The Expectant Secretary (16 page)

He wanted every part of her to cry out for him. He didn't want this moment, this time with her to end. And if it took all night, it would be worth the delay, the struggle.

“There's no need to rush,” he said. “I'm not going anywhere. No reason to hurry.” Was he trying to convince himself or her?

Her hips pressed against his groin. “There isn't?”

A moan rumbled deep in his throat. “You're not the woman I used to know.”

“Is that bad?” she asked, wariness darkening the blue of her eyes to slate.

He kissed her as if he could absorb her doubts, swallow her uneasiness. “No. You're better than I ever imagined. And I've imagined a lot.”

“You have?” she asked, disbelief entering her voice.

He nuzzled her neck and tightened his hold on her, wrapping his arms around her slight frame, feeling the soft fullness of her breasts, the swell of her belly, the dip at the base of her spine. His pulse raced, his blood pumped recklessly.

“What have you imagined?” she asked, a seductive smile curving her lips.

“Let me show you.” He slanted his mouth across hers, tested the seam of her lips, tasting, claiming, devouring. With one quick move, he yanked her suit jacket off her shoulders. He crumpled the material in his fists and fought back the urge to take her here, against the front door, in the entryway of her sister's house. “Where's your room?”

“Down the hall.” She arched her back, giving him access to her neck, her breasts.

With an open, eager mouth, he kissed the graceful column of her throat, dipping his tongue into the hollow where her pulse throbbed, tasted the saltiness of her skin, breathed in the heady scent of her perfume and raw heat. His mouth made moist marks across the front of her white silk shirt. He released her jacket, let it fall to the floor at their feet, then hooked an arm
behind her back and beneath her knees. Lifting her against his chest, he carried her down the hall.

“In here,” she said, her voice husky as she indicated a partially open door.

With his shoulder, he pushed the door open and entered a dark bedroom. A yellow circle of light emanated from a night-light and cast a hazy glow across a narrow bed. “It's a twin.”

“Is that a problem?” she asked, her body stiffening.

He chuckled low. “Only if you wanted to get some sleep.”

“Sleep's not what I had in mind.”

“Good.” He laid her on top of the bed and felt the springs give as he pressed his knee into the mattress.

Grabbing the back of his collar, he pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it onto a heap on the floor. He leaned forward, letting their mouths touch, nip, savor. She opened to him, and he tasted her sweetness.

With one deft hand, he undid the tiny, delicate buttons down the front of her shirt. Pulling away, he slid onto his side, watched her breasts rise and fall with each breath, sharp intakes, uneven exhales. She trembled as if cold, but he could feel heat rising off her skin.

He eased open the panels of her shirt. The satin covering her breasts was smooth, cool. Her flesh beneath the delicate lace cups was flushed and warm. So warm, he felt himself melting as he palmed her, grazing the pad of his thumb over the stiff, taut peak.

A low moan broke from her parted lips as he
snapped open the clasp between her breasts. Her back arched off the bed and her hands curled into fists.

He skimmed a finger over the curve of her breast, between the deep valley, along the underside until he heard her sharp intake of breath. Smiling down at her, he whispered, “You're beautiful. More beautiful than I remembered.”

She felt herself tremble from the inside out. “I'm bigger now,” she stated matter-of-factly. “Pregnancy hormones at work.”

He traced his finger down the center of her body, between her rib cage, over her belly button, and laid his hand flat against the slight roundness of her stomach. “Will this be okay? We won't hurt the baby?”

Feeling her heart swell with love at his concern, she covered his hand with her own. “It'll be fine.”

He lowered his head to her breast, and she felt the moist heat of his mouth on her as his lips pulled and tugged at her nipple. Her breath snagged in her throat.

“It'll be better than fine,” he said, his accent rugged and suggestive.

He seduced her with long slow caresses that aroused, demanded, tempted. He kissed her breasts, her abdomen through her skirt. His hand skimmed up along her silk-covered thigh, pushing her skirt higher. With a snap of his fingers, he unhooked her garter. In long, languid strokes, he rolled her stockings down her legs. His tongue traced the curve of her arch. He sucked on her toes, massaged her feet until she felt as if she were floating above the bed like a cloud.

Removing her skirt, he explored every inch of her, running a finger along the elastic band of her lace panties, cupping the aching center of her, dipping his
fingers into her moist heat. His caresses quickened. Grew bold. Urgent.

A frenzy built inside her like a storm forming on the horizon, coming closer, closer. His touch set off sparks along her spine. A current raced through her like heat lightning.

