A Daughter's Story (4 page)

CHAPTER SIX

C
HRIS
HAD
NO
REAL
idea what he was doing. It was
late. He had to be on the docks before sunrise—a few short hours away. He’d
already missed a day’s catch and couldn’t afford to miss another.

He started to play another song, his fingers moving naturally
over the keys, sending a harmonic rendition of “Send in the Clowns” out into the
deserted room. With most of the lights off, he could only make out the first
circle of tables around the dais. The rest of the space was black.

Except where the track lighting from the bar—lights that were
always left on—accentuated the softly sculpted features of the goddess slowly
approaching him.

He switched chords and without pause started in on “Seduces
Me”—a song written by Dan Hill and made famous by Céline Dion. He’d heard it
many times but had never played it before.

The deceptively simple, sexy melody filled the air around them,
sending shivers down his spine. The woman faltered a step, but didn’t look away.
Neither did he.

When she reached the dais, his gaze landed for an instant on
the vee between her thighs, and then immediately rose to meet the questioning
but undeniably sultry look in her eye.

His hands slowed and then stilled completely. He moved sideways
on the shiny black bench, watching her, waiting to see what she would do. He
wasn’t completely sober. He should have stood. Thanked her for her patronage and
secured his exit.

But he couldn’t. More important than sleep, more important even
than the catch, was knowing what she would do next.

* * *

E
MMA
TRIED
TO
think. She stood outside
of her body—a spirit in the air above that dais—and she saw someone with a body
who looked like hers, wearing her clothes, standing alone with a man she’d never
met.

He’d moved over. And was waiting for her.

He was older than she’d first thought—in his late thirties or
early forties. His skin was as leathery as the woman’s from the bar earlier that
evening. His hands were well worn, too. Rougher than she’d expected for a man
who played the piano so beautifully. The dichotomy spoke to her.

Chris was not just a pianist. Emma was not just a safe bet.

She sat down.

* * *

H
ER
BODY
WAS
warm. Chris’s body
buzzed with anticipation.

“What’s your name?” He’d been making eye contact with her all
night. Now he looked down at the keys in front of him.

“Emma.”

Her hands appeared on the keys, as well. She had slender
fingers. Unadorned, although there was a white band against the tanned skin of
her left ring finger.

“I’m Chris.”

“I know.”

He glanced at her. She turned her head. Their gazes were only
inches apart now.

“Cody told me,” she explained.

“You hungry?”

She licked her lips. “Not really.”

“Your glass is almost empty, you want more?”

“Okay.”

“The bars are all closed, but I have a room. It’s across the
street.”

He didn’t promise to be a gentleman.

“Okay.” Her tongue flicked across her bottom lip. His body
thrummed his response.

“You want to join me there?”

He would never, ever force himself on a woman, but he wasn’t
about to turn down any opportunities this beauty—Emma—was willing to offer.

“I think I do.”

He had a condom in his wallet. She’d recently had a ring on her
finger. Safe enough for him.

“Good,” he said, and lowering the lid to protect the piano
keys, he rose, took her hand and led them out the back door.

* * *

E
MMA
WASN
’
T
STUPID
.
She
knew what she was agreeing to by leaving the bar with Chris. She just couldn’t
seem to make herself care.

Because she was numb? Hurt beyond good judgment?

Because she was drunk?

Or because the piano man made her body sing in places a tune
had never played?

The warm night air didn’t sober her. Or instill her with any
better sense. It caressed her skin, heightening the surreal sense of vibrancy
she felt as they walked hand in hand across a quiet street lit with
old-fashioned gas lamps.

They reached the other side.

“I don’t…”

“Don’t what?” They were the first words he’d said since he’d
locked the door of Citadel’s behind them.

Who was she kidding? This was no love tryst. She didn’t know
anything about the man, except that he’d been endowed with a magnificent
talent.

“I reserve the right to change my mind.” Emma strove to save
herself from the unleashed woman inside of her.

