the trap of loving someone so much she allowed herself to become their latest project. And she could fall hard for Jake
Truhorn
. How ridiculous would that be? How dangerous?

So, she spent the next twenty-four hours convincing herself that she’d done the right thing, all the while frowning into mirrors at least once an hour, trying to smooth the crinkled little creases around her eyes and the laugh lines that she hadn’t paid any attention to before.

From now on she was just going to celebrate the anniversary of her fortieth birthday. And she was probably going to stop looking into mirrors. At least until she found a really great industrial strength night cream.

Two days later Jake
Truhorn
laid siege to her email, her phone and her sense of humor. She very gently informed him the ten-year age gap was a problem. He made a joke about being the only one who’d be able to keep up with her in her old age, smoothly transitioning the conversation into their shared love of campy B-movie horror classics, ethnic food and a single-minded, obsessive passion for their work.

One year and innumerable emails and phone calls later he was still making jokes, still charming her and still making her panties wet—and he knew it.

“Where are you planning on celebrating your forty-first birthday?” he asked during their latest regular Sunday-morning-brunch-with-the-phone-to-their-ear-conversations.

“I’m not. I’m only going to celebrate the anniversary of my fortieth from now on,” she quipped before she thought better of it. The moment of silence that followed felt like it lasted ten minutes. When he finally said something he sounded like he’d been holding his breath.

“Then I say do it right. Spend a week with me. We’ll do all the things we didn’t have time to do a year ago.”

He didn’t say “because she’d run like a thief in the night” but it had always been there between them. She took a deep breath and tried to steady her voice. “I told you I hate long goodbyes.”

“Then you must have been doing them all wrong,” he drawled. “I know you have vacation time coming because you’re a workaholic and all work and no play…”

“Who says I don’t play? I’ve never said I don’t play.”

“You haven’t said anything about dating anyone… lately.”

“Stop fishing, I haven’t had time to socialize much this year but as long as my batteries hold out—” She actually thought she heard him shudder on the other end.

“One week of unbridled-no-holds-barred-anything-goes sex. You’re welcome to bring as many batteries as you think you might need but I’m telling you now, you won’t need them.”

She hadn’t had unbridled-no-holds-barred-anything-goes sex for almost a year now. Her panties got wet as she remembered Jake’s tongue, his mouth, his hands and his incredibly firm,
long-lasting
erections. So with wet panties and an almost steady voice she agreed that on the anniversary of her fortieth birthday she’d spend the week with him on his turf, the wilds of upstate New York. He knew just the place but he did have a request—no underwear for the entire week.

She’d glanced down at her much more than a mouthful breasts, grimaced and agreed. She hadn’t been without an underwire bra since she was fourteen. Oh, what the hell, it was only for a week. And then she started thinking about how the sound of his voice still sent a frisson of heat through her. When she closed her eyes she could see him gazing at her the last time they’d made love.

Ella still wanted him and that scared her. She’d rather have a phone call from Jake at two in the morning than a weekend in Cancun with anyone else. He’d called later to apologize for the slurred call from his best friend’s bachelor party. She’d laughed about it at the time but she wasn’t laughing now.

Because
Raphaella
Dotti
hadn’t walked away from someone she hadn’t been able to forget for a very long time. She was older now, stronger. And she was tired of running.

So she packed and unpacked her underwire bras three times. She let her hairdresser disguise her few gray hairs with caramel highlights. And if she was going commando for a week she was doing it her way. It had taken two margaritas at the day spa but she was as smooth as a peach—and shaking in her very expensive, high-tech purchased-by-strong-suggestion hiking boots.

It was time to be brave. She could do brave for a week in the wilds of upstate New York with a handsome young artist ten years her junior, whom she wanted more than her next breath. She knew she was in trouble when she tried to hum “Happy Birthday to me” and stumbled over the melody.