Winning Wyatt (The Billionaire Brotherhood Book 1) (21 page)

She
thrust her hair away from her face with an impatient stab then picked up her
notes, trying to re-collect her thoughts rather than set off in search of her
child and his father. A tap on the door interrupted her.

As
she turned toward the sound, Wyatt poked his head inside. “Marco wants to know
if you’re ready to take a lunch break. He’s heating up some lasagna his mother
sent over.”

“Well,
all right.” She tried to pretend reluctance about being torn away from her
work. “I guess I can take a break.”

She
stood, but Wyatt crossed his arms and didn’t move out of the doorway.

“Was
there something else?” She resisted the urge to check the buttons on her shirt.

“Have
you seen the new show at the Emerson?” he asked after several long seconds.

“The
Flemish pottery? No, Stella covered it when I reviewed the traveling Monet
exhibit at the Met last week.”

“I’m
going to see it tomorrow night. Would you like to go? With me?” He shifted his
weight from foot to foot. “We could have dinner later.”

“You
and me? Like a date?” Her breath hitched at the prospect, and her nerves stood
on end.

“Well,
it’s not so much a date as a shopping exhibition. Mother’s birthday is coming
up, and I want your advice on a piece I’m thinking of buying for her.”

Flustered,
she groped for common sense. “Why do you want my advice? You know her taste
better than I do.”

“What
I have in mind is a sizable investment, and a second opinion, especially from
someone so knowledgeable...”

Tempted
despite herself, Kara checked her calendar. “Sorry, I have an opening at
Chenault International for that Japanese porcelain artist, Ritsuko Myoshi.” She
didn’t know if she felt relieved or disappointed.

He
held the door wide for her to pass in front of him, accepting the refusal with
good grace. “Maybe some other time.”

The
next evening Kara looked up from a display of porcelain water lilies and
spotted Wyatt coming toward her. Tall, freaking gorgeous, and in-charge of his world,
the other people in the room either moved aside for him or stopped and stared.

“I
thought you were going to the Emerson exhibit.” She was more pleased to think
he’d changed his plans to accommodate her than she wanted to admit.

“They
didn’t have what I wanted after all.” He came to a halt beside her. “Have you
seen anything that might be suitable for Mother here?”

“No,
but then it’s a porcelain exhibit.” Kara gave him a saccharin smile. “Not a
display of medieval torture devices.”

“Now,
now, be nice. She's your son’s grandmother.” He flicked back the wrist of his
expensive designer suit coat to check the time on his even more ridiculously
expensive Smartwatch. “How much longer will you be?”

“Not
much. Why?”

“I
have dinner reservations in forty minutes.” He raised his eyebrows and awaited
her reaction.

His
comment hadn’t exactly been an invitation. She refused to bite. “Don’t let me
keep you.”

He
put his hand on her elbow and pulled her close. “I hoped you’d join me.”

Just
that casual touch from him started a flame coursing through her. She stepped
back before it consumed her along with her better judgment. “I need to get home
to Sean.”

“I
talked to Maria a few minutes ago and she said everything was fine there.”

Stifling
the need to fan her face with her iPad, his persistence warmed her further.
“This isn’t a good idea.”

“Sure
it is. Trust me, okay?”

Kara
moved on to the next display, a fanciful herd of mythical beasts. She stared at
them for a moment before she came to fully appreciate the grouping’s form and
detail. “How do you like these?”

“Interesting.”
He dragged his eyes from her face long enough to tilt his head and view the
creatures from different angles. “Are you considering buying it?”

“No,
I was thinking... for your mother.”

“Perfect.
I’ll go make the purchase.” He put his hands on her shoulders and bent his
knees until his eyes were on a level with hers. “Don’t leave.”

Against
her better judgment, she waited. She didn’t take orders from him, or anyone,
but the idea of having dinner in adult company—all right, in Wyatt’s
company—kept her riveted to her spot.

At
Dillon’s, the candle-lit restaurant everyone was raving about, she enjoyed the
rarity of a meal that didn’t include applesauce or cutting up anyone’s entree
but her own. The dinner conversation didn’t focus on such weighty topics as why
tomatoes were red and green beans weren’t. They talked about his travels, books
they’d read, and movies they liked.

And
she wistfully recalled warm springtime nights under a moonlit sky.

Over
dessert, she asked a direct question. “Why are you really doing this?”

He
swirled the contents of his wineglass before answering. “I’m thinking of
propositioning you.”

Expecting
his ulterior motives to be based on a favor concerning Sean, she dropped her fork
on her plate. “What makes you think I’ll accept?”

“Nothing
at all. I’m just putting it out there for you to consider.” His smile said
differently as his eyes examined each of her features with the warmth of a
caress. “Are you going to refuse?”

“It
would be a stupid mistake not to.”

“Why?”

