StrokeofMidnight (4 page)

She hung on every word, hungry to learn more about this man
who had captivated her from the first moment she’d noticed him standing at the
end of the nightclub’s bar.

“My father disappointed my grandfather. From his choice of
wife, to anglicizing his name to ‘Fury’, to how he ran the family business. So
he transferred his attention and time to me…and my father resented me for the
approval he believed should’ve been his.”

Darius flipped over the hand he held and, staring down at
it, traced the light brown lines crisscrossing her pale palm. The tender touch
tingled, transmitting hot pricks of pleasure to her breasts and between her
thighs. She squirmed under the caress that, compared to others they’d shared,
was almost platonic. But anything Darius did—from hand-holding to an innocent
stroke across her palm—amounted to foreplay.

“Since I was old enough to understand, my father has been in
competition with me. A spontaneous game of basketball turned into a vicious
battle. When I brought home a report card full of A’s and B’s, he pulled out a
report card from his childhood that contained straight A’s. After I graduated
from college and joined the company, he fought every promotion and bonus
because he wanted me to earn my way through hard work and not nepotism,
regardless if I remained in the office long after everyone had left or
contributed to the rise in revenue for the entire year. His bitterness toward
my grandfather never allowed us to have a relationship.”

God, she understood that. Never being good enough. Never
being able to attain approval, no matter the awards, accolades or success.
Never receiving love from the one who was supposed to give it unconditionally.

She clenched her fingers into a fist, battling the urge to
reach out and brush a caress down his cheek. Or stroke her thumb over one of
those damn eyebrows. But years of rejection seemed like a manacle around her
wrist, chaining her arm to her side.

Touch him. Comfort him. Give him what you’ve yearned for.

With a force of will that set her heart pounding in a
frantic beat, Rowyn lifted her arm, extended her hand toward him and cupped his
jaw. Displays of affection were as foreign to her as the Bible to an atheist.
Sex with Darius had been a risk. She had shared and submitted her body to him
in a way she’d never done with another man. Yet this small gesture left her
more exposed and vulnerable than the hours she’d spent naked in his bed. It
bared her heart, staked it to her chest—an easy target for rejection.

When Darius covered her hand with his then turned his head
to place a kiss in the center of her palm, she sighed. And the band around her
chest loosened.

“My mother resents me,” she said softly. “Every time she
looks at me, she’s reminded of my father who she believes chose his family over
her.” The confession stumbled past her lips. For the first time, she admitted
aloud the truth she’d known for more than half her life. Wanda understood the
Harrisons weren’t the happy-go-lucky unit they represented in pictures, but
even she didn’t know the extent of the antipathy.

Darius pressed his lips to her skin once more before
lowering her hand to his thighs and cradling both. He waited, silent, his
steady gaze centered on her face. In the blue depths of his eyes she didn’t
detect judgment or ridicule. Just compassion. Tenderness. And acceptance.

Those attributes gave her the strength to continue.

“My parents were young when they secretly married against
his family’s wishes. I’m sure Dad assumed they would accept her—and eventually
me. But that never happened. They blamed Mom for leading their son astray, for
trapping him, for not being Korean…” Rowyn choked out a humorless chuckle.
“That he continued to work for the family business further complicated the
situation and deepened the bitterness and anger that ultimately led to Mom
leaving him.”

“Your mother told you this?”

Rowyn shook her head. “No. Dad did a couple of years before
he died.” From her mother, Rowyn had heard curses, insults and rants about her
selfish, worthless father who hadn’t wanted either of them. Even to this day,
eight years after his death, Pamela couldn’t discuss her first husband
rationally. “My parents divorced when I was eight and Mom did her best to keep
me from him—changing the visitation dates, scheduling events on his weekends. A
couple of times she forced me to call him and tell him I didn’t want to see
him. She needed to hurt him, and replacing him in his daughter’s life with
another father accomplished her goal.”

In an abrupt motion, Rowyn lunged to her feet, unable to sit
still any longer. It seemed as if a live wire vibrated under her skin. She
needed to move, to do…something.

“Would you mind if we kept walking?”