“Of course.”

They stopped on the curb in front of one of the more expensive
hotels in the tourist district. The doorman stood alert, in spite of the very
early morning hour, appearing eager to be of service to them.

Chris’s eyes were blue. A vivid, bright blue—not the darker hue
they’d appeared to be in the shadows of the restaurant. His hair, falling across
his forehead, was dark enough to be almost black.

“You want me to walk you to your car?” he asked. His eyes
belied the indifference in his voice.

“No!” She was surprised by the vehemence with which she said
it. “I just want… I’ve heard stories….”

Words escaped her and she waited for him to get her drift.

He was silent.

“It’s only fair that you know, going in, that I might change my
mind. At an inopportune moment.”

He raised one of his strong, gifted hands to her face and ran
his fingers through her hair.

“I will stop,” he said, looking her straight in the eye. “If at
any time,
any time,
you change your mind, I
will
stop.”

She believed him. And hoped, God help her, that she wouldn’t
want him to.

* * *

E
MMA
ALMOST
GIGGLED
as the elevator
opened for them upon approach, as though it had been commanded to do so. Surely
Chris didn’t have that much power.

Though, judging by the way he made her feel, she couldn’t be
sure.

“Not many people going up and down at this late hour,” he said,
stepping inside the car.

“I think I’ve had a lot to drink,” she said, grinning at
him.

“Four glasses of wine by my count.”

He was counting? She stared at him. He’d been watching her that
closely?

“From the moment you walked in tonight, I didn’t notice
anything else.”

It was a good line and she was inebriated enough to like
it.

“I’m not kidding,” Chris said, his voice deep, a bit husky,
reminding her of a well-aged wine. One out of her price league. “I don’t play
games with women.”

“I don’t play at all,” Emma said, her voice sounding tiny in
the confines of the elevator. “This is the first time I’ve ever done anything
like this.”

A mood-killer if ever there was one. Yes, she’d discovered new
things about herself tonight. But she was still Emma and now she was going to
blow this whole thing.

If she did, chances were old Emma would win and she’d have to
resign herself to a life of safety and security and settling for Robs.

She nearly laughed out loud at that last thought.
Robs.
Funny word.

But if she succeeded—if she made love with her piano man—she’d
be forever changed. She’d no longer be the woman who’d never taken a chance,
never faced danger, never had the nerve to do exactly what she felt like
doing.

The elevator door slid open and Emma half expected Chris to
gracefully bow out of his invitation.

Holding the door open with his body, he lifted her hand until
her gaze followed.

“I’m glad you don’t make a habit of this,” he said, the smile
in his eyes sending her spiraling as though he’d tipped her over the edge of a
cliff. “You want to continue?”

“Yes.”

He guided her through the door, following closely, and when he
came up beside her, he wrapped his arm around her waist.

They faced the elegantly appointed room together. And she
tingled with anticipation. Not fear.

In that moment, Emma knew that if the night killed her, she’d
die having lived.

And she’d prefer that to living her whole life as if she were
already dead.

CHAPTER SEVEN

I
T
WASN
’
T
SUPPOSED
to
happen this way.

The words repeated themselves in his mind. He wasn’t sure what
they meant. But he heard them.

He probably even believed them. There just wasn’t a damn thing
he could—or wanted to—do about them.

“I have a dry white or merlot,” he said as he peered into the
stocked refrigerator in the living-room section of his hotel room.

The king-size bed was there, too, in plain view, about ten feet
of plush beige carpet away.

Emma sat—still fully dressed down to the low-heeled shoes she
wore—on the couch, but based on the stiffness of her posture and the way her
gaze kept darting to the oversize armchair next to the couch he had the distinct
impression that she’d have been more comfortable in the seat made for one.

He quirked his brow at her. “You ready to say stop?”

“Dry white, please.” Her brown gaze swung to him, and stayed
there. Steady and strong.

“I’m glad.” Really glad. Abnormally glad—Chris had never been
hard up for women.

