The Price of Honor (10 page)

She followed Xavier into the suite, then shifted uneasily on her feet at the threshold of her room. She waited for his next move, but he made no attempt to talk his way into her bed. Just as well. She wasn't convinced plan B would work, and it would leave devastation in its wake if it failed.

“Well…good night, then. I guess I should get some sleep. Big day tomorrow.”

“Tim's first event is not until eleven. You and I shall share breakfast before making our way to the grounds.”

In the past they'd awoken together, showered together and sometimes made love before she raced to the show grounds, her muscles all loose and warm, her skin still tingling from his caresses. The memories sent a rush of heat through her. “I was hoping to meet with Tim and go over his game plan one more time.”

“Megan,
ma petit concourante,
you have prepared him as best you can. Give him time to digest your advice and plot his own course.”

“But—”

“Breakfast will be delivered at eight.” He strode into his room as if assured of her acceptance.

Megan walked into her room and shut the door. The second the latch caught, she sagged against the panel. Was she actually disappointed Xavier hadn't made a move on her? Yes. She wanted to make love with him, wanted to hold him and be held by him. Wanted
him,
damn it. But she wanted it the way it used to be. Correction, the way she had believed it to be when she'd been oblivious to his long-range plans. She wanted her fairy-tale romance back.

Why was he making this a contest between her and Cecille?

She forced her feet into motion, moving by rote through her usual routine of undressing, showering and putting on her camisole and tap pants—lacy French remnants from her days with Xavier—not that he'd ever let her sleep in the garments. But having him remove them was half the fun.

Too keyed up to sleep, too aware of the man on the other side of the locked door and totally disappointed by her indecisiveness, she perched on the edge of her bed, picked
up the TV remote and clicked through the channels just to fill the silence.

Her stomach growled. Despite the sumptuous buffets they'd attended, working the parties wasn't conducive to eating. She rarely did more than nibble a few bites. She'd have to call room service. She reached for the phone and spotted the clock. After midnight. Would the kitchens be open? The luxury hotels Xavier preferred tended to be a little more accommodating for their high-paying customers. She might be in luck.

A knock made her jump. Had that come from the hall door or the adjoining room? She turned off the television. A second knock spurred her pulse into a stampede. Xavier was calling.

Finding the right balance between making him want more without giving too much of herself wasn't going to be easy. She detoured by the bathroom, pulled on the thick hotel robe and tied it tightly around her middle.

She inhaled a game-on breath and opened the door. Xavier's still-damp hair told her he'd also showered, but he wore jeans and V-neck shirt instead of the silk pajama bottoms he usually donned at this time of night. His attire threw her. If he'd shown up looking like a walking sex machine she'd have had an inkling what he wanted.

His green eyes raked over her, the pupils expanding as if he could see the delicate lingerie beneath the heavy white terry cloth. A reciprocal hunger echoed deep inside her. How many post-party nights had they made love until exhaustion claimed them? She missed sleeping in his arms and hearing the slow and steady thump of his heart beneath her ear—a lover's lullaby.

“Did you need something, Xavier?”

“Dinner waits.” He swept an arm to indicate the silver dome-laden table by the window of the sitting room.

“Dinner?” Her mouth dried.

“I am sure you are as ravenous as always after the preshow events.”

He had her there. And if she spent time with him she might be able to figure out this unfamiliar move of his. “I could eat.”

He crossed the room and lifted the first shiny dome. Tacos? She blinked and a laugh bubbled out. She'd expected champagne and seduction. “Not your usual gourmet fare.”

A smile teased his lips. “It always amused me that you could sit in a five-star restaurant and reminisce of American junk food.” He removed the remaining lids and set them aside, melting her heart like mozzarella in a pizza oven as he uncovered each dish.

“I have ordered corn dogs, barbecue, fried onion rings, New York cheesecake with fresh berries and of course, lemonade. Have I covered all of your food fantasies,
mon amante?
”

She fell a little deeper in love with him in that moment. She looked from the smorgasbord of her all-time favorites to the man she craved more than any of them. Hope sparked in her chest.

