Road to Seduction (Kimani Romance) (12 page)

“Is that a
congratulations
I hear?” Unfortunately she infused her voice with a little too much cheer, and it sounded forced. Clearing her throat, she tried to act a little less manic. “This is a great opportunity.”

Daddy looked unimpressed. “There’s great opportunities in the United States, girl. Mebbe you ain’t up on the news, but there’s prolly childrens in Cincinnati that needs your help.”

Isabella shifted, uncomfortable now and fully aware of Eric’s keen interest in this topic. Though he kept still and said nothing, she felt the tension of waiting in his body, as though he was stretched through with piano wire that had just been tightened half a turn.

“Well,” she said carefully, “I do know that, but I’d like to travel a little. Help where I’m most needed. And I think a little
change and a little adventure might do me good. And it’s only for a few years.”

Daddy wasn’t buying it any more than Eric had; she should have known. The old man’s weathered brown face twisted into the kind of derisive look he’d given her a thousand years ago when she broke Mama’s crystal lamp, one of the family’s few valuable possessions, and tried to convince him that the dog had done it. And then, just to add insult to injury, he snorted.

“Isabella,” Daddy said, “I didn’t raise no fools. And you know darn good and well that this here’s nothin’ more than you tryin’ to run away from your problems. And you oughta know that your problems’ll be right there with you in South Africa, same as if you’d packed ’em in your suitcase with your toothbrush.”

This time Isabella was the one who froze. The heat of embarrassment rose up from her neck and crept across her cheeks until she no doubt glowed like lava flowing down the side of a volcano.

No one could strip away the frills and expose the truth in all its brutality the way Daddy could. He was right, though it killed her to admit it, even to herself. First she’d thought she’d go to South Africa to immerse herself in the needy children and the culture and to recover from Joe’s betrayal, and then she’d seen it as a handy escape from falling too far under Eric’s spell. Either way she looked at it, though, she was running away.

Maybe the thing she was really running from was her own fears.

“I’m going to think about that, Daddy.”

“See that you do, girl.”

The topic turned to golf and Eric and Daddy began an enthusiastic and hyperbole-filled discussion of their latest exploits on the links. Isabella’s thoughts drifted back to Eric and what he’d told her in the kitchen.

This is scary as hell.

The way I’m feeling about you, I—

Let’s give this thing between us a chance.

He’s asked her to stay with him tonight, and they both needed her answer.

What was her answer? If only she knew. An epic struggle was going on in her heart, body and spirit and she was afraid she’d lose no matter what she chose.

If they stayed here tonight, she’d have the empty pleasure of knowing she’d made the sensible decision and a long, excruciating night without Eric to think about what a clever, self-disciplined, self-protective woman she was. She’d stay away from Eric and take that first, crucial step toward stopping him from breaking her heart.

On the other hand, she could leave with him now and spend the night in his arms. She could spend hours making love with him, exploring his wondrous body, and best of all, talking with him. And in the morning she could pay the piper when she had to get up and acknowledge, as she inevitably would, that she’d fallen deeper in love with him than she already was.

So that was the choice: lonely self-preservation or ecstatic self-destruction. Either way, through, her heart was already his to break because she loved him.

That being the case, why not enjoy tonight with him? Did she have to address all her fears and concerns tonight? Of course not. It wasn’t like he’d proposed marriage. Why not enjoy this time with Eric? This paralysis she’d been feeling was ridiculous; it wasn’t as if another round of lovemaking with Eric would lead to her death within twenty-four hours. Why be such a coward?

Taking a deep breath, she chose.

“Mama,” she said into the temporary pause in the conversation, “Eric and I need to get going. We’ve got more driving to do tonight, so we’ll spend the night at a hotel along the way.”

T
hough she focused on her mother, Isabella could feel Eric’s vibrating stillness, his rapt gaze on the side of her face. Still she didn’t look at him.

Mama fixed her with a knowing mother’s gaze that conveyed both concern and exasperation.

“I hope you know what you’re doing, girl.”

The best Isabella could manage was a wry grin and a one-shouldered shrug. “So do I, Mama.”

“Eric.”
Fierce now, Mama rounded on Eric and pointed her finger at him. “You be careful with my girl. You hear me?”

The casual observer might have thought Mama meant to drive safe at this late hour, but Isabella knew better than that. So, apparently, did Eric. When she worked up the nerve to glance his way, he looked Isabella straight in the face, and in his unblinking eyes she didn’t see any signs of triumph.

What she did see was some sort of inner glow, a glittering excitement, and the kind of solemnity that usually accompanied a swearing-in ceremony of some sort. Swallowing hard, she
wished she could regulate her thundering pulse and wondered how they would make it to the nearest hotel without tearing each other’s clothes off in the car.

“Mama Jo,” Eric said, staring at Isabella, “the one thing you never need to worry about is me being careful with your daughter. I promise you that.”

They found another hotel with another honeymoon suite, this one with pale mint walls and sleek black furniture.

Pausing only to unhook Zeus from his leash and find Fluffles for him, Isabella crept up behind Eric, wrapped her arms around his waist, slid her hands up under his shirt and across that silky-hot skin, and let the relief flow. It consumed her—wiped her out, a tidal wave of dangerous emotions that she would, just this once, indulge.