He opened the small bottle, emptied it into one of two
wineglasses on the bar, opened a miniature bottle of Crown for himself and
poured it into a highball.

Handing her the glass of wine, he took a sip of his whiskey and
sat down beside her.

The night might be late, but he felt like they had all the time
in the world. And if they didn’t, he was going to take it, anyway. This woman,
this experience, was not to be rushed.

“You want to know anything more about me?” he asked.

“Yes, but not right now.”

Fair enough.

She didn’t offer him the same privilege. She pushed her hair
back away from her face and he saw that white band on her finger again. She’d
said she’d never done anything like this before.

“I’m okay if tonight is a rebound for you. But I need to know
that you aren’t married. I don’t take what belongs to someone else.”

“I’m not married.”

He felt like grinning. And it wasn’t supposed to happen that
way, either.

“Have you ever been married?”

“No.” She glanced away, as though ashamed.

Chris lifted her hand that held the wineglass and brought it to
her lips. “Sip,” he said softly. “I haven’t ever been married, either.”
Almost
didn’t count.

His words brought her gaze back to him. “How old are you?” he
asked.

She was of age; he knew that. But he was curious.

“Twenty-nine.”

Younger than he’d expected. Younger than Sara by eleven
years.

“I’m forty.”

She had a right to know.

“Okay.”

“That doesn’t bother you?”

“That you’re eleven years older than me?”

His age had never been an issue for him before. He simply
hadn’t cared to measure life in terms of time. He sipped his drink.

“It doesn’t bother me in the least,” she said, a small smile
forming on the lips that had been calling to him all night long. “As a matter of
fact, I find forty kind of sexy. You aren’t a kid all filled up with his own
sense of importance.”

“I could be an older guy all filled up with my own sense of
importance.”

“You could be.” She took a sip of her wine, still smiling. “But
I know that you aren’t.”

“How do you know?”

“You’ve asked for my permission every step of the way,” she
said simply. “If you thought you were life’s greatest gift, you’d be sure you
knew what I wanted—which, by the way would be only what you wanted—and you’d
have charged forward with the strength of a bull to get it.”

“Apparently you know someone who’s filled with his own sense of
importance.”

“I don’t think a girl can escape puberty without meeting one or
two or a dozen of those.”

“I wish I could believe you were wrong about that.”

She shrugged. “It’s not all bad,” she said, her gaze dropping
to his shoulders—his chest—and lingering there. “Gives you the chance to discern
between the good and the bad.”

Which didn’t mean a woman always was able to discern, he
guessed, glancing again at that ring finger.

The guy, whoever he’d been, was a first-class fool. To lose a
woman like this?

Chris drew himself up with a gulp of whiskey. Whoa.
It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.
The words came
again.

He was not one who entertained thoughts of having a
relationship with a woman. His associations with women were just
that—associations.

She reached for the top button on his shirt. “Do you mind if I
undo this?” she asked, her other hand still holding the glass of wine he’d
poured for her.

“No. Not at all.” Chris’s penis forced the words out of his
mouth before his brain had a chance to react.

Her hand shook and her fingers caught and pulled a couple of
strands of his chest hair as she struggled to open the button. The stiffness in
his groin intensified. If she’d been experienced, assured, he might have had a
hope.

He could have helped. Could have disrobed completely without a
care. The sweet torment of Emma’s soft skin scraping against his chest as she
continued to try, one-handed, to get the button free from the hole had control
of him.

Her attentions turned him on too much to deny himself. If the
exquisite torture felt this good at the top buttons, he could hardly wait for
her to tackle the buttons that were currently tucked into the fly of his dress
slacks.

The wine sloshed a bit in the glass and she took a sip. The
button was almost free and then she fumbled it and lost the ground she’d gained.
She didn’t giggle. Or sigh. Slowly, patiently, she tried again. Then finding
success, she moved on to the next button.

He felt his underwear getting moist. He was going to have to
stop her. Or help her. Or explode before he ever got a chance to show her any
pleasure at all.