Wild and breathless, she clawed at his back, writhed against him, anxious to feel him close, wanting to feel flesh against flesh, his hardness nestled into her softness. A frantic need tore at her mind. Her heart beat rampantly inside her chest.

With shaky hands, she unfastened his slacks, slid them over his narrow hips and he kicked them to the floor. He settled over her, staring down at her, his eyes as stormy and wild as a feverish gust of wind, stirring her to new heights.

“I've waited for this…for you…for a lifetime.”

So had she. She felt nervous, delirious.

Easing into her, he watched her, measuring, gauging, appreciating. She felt herself stretch to accommodate him. He filled her completely.

When they were joined, her legs wrapped around him, his arms braced on either side of her head, he kissed her fully, deeply, taking, giving more than she'd ever expected. He started to move slow and steady. She matched his rhythm, urged him faster, bucking beneath him. She palmed his buttocks, her heels pressing into the backs of his thighs.

Pounding shocks of pleasure jolted her. Her body went rigid. Her back arched. Her hands clenched. Her lungs burned. She'd never experienced such intensity, such passion. The climax shattered the last of her composure. She sobbed his name on a ragged breath.
A shuddering rocked her and she clung to him, desperate.

He dipped his face into the curve of her shoulder. His breath was moist and hot on her skin. Her hands moved over his back, felt the unreleased tension in his taut muscles. She lifted his head, looked him in the eye and kissed him. As she plunged her tongue into the depths of his mouth the way he was still deep inside her, she began to rock against him, moving, thrusting, until bodies strained and muscles yearned for release.

With one last thrust, he shuddered. Her name tore from his lips, echoing in the stillness of the room. A tremor started in her belly and spread out to her limbs until she was a quivering mass, helpless and replete. He fit her against his side, in the crook of his arm. His skin was slick with sweat, his breathing coarse and ragged.

With each beat of her heart, she began to believe that Brody was truly the man she'd been meant to love. This was her second chance. One with a bright future. One full of hope and promise. One with Brody always by her side.

T
housands of miles away from Australia and his birthplace, separated from his family and business, Brody had never felt so at home, so right, so complete.

And it was because of Jillian.

With her curled into the crook of his arm, he felt her soft, silky curves along his side, her shapely leg draped over his, her fingers sifting through his chest hair. His body hummed with an awareness he'd never known.

“I thought we'd never be here together,” she said, her voice quiet, still with a touch of awe.

He smoothed his hand down her arm, felt the goose bumps rise along her skin. Pulling a blanket up from the end of the bed to cover her, he gave her a tender kiss. “It was more powerful than I ever dreamed.”

“For you, too?”

“Honest, love. And you? Did you—” he gave her a sleepy, confident smile as he remembered her abandonment “—enjoy yourself?”

She ducked her head into the side of his neck. “I've never felt anything like that in my life. Ever. It was…” She looked at him then, a smile curving her lips seductively. “Joyous.”

He kissed her again, swiftly, completely, then set
tled her back against his side. Exhaustion settled over him like the warm blanket. He couldn't think of anything better than falling asleep with the woman he loved in his arms. His hand idly caressed the tiny ridges along her spine. This, he decided, was heaven on earth.

One regret pierced his heart. How their lives could have been so different. If only Jillie hadn't believed that ex-girlfriend of his. If only he'd gone after Jillie instead of tending to his wounded pride.

“I have only one regret.” The words popped out of his mouth before he considered them more carefully. But then he knew Jillie would understand. Surely she had the same misgivings.

“What's that?” she asked, a tremor entering her voice.

“That I wasn't your first. It should have been me.” If not for Gail, it would have been. Then James wouldn't have hurt her with his betrayals and lies. “God, Jillie, imagine how our lives would have been different.”

“So different,” she echoed. Her hand on his chest stilled.

He could feel her pulse beating in rhythm with his heart. His hand covered the swell of her abdomen. Awestruck, he imagined the tiny life growing inside her. Filled with an incredible sense of responsibility, without the usual pressure, only an intense need to guard and protect both Jillie and her baby, he imagined the pleasure of welcoming this little life into the world, of standing beside Jillian, of supporting her, the baby, of sharing a life with them. Suddenly it seemed insignificant that the child wasn't his.

“And your baby could have been…” he said, understanding that if things had been different, if he had made love to Jillian ten years ago, if they had married, that they wouldn't have had such personal struggles.

But then they wouldn't have been the same people today. And he wouldn't trade the woman Jillian had become for anything…or anyone. “Your baby would have been mine.”

Your baby! Your
baby? He might as well have said James's baby. For her baby would never—could never be Brody's. Not with his obvious inability to accept it as his own.