His reaction was powerful and immediate: his skin quivered under her fingers and then he wrapped his muscled arms across hers and pulled her closer, until she was flush against the hard wall of his back and the high round curve of his butt.

“I’m addicted to you now,” she told him. “I guess you’re feeling pretty cocky, huh? Are you going to tell me you told me so?”

“Cocky? No.
Happy?
You better believe it.”

Isabella could hear it in his hoarse voice. The pulsing excitement, the need, the straining passion that would break free just as soon as they got a few things straightened out. She knew him well enough to know that, as desperately as he wanted her, he would hold himself in firm check until he was satisfied that they’d reached an understanding.

Understanding, she knew, was impossible. What middle ground could there be between a man who couldn’t love and the woman who loved him? Under what circumstances could the woman emerge from the relationship unscathed? None that Isabella could see.

Still, she pressed her cheek to his back and breathed him in, absorbing those intoxicating Oriental spices, his fresh musk and the faint scent of deodorant and fabric softener.
God, he felt good. Right
.

But her doubts lingered. Not enough to make her stop sliding her hands up his torso to lift the shirt over his head and throw it to the floor, but still there.

“This is
such
a bad idea,” she murmured, pressing her lips to his bare back and tasting the faint salt of his skin. “So bad.”

“No, it’s not,” he said, some of his restraint slipping. There was another shudder, violent this time, a groan, and then, in one swift movement, he pivoted and wrapped her in his arms.

Emotions were running high and she knew it, but there was no preparing for the wild gleam in his dark eyes or the contained power that rippled through him. With a hoarse groan he clamped both of his large hands on her butt and brought her up against his raging erection.

She cried out, undone on so many levels she couldn’t even begin to count them. As though he knew he’d scared her a little, he loosened his grip and lowered that too-bright gaze to stare at her lips rather than her eyes. He did not, however, stop his hands from sliding up under the hem of her skirt to cup her butt, which was bare but for the negligible strip of lace between her cheeks.

Looking wry and rueful now, as though he just couldn’t believe how she affected him or how much he needed her, he shook his head. “Damn, girl.” One of his fingers slid experimentally under her panties, savoring the lace and her skin at the same time. “You’re killing me here.”

Her need ratcheted higher, climbing slowly to the ultimate destination like one of those old wooden roller coasters mounting that first, tallest hill. “You like my undies, I take it?”

His quick, wolfish grin sucked the little bit of remaining breath right out of her lungs. “You could say that, yeah.”

Waves of sensation shook her and she undulated against him, helpless to control her reactions. “I’m so glad.”

She wanted to drive him wild—to the outer limits of his control and beyond. So she backed out of his arms, trailed her hands up her parted thighs, made a slow show of sliding her skirt up to her hips and shimmied out of the panties, rubbing herself as she did. Once she’d kicked the panties off, she ran her hands back down
her thighs and let the skirt fall into place, hiding her curly black triangle from his feverish gaze.

Eric unraveled right before her eyes. Eyes bulging, arms trembling, he gasped and pulled her by the upper arms until she was flush against him, molded from shoulder to hip.

His frantic hands stroked up and down, up and down, rubbing her butt until the entire bottom half of her body felt pliant. She thought he would kiss her and she knew it would be a crazed, rough, biting kiss, but he surprised her and held back, refusing her parted lips and denying her what she needed. But his face inched closer until his mouth was a scant breath away and his eyes were nothing but a glitter of brown crystal.

With a harsh breath, as though it cost him a large chunk of his soul to be patient, he whispered the one question she’d fervently hoped he’d never ask.

“Why are you so scared, Izzy?”

She froze.

Why wouldn’t she be scared? Because he was such a good prospect for a long-term relationship?
Puh-lease
. Falling in love with a player was right up there with scaling the Empire State Building without a rope in terms of self-destructiveness. She might as well go out and play in interstate traffic and be done with it; it’d be safer in the long run than spending more time like this with Eric when he was guaranteed to break her heart.

“Tell me,” he said.

All the reasons were right there on the tip of her tongue but she couldn’t say any of them:

You’re a world-class player.

You’ve broken the heart of more women than I can shake a stick at.

I love you and you’ve never loved anyone
.

And the biggie, the one she could never, ever tell him:

You wouldn’t even want me anymore if you knew my real truth
.

In the end, she settled for an umbrella answer, one that encompassed everything and revealed nothing:

“Because this is too intense,” she said. “It’s too much.”

There was a long, pregnant pause during which only their harsh breathing broke the silence. “Yeah,” he agreed finally with sorrow on his face and regret in his voice. “It’s a lot.”

“Gee. You think?”

This excruciating conversation would never lead them anywhere. Deciding that distraction was probably her best tactic at this point, Isabella dug her nails into his nape, pulled his face down and, standing on her tiptoes, kissed him.

For thirty seconds he went wild. His hot mouth slanted over hers, frantic and greedy, and they drank each other up with the kind of desperation that drove people to primitive acts like murder or suicide. But he didn’t stay distracted for long and she felt foolish for thinking he would. He broke away and in his eyes she saw the kind of ruthless focus that made him a world-class CEO.