His shirt parted; she smiled a Mona Lisa smile, and Chris’s
body temperature grew.

He hadn’t seen an inch of her flesh. Hadn’t touched any private
places. He hadn’t even kissed her yet.

It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.

* * *

H
IS
CHEST
WAS
glorious. She wanted to
run her fingers through the abundance of dark crisp hair there—man hair.

Wow.

Chris groaned, and she glanced up. He was looking straight at
her with a desperate plea in his gaze.

She jerked back. “What’s wrong?” Had she hurt him? Had he
changed his mind? Suddenly remembered a woman who was at home waiting for him?
“You have a girlfriend, don’t you?” She’d only asked if he was married. Rob
wasn’t married, either.

Dizzy with the effects of too much wine, she suddenly felt kind
of sick.

“No, I don’t.”

His unequivocal answer sent a flash of relief through her
entire body.

“And the only thing wrong is that I need to have you naked
beneath me. I need to sink myself inside you and hear your cries of ecstasy
within the next few seconds or I’m going to be in paradise all by myself.”

The wine dancing in her head again, she grinned. Hugely. “I
have that effect on you?”

“Hell, yes.”

Irrepressible delight coursed through her.

“I have no problem with your plan, then.”

His eyebrows came together. “You’re sure? I haven’t prepared
you.”

She nodded and set her wine down on the table with a small
splash, refusing to listen to a faint voice inside of her that wanted her to
come to her senses. “I’m pretty sure you have,” she said.

Chris’s hand was at her crotch before Emma had any idea what he
was going to do. He rubbed right where she was hottest. And then, without taking
his eyes from her face, he had her slacks undone with one quick tug.

He kissed her, attacking her senses on multiple levels. His
lips were firm, his tongue urgent as it entered her mouth. Emma grabbed for his
neck, holding on tightly while he lifted her, undressed her some and lowered her
back to the couch as he partially undressed himself.

“I have to get a condom.” She barely understood the strained
words. She saw him reaching back for his wallet and then she let go of him. But
only long enough for him to slide the leather bifold from his back pocket, and
find the foil packet tucked neatly in one corner.

With him suspended over her, she still had a chance to stop
him. Her old self hovered above, watching what she was doing. Emma saw herself.
But she didn’t stop. Making love with Chris was the right thing to do. She was
sure of it.

She felt no regret. None. At all.

She had to have him and that was all that mattered.

There was no hesitation in her body. No resistance. No
discomfort at all. Emma’s hips reached toward the force consuming her, welcoming
him, urging him to fill her more deeply, with swifter thrusts. She had no idea
who she was, or what she would be after this. She didn’t care.

Driven by something inside of her, Emma gave herself over to
the man on top of her. He was taking her away and she went willingly. Climbing
higher and higher beneath him, with him. Becoming thinner and thinner until she
burst into an explosion of sensation, saw stars and experienced wave after wave
of the most incredible pleasure.

She’d had her first orgasm. And she wasn’t the least bit
sorry.

* * *

H
IS
BODY
PULSED
again and again,
until he wasn’t sure he could stand the glory of it. Chris cried out.

Oh, God. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. He was always
in control.

And now he wasn’t. He wanted more.

Gasping, sweating, he fell to Emma’s side. He should be
exhausted.

“Now, if you will allow me, I’ll show you real pleasure,” he
drawled, hardly recognizing his voice. Without waiting for a response, he undid
her blouse slowly, pausing after each button to run the backs of his fingers
along the skin he was exposing.

She stared up at him, watching. “You want me to stop?” he
asked, remembering her earlier warning.

“No.”

“You sure?”

“Absolutely.” Her gaze didn’t waver in spite of the tremble in
her voice.

She moved her hips against him, sending another surge of blood
along his muscle, pulling him in farther, and Chris had no choice but to take
her at her word.

The woman wanted his loving and, God help him, he had to give
it to her.