Searching
her mind for at least one plausible reason, she willed herself not to picture
him naked under the stars. “Because of Sean.”

He
dismissed the excuse with a shrug. “We can keep our parental relationship
separate from our physical one. What else have you got?”

“I
don’t understand what you’re proposition involves.”

He
leaned forward, lowering his voice intimately. Seductively. “When we’re with
Sean, you tend to think of me as an intruder. Since I’m unwilling to relinquish
my claim to him, what I’m suggesting is that we set that relationship aside.
When we’re alone together, away from Sean, it will be just you and me.”

“No
past. No future. We’ve had this deal before.” She knew what came next and
closed her eyes against his soft words, whispering them along with him.

“Just
a man and a woman.”

“With
no regrets?”

“I’ve
never had any regrets about the time we’ve spent together. I don’t expect to
start having any now.”

“It
won’t work.” She was dying to give it a try, but feared the worst possible
outcome. Pain, loss, abandonment.

“It
will, I promise you.” Reaching across the table, he took her hand. “I’ll make
sure of it.”

His
certainty tantalized her, but her fear levied a far firmer grip. She shook her
head. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Think
again.” His words knocked the breath right out of her as he once more reminded
her of their first weekend together. If he didn’t quit trying to manipulate her
with romantic moments from the past she’d strangle him, right there in front of
the waiter, the strolling violinist, and the nosy couple seated at the next
table.

“Stop
it.” She removed her hand from his. “We can’t recreate scenes from the past
just because you have an itch and you want me to scratch it.”

“That
isn’t—”

She
cut him off before he could further persuade her. “Whatever it is you’re
proposing, it’s not going to happen.”

Wyatt
interpreted her refusal as a challenge. In Sean’s presence, he continued to be
as impersonal as she could wish. Away from the house, he became her little
lamb. Wherever Kara went, Wyatt was sure to follow.

It
seemed as if he was willing to go to any extreme to elicit a response, any kind
of response, from her. Sometimes he simply unnerved her by watching her with
those topaz-colored eyes that contained such an indefinable power. Sometimes he
ignored her completely. But sometimes, he made sure she noticed him. He sent
her little notes or tokens to attract her attention. And then, most
disconcerting and delicious of all, were the times when he appeared at her
elbow and spent the entire evening by her side, like a willing courtier.

If
their paths didn’t cross at some point during the day, he’d call her late at
night, long after Sean’s bedtime. In his most seductive voice, he’d melt her
into warm puddles of Jell-O talking about his hopes and dreams, his memories of
her, and his desire to be with her again.

She
wearied of refusing what her body wanted. Needed. Demanded. And maybe, she
thought one night when she couldn’t sleep, he was right. If they could keep the
physical aspect of their relationship totally separate from the time they spent
with Sean, there was no reason to think any conflict existed. Her resolve
weakened, and she was afraid he sensed it.

On
the morning of February fourteenth, Kara discovered a small gift on her desk.
Her heart ricocheted inside her chest when she unwrapped silver pins in the
shape of a moon and stars that exactly matched the tattoos they had gotten one
afternoon during their time together in L.A. A brief note in Wyatt’s strong
hand accompanied them. “Meet me in the lobby of the Plaza at four. I’ll be
waiting.”

She
wouldn’t go. Of course, she wouldn’t.

It
wouldn’t be right. It wouldn’t be smart.

It
wouldn’t be easy to stay away.

She
spritzed her throat with perfume, dressed in lace panties and a matching
camisole then donned a plain wool dress of severe lines and somber colors. On
her way out the door, she cursed and returned to her bedroom and changed into a
more flattering wrap-around dress of aqua silk.

Going
into town, she still refused to admit she intended to meet him. During her
interview of a Sotheby’s auctioneer, she mentally wavered. By the time the
interview concluded, she pictured Wyatt waiting for her. She decided to go to
the hotel. Not because she wanted to see him, or wanted to be with him, but
because she wanted to give him a piece of her mind—if she had one left by the
time she got there.

Sweeping
out of the drizzling rain into the hotel lobby, Kara spotted Wyatt talking on
his phone in a quiet corner. A jolt of excitement flitted through her before
she remembered why she had come.

Pocketing
his phone, he smiled as she approached him. “You’re here.”

“I’m
not staying.”

“Of
course not.” He stood and placed a bouquet of about a thousand long-stemmed red
roses in her arms. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Thank
you.” She sniffed the flowers and then chastised herself for being so easily
distracted. “I came to tell you to quit following me, quit watching me, and
quit inviting me places. There’s no way I’m going to sleep with you.”

If
he’d looked the least bit outraged or repentant, she’d have felt justified in
delivering her prissy little speech. But her tirade seemed to cause him nothing
but amusement.