Jillian could see the truth now. She understood his regrets, felt them deep in her heart. He wanted her to be a virgin, for him to have been her one and only lover. He wished this child—she covered the soft swell of her belly with her hand—to be his, not James's. She had the same wishes, too. But wishing or regretting couldn't change reality. The ugly fact was that neither she nor her baby were good enough for the likes of Brody Fortune.

What a fool she'd been.

His words spun through her like a cyclone, churning up doubts, plowing through hopes, destroying the dreams she'd begun to imagine possible.

She stared into the darkness folding around them long after she heard his breathing slow and felt his chest rise and fall in a somber cadence of sleep. What now? What would she do now?

She'd made love to her boss. Her boss! What had she been thinking? That was the problem. Brody stole her thoughts with one look, one kiss. Her heart thudded beneath her breast with remorse, sorrow and re
gret. He'd spoken of regret in the past tense. But she was living it now.

Maybe she could find another job. At least she wasn't showing yet. At least not too much. She only looked as though she'd enjoyed one too many pizzas. So she could make a new start. Again.

She was tempted to sneak out of the bed and leave. But this was her home…or at least where she was living temporarily. Besides, she'd have to face Brody on Monday morning, anyway. What then? Was she a coward?

For too long she'd lived with weakness as if her bones were too brittle, too feeble to stand on their own. It played like a broken record throughout her life. In high school, she'd been so shocked, so grateful, so amazed that the captain of the football team, the most popular boy, the wealthiest boy, had wanted to date her. She'd believed James when he'd told her what a favor he was doing for her.

Even though Brody had been incredibly different, even as the big man on campus, she'd continued to believe that she wasn't good enough, pretty enough or strong enough to keep her man. Believing Gail's lies had given her a degree in self-doubt.

Instead of standing up to Brody and confronting him, she'd run home to her mother, using her mother's sudden illness as a convenient excuse.

Then she'd crawled back to James, heartbroken over her mother's death and Brody's betrayal. What else could she expect or demand from life? She'd tiptoed around James for years. Never challenging his carousing, his drinking, his harsh put-downs.

Why? Why was she always the fool? Why, oh, why, did she feel worthless?

One answer resonated through her entire body—her father. He'd left her mother. He'd deserted their family. He'd abandoned her. And Brody's rejection of her baby stung with the venom of a hornet, poisoning her thoughts and feelings with the ones she'd felt as a child when her father left.

But no more. No more doubting. No more believing that she was unworthy. No more running from confrontations. Her hand closed into a tight, angry fist. Her heart pounded so hard and fast that a headache attacked her temple. “Not this time,” she whispered. “This time I'm going to take a stand.”

She spent the next hours wondering how she would do that. What would she say? She toyed with words, practiced them in her head. Imagined different responses he might throw at her and how she would respond. By the time light touched the edge of the curtains and he stirred, she felt prepared.

Until he opened those sleepy gray eyes and looked at her, amazement shining in those depths. “You're still here. It wasn't a dream.”

“No,” she said, softer than she had hoped. Feeling self-conscious and exposed at her state of undress, she edged away from him, as far as she could in the twin bed, and tugged the blankets up over her shoulders.

“Are you cold?” he asked, rubbing her arms with his big hands. She remembered the gentle touch of those hands, the skill, the finesse. The way he'd made her insides explode with passion. Her steely nerve bent under the weight of her need.

“I'm fine.”

His brow furrowed as he studied her. “Are you?”

Here was her chance. Blast him with the truth—this could never work. But the words stuck in her throat as the concern in his eyes seemed to punch a hole right through to her soul.

“Sure, why wouldn't I be?”

He leaned up on one elbow. He was too close, crowding her. His sleep-warmed skin made her want to lean toward him. But she resisted the foolish urge. She couldn't give in until she knew exactly where she stood with Brody.

She tried to ignore his disheveled appearance, his bare chest, the dark hairs swirling over his chiseled muscles, the dark shadow covering his square jaw. All of it made him look rumpled and sexy and as harmless as a stuffed teddy bear. Something inside her wanted to curl up next to him, feel his strong arms around her, let his rock-solid chest stabilize her unbalanced world.

But she remembered his words of regret. And her spine stiffened.

He stretched, giving a glance at the clock on the bedside table. His arms tightened around her, pulling her close. He nuzzled her neck. Her skin tingled. “Where did we leave off last night? Don't we have some lost time to make up for?”

“Um, I think I'll take a shower.” Maybe if she was clean and dressed she'd feel more sure of herself. She could find the solid footing she needed to confront him. They couldn't continue this facade. Not with the way he felt about her baby. Just when she'd thought she'd finally made a good decision, fallen
into bed with Brody, then realized it was the worst mistake of her life.