“Yes.” The single word was all she could choke out.

Xavier never let a detail slip when something mattered to him and whether he realized it or not, he'd just proven he cared about her by including all the foods she'd yammered about during their very first date when she'd been so nervous around the sexy, suave Frenchman that she couldn't stop talking.

She wasn't giving him up without a fight.

Even if it meant fighting dirty—something she never,
ever
did.

 

Something had changed during the course of the meal. Xavier was not sure what exactly. But he liked it.

Megan's lips had relaxed from their previously tight line, and when their gazes met, hers lingered instead of bouncing away as it had since he had tracked her to the States.

Her relaxed state could not be attributed to wine since in deference to her pregnancy he had abstained from contacting the sommelier to ask what to serve with the State Fair meal they had consumed. Probably moonshine—the potent beverage Xavier had sampled compliments of an acquaintance who had settled in rural Georgia to establish a winery. That same
confrère
had introduced Xavier to Renee nine years ago. Xavier could not regret his subsequent affair with the jewelry heiress since it had exposed him to horses and Grand Prix competition that he now enjoyed. And his interest in horses had led him to Megan. But Renee's bitchiness tonight had reminded him why he had ended their relationship after only a few months.

“Mmm. Mmm. Mmm.” Megan patted her stomach, leaned back in her seat and smiled like a satisfied woman. Her actions pulled his thoughts away from the old flame he had no intention of rekindling despite the hotel key card and note Renee had slipped into his pocket earlier.

“Thank you, Xavier. That was stupendously good.”

For him, as well. Watching Megan eat had been a purely sensual experience—like exquisitely drawn-out foreplay. “I am happy the meal pleased you.”

“I probably shouldn't have eaten so much, but my appetite has been almost insatiable lately. I had to try everything.” The words
insatiable
and
appetite
falling from her lips
made his heart pound. Oh, yes, his Megan did have a very healthy sexual appetite.

He pushed his barely touched plate aside. He had consumed enough of the food to satisfy one hunger. Now he would slake the other. “I have missed these quiet moments with you.”

A combination of wariness and need filled her eyes. “Me, too. And the idea of not having any more of these nights…”

She dipped her head and her hair cascaded forward to hide her expression. Regret twisted inside him. He hated that she would be hurt. But what choice did he have?

He rose, walked behind her chair and gently brushed her hair over one shoulder. The dark strands slid through his fingers like cool, heavy satin. He moved the collar of her robe out of the way and lightly grazed his nails over her nape the way he knew she liked. She shivered as expected and goose bumps lifted her smooth, ivory flesh.

“I want you,
mon amante.
I want to sleep with you in my arms, with the taste of you on my lips and the scent of you clinging to my skin.”

Her dense lashes descended and after a moment her head tilted in invitation. He bent and inhaled, drawing the essence of her into his lungs and imbedding it into his memory. He dusted a necklace of featherlight kisses across her shoulders and nape.

Her breath shuddered in then out again. “Why me?”

She had asked him the same question the first time he had invited her to dinner. “Because we share a passion that cannot be denied.”

He had recognized the force of it from the moment their eyes had met at a pre-event sponsor party—just as he'd known she would be his as soon as he had discovered she was as career-focused as he. But he had not expected his
thirst for her to be unquenchable. At some point, he would get his fill. He must. But not yet.

He pulled her chair away from the table. She hesitated a moment then rose and turned. He untied the knot at her waist and pushed her robe from her shoulders. She shrugged, letting it fall to the floor. Her nipples tented the lacy lavender camisole and desire pulsed in his groin. He circled one bead with his fingertip, making it tighten and rise even more.

Passion filled her face with dusky color. Her back bowed, encouraging and inviting him. His second hand joined the first, brushing, plucking, rolling until the silk between his flesh and hers warmed. He palmed the weight of her breasts through the fabric, but the obstructed contact was insufficient. He needed to touch her skin, to taste her.