“Not at all,” Darius murmured. But instead of stepping out
onto the path, he shifted in front of Rowyn, cupped her face between his palms
and lowered his head until his forehead rested against hers. Slowly—so damn
slowly—he brushed his lips over her mouth. Once. Twice. Then he dove deep, his
tongue parting her lips and exploring what lay beyond.

He lit a match to the stick of her emotional dynamite and
her control detonated into pieces around her feet. All the tension of the past
minutes cracked under his caressing mouth and she arched into him, perched on
her toes. She met him stroke for stroke. Sucked his tongue back into her mouth
when he would’ve withdrawn. The hungry growl that rumbled in her throat should
have embarrassed her.
Should
have. But it didn’t. She needed him. Ached
for him.

Craved the port he represented in the middle of her mental
storm.

Darius lifted his head, ignoring her whimper of protest. And
when she would have followed him, demanded he return to her, he pressed a thumb
over her lips, denying her what she wanted most. The small, soft kiss he
pressed to the corner of her mouth softened the blow of refusal.

“Finish it,” he whispered and the quiet command was like a
lance to a wound. The pain, anger and grief swelled and rushed out in a
torrential outpour.

“I hurt him so badly. I hurt him,” she blurted, speaking so
fast the words tumbled over one another. She lifted her hands between them and
placed them on his chest. She pushed, needing air, space…but he dropped his
arms from her face and wrapped them around her to hold her tight. “I just
wanted her to love me, to be nice to me. I couldn’t make Daniel like me. All I
had was her and she blamed me because Daniel wouldn’t give me his last name or
pay me the attention he lavished on Cindy. The only way I could make her happy
was to reject Dad. She seemed to care then, to show me kindness. And I hurt one
of the few people who loved me unconditionally.” She wept, fisting the front of
his shirt. “I never told him how sorry I was. He died not knowing I didn’t mean
those things I’d said. He never knew…”

Harsh sobs racked her body and she couldn’t halt the tremors
that attacked her. One moment she stood in Darius’s arms and the next her feet
left the ground and she was cradled to a hard chest. Soothing murmurs she
couldn’t decipher barely penetrated the grief that swept her away.

How much time passed, Rowyn couldn’t say. But when the
jagged weeping quieted into shallow, rough breaths that scratched her burning
throat, she was once again on the bench they’d vacated. A solid shoulder
supported her head and strong arms cuddled her close.

She remained in Darius’ embrace, content, as if a huge
boulder she’d carried for years had suddenly been hoisted from her chest. She
felt…free.

And probably looked like a hot mess with swollen eyes, a
puffy face and slinging snot. As if hearing her internal list, Darius handed
her a white handkerchief. Rowyn murmured a “thank-you” then tried to clean up
all vestiges of her breakdown.

He didn’t speak, allowing her to gather her composure and
thoughts, and she was grateful. God, she hadn’t realized all that guilt, grief
and anger had been caged in her like prisoners of war. Memories of her father
and their short time together rose and for the first time she didn’t suppress
them. Their initial stilted lunch at one of the riverside cafés. She’d been
nervous and so had he. But after an hour the walls had lowered and they had
tentatively reached out to each other, planning another lunch date.

The images passed in a blurred succession. Lunch, dinner,
shopping. Her twenty-second birthday. She touched her fingertips to the base of
her throat. He’d given her the beautiful necklace with his native Korean
engraved on the back.
To my princess.
Because she would never stop being
his princess, he’d told her. He’d died three months later of a freak brain
aneurysm.

Another sob, less intense than its predecessors, surged in
her chest. Damn, she missed that necklace. Her last link to her father, gone.
Unless…Shit, she was an idiot! Why hadn’t she thought of it before?

She jerked her head up and met Darius’ concerned, soft gaze.
“Did you find a necklace at your place after I…uh…left?”

He arched his eyebrow and, for once, she didn’t experience
the urge to rip it off. Now it seemed kind of adorable. “What?” he asked.

Rowyn gripped his shoulder. “Did you find a necklace?”

“A gold chain with a pendant?” He nodded. “Yes. You left it
on my bedroom dresser.”

Joy swelled and spilled over into a delighted cry. She threw
her arms around him and squeezed him tight. With a startled bark of laughter,
he clutched her to him.
Oh God
, she prayed.
Thank you, thank you.