“Did
I ask you to?” He took her arm and led her to a seat beside his in the quiet
alcove. She opened her mouth to issue a scorching reminder, but he interrupted.
“I mean, today?”

“Why
else would you invite me here?”

“I
thought we’d have tea.”

Was
lying with a straight face a natural talent or had he needed a lot of practice
to perfect the art?

“In
the Palm Court?” She’d always wanted to have tea in the romantic garden-like
dining room.

“If
you like.” He rested his elbows on the arms of the chair and steepled his long
fingers. “But first, let’s address your accusations. Now, what is this about me
following you?”

“Every
place I go, you turn up there.”

He
flicked the comment away. “We have a lot of the same interests.”

“And
you keep watching me.”

He
burst out laughing. “I hope all my other sins are as easy to confess. You’re a
beautiful woman. I can’t keep from looking at you any more than the door man
who opened the door for you could keep from watching you as you crossed the
lobby.”

She
lowered the flowers she cradled in her arms like a baby. “Don’t make fun of
me.”

He
tipped her chin up and followed the line of her cheek with a fingertip. “Your
facial expressions contain a thousand different nuances. Each one intrigues me
more than the last. The shape of your mouth alone can fascinate me for hours.”
The finger trailed along her bottom lip and stroked its way to rest at the
corner of an eye. “And your eyes. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen any other eyes
this exact color before.” He tilted her head toward the light. “I’m not even
sure what color they are. Just when I think they’re violet, definitely violet,
I decide—no, lavender describes them better, or maybe amethyst or periwinkle or
maybe they’re some other color that hasn’t even been discovered or identified
yet.”

A
sorcerer couldn’t have woven a spell more potent than his words. “Wyatt?”

“Yes,
love?” he whispered, his mouth descending to a mere breath away from hers.

Kara
blinked the eyes he had described so eloquently, deliberately breaking the
connection that pulled her to him. “You’re staring at me again.”

“I
can’t stop.” His tongue licked out and touched the barest corner of her mouth
before he pulled away.

All
the uncertainty of the past few days… weeks… months coalesced into twin spears
of emotion and desire. More than anything, she wanted to be somewhere far, far
away. Far away from New York, and winter, and fear. She wanted to be on the
deck of a hideaway in California with a man who wanted nothing more from life
than to make love to her. Slow, sweet love. God, how she wanted that.

“Wyatt?”

“Yes,
love?”

“I
would like to have tea.”

He
blinked and cleared his throat. “Okay.” Straightening his shoulders, he leaned
away from her. “I’ll see if they’re still holding our table.”

She
laid a hand on his arm to prevent him from leaving her. “It’ll probably be
crowded in the restaurant.”

He
sat perfectly still. “Yes.”

She
opened her mouth then closed it. Gave it another shot. “Is it too late to get a
room?”

He
reached into his pocket and pulled out a key card. “Come with me.”

They
crossed the lobby in record time. Inside the elevator, Wyatt pulled Kara toward
him. The roses came between them. He grazed the back of his fingers across her
cheek.

“Are
you sure?” More emotions flicked through his eyes than Kara had ever seen
there.

“About
letting you see me naked after three years, ten extra pounds, and a baby? No.”
She put a hand to her stomach to calm its nervous fluttering. “About making
love with you? I’m sure there’s nothing I want more.”

Outside
the mahogany door of their room, Wyatt instructed, “Close your eyes.”

“Why?”

“Just
do what I say for once.” He led her inside. “Now open them.”

Dozens
of red-and-white roses overshadowed the sumptuous decor of the luxury suite.
Displayed on every possible surface, they vied for space with clusters of
silver and red balloons. Delicate sheers across the windows filtered the light
and softened the scene like an impressionist painting.

“Oh
my.” Kara pressed her hand to her heart, astonished as always by his attention
to detail.

“Too
much?” He leaned his shoulders against the door.

“No,
it’s wonderful. I admire your confidence, but what were you going to do on the
off-chance I didn’t come up here?” She wandered from one arrangement to
another, breathing in the flowers’ soft scent. “Don’t answer that. I’d like to
keep some of my illusions intact.”

“I
wasn’t confident at all. As we speak, there’s an NPD truck waiting to pack it
up and deliver it to your house.” He pushed away from the door and stepped
toward her.

Kara
skittered across the room to the window overlooking Central Park. The view
didn’t offer the serenity of the ocean from a cabin deck, but its vastness
helped calm her.

Wyatt
stopped behind her, but she needed several deep breaths to steady herself
before turning to him. Waiting for his touch, her pulse slowed to a sluggish
throb. Instead of pulling her close, he took the flowers from her.

“Can
we put them in water?” she asked.

“Of
course.” Removing the ice bucket from a credenza, he took it into the bathroom
where he filled it and stuffed the flowers inside. Returning, he looked around at
the overloaded tables, shrugged and placed the makeshift vase on the floor by
the window. Then, he removed one single rose.