He whisked her top over her head. Her increased size enraptured him. “Your dress tonight—” Desire thickened his throat. “You looked
incroyable.
No man could keep his eyes off you.”

He'd been jealous. Territorial. And ravenous for her. He had barely paid attention to the potentially influential connections he had made. His mind had been focused on her dress—and how to remove it.

He adored everything about a woman's shape, but usually legs—Megan's were exceptional—caught his attention. But tonight the soft, pale globes had transfixed him from the moment she had opened her bedroom door. How had he never noticed the slight blue veining beneath her translucent skin? He traced each line, first with a fingertip and then, because he could not resist, with his tongue, making her gasp and squirm.

He buried his face in the ivory valley and inhaled the heady scent unique to Megan. His perfumer instincts yearned for the skill to bottle her
arôme magnifique.
If
he could sell the effect she had on him, he would be rich beyond even his father's wildest dreams. Richer than he would be once he merged with Parfums Debussey.

Her fingers threaded through his hair, holding him close and guiding him toward a sensitive peak. He sucked her deep into his mouth, savoring her flavor and her quiet whimpers of approval. He feasted on her breasts, then her soft lips and slick tongue. When his hunger rose too swiftly, he retreated, gasping for air, to the cords of her neck. But the repast was not enough.

He needed to taste the dew of her desire, feel the intimate embrace of her body. He swept her into his arms and carried her to his bedroom. The maid had already turned back the covers of the king-size bed. He lowered Megan onto the sheets. Part of him expected her to object. After all, she had been denying him since that explosive welcome in her cottage. But no protests came. He was beyond caring why she had changed her mind.

Instead she rolled to her side, stroked the sheets and watched him, waiting for him with her damp lips parted and her magnificent breasts rising and falling with quickened breaths. He ripped off his clothing, then lowered her silk bottoms down her legs. For a moment he could only stare at her, drinking in the beauty of her womanly shape lying in his bed.

Then his overpowering need took precedence. He stretched out on the cool sheets beside her, pulling her hot body flush against his. The contact smote him with a flash fire of urgency.

He had once taken such a simple embrace for granted, but never again. He paused to savor having her as close as they could be without their bodies being intimately joined. The wild rhythm of her heart hastened his own. The slow glide of her palm over his biceps and her calf sliding up the
outside of his leg stretched his restraint to near breaking point.

She outlined his ear with a delicate fingertip, traced his bottom lip with her tongue and pressed her breasts to his chest. Megan had never been shy in bed, but tonight she seemed more audacious as she alternately massaged his shoulders, back and buttocks with firm hands, then dusted her fingers over his skin. The contrast of hard and soft propelled him far too quickly toward the edge of reason and self-control.

He reminded himself that she carried his child. He must rein in the feral response lest he hurt her and
le bébé.

He caught her hands and lifted them to the pillow above her head, then straddled her hips. Holding her captive, he bent and kissed her temple, her nose, her mouth. Her lips parted offering him more, but he diverted to her jaw, her ear, her neck and finally her resplendent breasts. She twisted beneath him, tormenting him with each flexing, writhing muscle. But he would not be rushed. Not when the hourglass counted down the number of nights he had left with her. He would make this one last.

Keeping her hands locked in his, he knelt between her legs, opening her, exposing her, then he sipped his way down her torso and anchored her wrists by her hips. He tongued her navel, nuzzled the triangle of dark curls and found the nectar he sought. She cried out. Her hips arched in invitation. He teased her everywhere but where he knew she wanted him the most, laving slowly, deliberately above, around, below her sweet spot.

Her frustrated moan echoed through the room. Her legs twined around his back, trying to position him where she wanted him.

He smiled against her thigh, then nipped her skin. Her surprised squeak filled his ears. “Patience,
mon amante.
”

The scent of her arousal filled him with a ferocious compulsion to rise above her and plunge deep into her slick sleeve. Soon, he promised himself. The tendons of her wrists flexed and her pulse fluttered wildly beneath his fingertips. He relented and released her. Immediately one of her hands fisted the sheets. The other threaded through the hair at his nape, increasing his urgency.