“What’s the real reason you’re so scared, Izzy?” Letting her go entirely, he went to work on her top. “Tell me. Is it because of my track record with women? Is that it? I know it’s not good.”

“
Not good?
I think the word you’re looking for is
abysmaaaal
.”

The last word died on a low, earthy groan as he tongued a nipple through the white lace of her strapless bra, but if he could stay focused, so could she.

“Y—you’re not a very good prospect, are you?” she asked.

“No.”

His honesty on this point was a sickening surprise. Disappointment washed over her, chilling some, but not all, of the heat in her blood, but she didn’t have time to reflect on it. In a dizzying flash of movement he scooped her up—as though she was a doll—and slowly swung her around to the bed.

Once there he pulled the duvet out of the way and laid her down on cool white sheets. Then he straightened and slid and kicked his way out of his shorts to reveal more boxer briefs, black this time, but not black enough to hide the size of the erection that strained almost to his belly button for her.

Isabella’s mouth went dry and her head went light, but he didn’t give her the chance to reflect on the pleasures waiting in store for her in the next few minutes. His hands smoothed up her thighs to her hips and slid her skirt off, as careful now as he’d been frenzied the first time they made love. Naked now but for her bra, shameless and needy as a mare in heat, she spread her legs and arched her hips, using her body to beg him to hurry.

His hot gaze, brighter than Arctic snow in the sunshine, skimmed over her, lingering on her thighs, wet sex and breasts, and then he saw the faded marks. Low on her belly.

“What’s this?” He frowned and smoothed his fingers over the faint lines.

Isabella hesitated and then said, “Nothing. I need you.”

The words had the desired effect. He swallowed so hard she saw the distinct bob of his Adam’s apple in the strong column of his throat. He licked his lips and tried to speak, but…nothing.

After several long beats he seemed to get his wits about him and finally looked up into her face. To her surprise, his expression was imploring and vulnerable, almost sad.

Time slowed as he climbed onto the bed and straddled her, his muscular thighs rippling with sinew. Reaching between them, he skimmed his fingers over her sex, slowly…slowly…slowly homing in on the hard button that wept for his attention.

Isabella fought hard to remain lucid but couldn’t silence her cries.

“Can I tell you something, Sunshine?”

“Yes,” she breathed, arching her back and rubbing herself against him, beyond care, beyond pride, beyond anything other than accepting the gift of pleasure that only this one man could give her.

He watched her with heavy-lidded eyes while a faint, lazy smile crossed over his face and then was gone. “You’re right,” he whispered. “I’m a—
what was your word?
Oh, yeah. I’m an
abysmal
prospect for all the other women I’ve dated. And you know what? That doesn’t have a damn thing to do with
you
.”

Isabella, hovering on the edge of an obliterating climax, flung
her arms over her head and squirmed, but then his words sank in with a jolt. Quieting down as much as she could, she tried to pay attention because this was important.

“What—what do you mean?”

“I mean,” he said, those fingers never pausing in their relentless stroking, “that there’s never been another woman in my life like you and there never will be. If you weren’t so busy being scared, you’d see that.”

There was a pause while the words slowly penetrated her fuzzy brain.

“Oh,” she said.

“Yeah,
oh
.”

Inching forward, he leaned over her until he could nuzzle her lips, keeping it light and easy when she would’ve drunk deep. After a few seconds, when she was nearly blind with lust, he pulled back and gave her another slow grin of such unbearable sexiness she wondered dimly whether he could make her come one day just by looking at her across a crowded room and smiling.

“Can you do something for me tonight, Izzy?”

“Absolutely,” she told him in a hoarse whisper.

“That’s the kind of thing I like to hear.”

Sliding his hands underneath her back, he undid the clasp of her bra and slid it away, freeing her breasts with a bounce. His breath caught and his eyes rolled closed. For a minute or two he couldn’t seem to do anything and the wait was excruciating, but then he bent again and cupped a breast in each palm.

Squeezing them together, he flicked his tongue across one nipple, then the other. Back and forth he went, over and over again, licking and then suckling hard and then licking again, and the whole time she felt the tension building between her thighs and her sanity slipping away.

She’d forgotten all about her name, much less the threads of their conversation, but he hadn’t. Panting now, his wonderful pink tongue running over his bottom lip, he raised his head and stared up at her with glittering eyes.

“Can you stop thinking so much, Izzy?” He paused. “For the rest of our trip can you just…see what happens?”

She hesitated.

“That’s all I’m asking, Iz.
Please
. Can you do that for me?”

As if there’d ever been any doubt about it. “Okay,” she said, praying he never asked her to jump off the Suspension Bridge into the Ohio River because she’d probably be foolish enough to agree to that, too.

“Good.”

Triumph flashed over his face and then he bent low, a man on a mission from which nothing could deter him. Before she knew what’d happened he’d run his tongue over both nipples again, inched it down to her belly button and then gone lower, to where honey flowed hot and thick for him, and she was keening and coming…and coming…and coming.