He
pulled the blossom from the stem, folded back the bed covers, and tossed the
petals across the crisp white sheets. “‘And I will make thee beds of roses...’”

He
turned and opened his arms to her in an invitation she could no longer refuse.
No longer wished to refuse. Wrapped in his arms, she closed her eyes. Home,
after three years of exile. He smelled divine. Delicious and male. Sexy.

His
embrace enveloped her in comfort, excitement, and warmth. So much warmth. She
wanted to curl up inside it. Heat radiated from his skin and from some deeper
place within. Absorbing his strength, savoring the feel of him, a small gurgle
of pleasure erupted from the back of her throat, then a moan of protest when he
pulled back.

With
almost languorous grace, he helped Kara remove her coat. She quickly moved to
undo the tie that fastened her dress at the waist, but he stilled her hands.
“There’s no hurry.”

 
In slow motion, they disrobed. He insisted on
taking his time, his leisurely actions in direct contrast to the passionate
fire that lit his eyes.

When
she stood, awkward and uncertain, before him in the lacy peach lingerie, his
fingertips trailed over the silk, stroking the soft material. Cupping her
breasts, he held them for a moment as they conformed to the shape of his palms.
His fingers stirred slowly, circling gradually, caressing gently, taking their
time before grazing the pebbled edges and peaks of her nipples.

Aching
to love and be loved by him, body and soul, Kara wanted to shout with
impatience, to move with purpose, to feel his body pressing against hers. But
still he lingered. Moved beyond patience into frustration, she wrapped her arms
around him and pressed her body to his before she stood on tiptoe and caught
his earlobe between her teeth. She bit down. Hard.

A
chuckle turned into a groan of passion. He clasped her around the waist and
lifted. Her spine met the comfort of the mattress. His wicked, beautiful hands
moved over her, removed her camisole, and skimmed gently across her bare
breasts. She swallowed another demand for him to hurry.

After
tracing the fine web of lines on her breasts and stomach, he caught her head in
his hands and pulled her gaze to meet his.

“More
stretch marks.” She shook her head. “Don’t look.”

“I
want to look. I’ve never seen the body of a woman who’s had my child before.”
He swept his hand from her breasts to her tummy. “You’re even more beautiful
than before.”

“No.”
Pulling a pillow to her chest, she covered herself, but he pushed it away.

With
his mouth nibbling her lips, his little finger strayed beneath the waistband of
her panties. He tucked his face against her neck and inhaled as he slid his
middle finger through the damp cleft between her legs, parting the folds of her
most intimate flesh. When Kara raised her hips to push against him, he removed
her lacy thong. Just like the first time, he knew how and when and where to
touch her. She gasped and gave herself over to the pleasure, marveling at how
good, how right it felt to be with him again.

Before
his weight came down on hers, he grabbed a foil packet off the nightstand.
“Condom, right?”

“Yes,
please,” she said, grateful he’d remembered something so basic when her mind
had been solely on the upcoming pleasure.

She
raised her knees and cradled him between her thighs. Hard and ready, he poised
at the entrance to her body.

“Just
like old times.” Wyatt paused to meet her eyes with his own. “I want you. Need
you. Have to have you.”

“I
want you, too.” She shut her eyes and adjusted herself to the glorious feelings
as he filled her.

“Yes.”
The word emerged as a sigh. “God, yes.”

Kara
tingled and ached, arching herself into his hands and mouth. He moved slowly at
first, then swiftly, each thrust more forceful than the last. The tension, the
tautness, the repetition of the rhythm pulled her along with him.

“Wyatt.”
Sharing the moment, relishing the freedom, she soared over the brink.

The
forceful climax ripped through them at the same time. The descent was slow and
sweet.

Wyatt
loved the way she’d said his name right before she came. Right before he came.
He could still feel her trembling around him with little orgasmic aftershocks
that pulled at him, both emotionally and physically.

In
this sated moment, when he felt the most free, he doubted if he’d ever be truly
free again.

He
had known in a very basic, elemental way that he needed this, needed Kara,
needed to feel her beneath him and around him. During his pursuit of her, he
had convinced himself that he had calculated the risk of taking her to bed
again and was willing to pay the price.

In
fact, he no longer believed he’d had any other choice.

He
wanted her, needed her, more and more with every passing day. And if the
feeling of destiny that drove him to her hadn’t been enough to tell him the
truth, this soul-shattering encounter had done it for him. He knew now what he had
suspected for some time. Sex had always been more than merely satisfying
between them, even more than exceptional, because it was more than sex. It was
making love.

He
loved her.

He
could no longer deny the special connection that linked them. The connection
that would eventually lead him to the selection of china patterns and a
lifelong commitment. The idea didn’t terrify him nearly as much as it used to.