“O-kay.” His penetrating gaze tried to read her. He looked disappointed that she hadn't invited him to shower with her.

She diverted her gaze, refusing to see the confusion churning in his eyes. Trapped between the wall and the barrier of his chest, she said, “If you don't mind…”

Without question, he turned and swung his long legs over the side of the bed, stretched the taut muscles of his back, tilting his head this way and that, then stood. Nude, waiting for her.

Keeping her gaze on the blue carpet, she yanked the blanket around her, securing her dignity—or what was left of it—and headed for the bathroom without a backward glance. She couldn't afford to look at him. Couldn't stare at that well-honed body of his, remember the strength, the heat of him against her. Or she might waver. And she couldn't meet his concerned gaze. Or she would fall again. Right back in love with him.

Squaring her shoulders, she promised herself she wouldn't make that mistake again. She'd learned her lesson.

A short while later she emerged from the steamy bathroom dressed in an oversize sweatshirt and shorts. She stopped when she realized her bedroom was vacant. The twin bed, with its rumpled sheets, yawned wide and empty. Her heart tripped over itself. Her gaze darted around the room. His clothes were missing. Where was he? Had
he
left?

Cautiously, she padded barefoot down the hallway.
The potent aroma of coffee warned her before she saw him. He stood at the sink, his back to her, lifting a cup to his mouth.

Early morning sunlight poured through the kitchen windows and shone against his black wavy hair. He hadn't bothered to put on his shirt. But he wore his gray slacks. Thank God.

Here goes, she thought, once again avoiding staring at the way his broad shoulders accented his narrow hips. She cleared her throat. She wouldn't back down this time.

When he faced her, leveling her with those eyes that seemed to search her very soul, she turned toward the coffeemaker and filled a cup.

“At least you didn't add too many grounds this time.” She tried to lighten the awkwardness of the morning after.

“I've been practicing.” He gave her a smile that she couldn't avoid, that made her heart palpitate. “For you.”

Shaken by his ability to tempt her, she veered toward the refrigerator and yanked open the door. A ketchup bottle and Italian dressing container rattled on the door shelf. She stared at the sparse contents. One egg remained in the blue carton. An open can of soda sat on the top shelf all alone, forgotten. A few slices of bread remained of the whole-wheat loaf. “I don't have much to offer in the way of breakfast.”

Not that she wanted to feed him. She needed some time alone, to gather her strength, focus her thoughts, figure out what to do, what she wanted. No matter what her body might yearn for, she had her baby to
think of first and foremost. She didn't want a man who could love her and not her child.

But she knew then she truly loved him. That's why her heart felt as if a vise squeezed the life out of her.

She heard him moving toward her and braced herself. From behind her, he wrapped his arms around her middle and rested his chin on her shoulder. “I'm not hungry. But I bet you are.”

“Not really.” The chill of the refrigerator couldn't combat the heat of his body. He jumbled her thoughts with a simple touch. With a brief glance, he could bring her to her knees.

She didn't think she could swallow a bite. But she had to. For the baby's sake. “Maybe, I could make some toast.”

“I have an idea,” he said, his voice as warm as the scent of coffee.

Her pulse skittered with desire. No, uncertainty. Anger, she decided. But as he nuzzled the side of her neck, tiny shockwaves erupted along her spine, shaking apart her determination.

Push away,
she told herself. But God, he felt so good. Too good. Just as Brody was too good to believe, so was love. She spun out of his arms.

But he caught her, trapped her, his hands braced against the wall on either side of her. “What's wrong?”

Tell him,
she coached herself. But again the words wouldn't come. Deep hurt resonated in her chest, paralyzing her voice as well as her limbs. Hot, aching tears burned the backs of her eyes.

“Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

Yes! He'd hurt her desperately. He'd shown her
how love could be, how it could make the earth move beneath your very feet, knock you off balance, destroy you. But he'd also proven to her that love was a fairy tale. One she couldn't believe in anymore.

“Jillie? What's happened?”

Too much.

His hands clasped her shoulders and he hauled her against that wide, solid chest. His mouth slanted across hers before she could protest or even blink. His lips pressured her to respond. Demanded it. And God help her, she did. She opened to him, unable to resist the sweet torture. If he pushed, if he tried to make love to her again, she knew she'd end up on the linoleum, eager, willing, and insane with desire.

Even as her body rejoiced with his intoxicating kiss, her heart crumpled from the harsh pain. She felt stiff and wooden, broken.