Grinning, she leaned back far enough to plant a huge, hard
kiss on his smiling mouth.

“I take it you’re happy,” he drawled.

Rowyn mimicked the gesture she’d come to think of as his
trademark and lifted her eyebrow. “What gave you that idea?”

He chuckled and swept a caress down her spine. “I don’t
know. The wild ecstatic shriek, the half nelson on my neck, the kiss…”

“I don’t shriek,” she informed him, but ruined the dignified
denial with another hug. Happiness. It filled her to capacity, invading her
lungs, replacing her breath. “The necklace. Can you mail it to me?”

“I can do better than that.” He hitched his hip up and
removed a slender cell phone from the front pocket of his pants. With one hand
he tapped in a number and pressed the small phone to his ear. “Hey, Valerie,”
he greeted. “I need a favor.” Minutes later he ended his call, having
instructed his assistant to pick up the jewelry from his house and overnight it
that day.

“Thank you,” Rowyn said, voice hoarse. So many words—
thank
you for caring, thank you for holding me while I cried, thank you for finding
that piece of my heart and protecting it
—jumbled in her head. And none of
them could adequately express what he’d done for her. So she bowed her head,
pressed her face to the warm crook of his neck and whispered it again. “Thank
you.”

Once more, he tucked her into the haven of his body, his
arms a harbor that shouldn’t have offered safety, shouldn’t have provided protection.

It would be the height of stupidity to get used to Darius’
arms around her.

She’d never considered herself a foolish woman… Guess it
really was a day for “firsts.”

Chapter Five

“However, this evening she lost track of time and left
only at the final stroke of midnight…”—Cinderella

“I feel like Pretty Woman…but without the whole
prostitute thing.”—Rowyn Jeong

“Just give me about ten minutes to change clothes. Then
we’ll swing by your house so you can change, and then we can head out to
dinner.” Darius glanced over his shoulder as he swiped the magnetized key card
through the electronic door slot. Reassured by Rowyn’s nod, he pressed the
handle down and pushed the hotel room door open.

They moved into the large and elegantly appointed living
room. Boston’s skyline at sunset presented a vibrant, gorgeous backdrop through
the floor-to-ceiling windows. Darius crossed to one of the tables flanking the
couch and tugged the chain on the lamp to illuminate the shadowed interior. He
turned to her and his breath caught in his throat. Rowyn had that effect on
him—she had since the moment he’d laid eyes on her months ago, sitting alone
down the length of the nightclub bar.

Thinking back on how they’d met and spent their first—and
only—night together, Darius could imagine why Rowyn believed he picked up women
and often indulged in one-night stands. He wasn’t a saint—his halo would’ve
been repossessed a long time ago—but it had been years since he’d done anything
so promiscuous. Rowyn had been the exception to the rule. And their time
together would have exceeded more than a few hours if she had remained in his
bed…remained with him.

No, he hadn’t fallen in love with her that night. He studied
the straight line of her spine as she crossed the room to stand before the
window. But images of her, of those sex-filled hours, lingered in his head,
never fading. And when he’d seen her the evening before in her parents’ home,
an inexplicable joy—as though he’d found something precious that had been lost
to him—had seized hold of his chest.

Lost.
It described the heartbroken woman he’d held in
his arms on the park bench. Jesus. Those ragged cries had ripped his heart from
his chest. Without conscious thought, he rubbed his breastbone and imagined he
could massage away the echo of pain still resonating hours later. He would have
given anything to shoulder her hurt and grief. Witnessing the proud, strong
woman he’d come to know curl against him as if attempting to escape herself had
stirred something in him—something that had lain dormant until that moment.
Suddenly he yearned to protect, shelter…keep. He couldn’t turn back time and
wipe out her pain. But he could make damn sure it didn’t touch her in the
present or future.

Being able to offer her the necklace had transformed him into
Hercules. He’d wanted to beg Rowyn to give him something else he could do for
her. Just to see happiness light up her dark eyes again.

Damn, she was lovely. He stared at her striking profile. All
sleek lines and gorgeous curves. The modest hem of her dress bared long, toned
legs. He’d had the pleasure of those slender brown limbs locked around his
waist, over his shoulders. He wanted that again.
Needed
it again. His
cock hardened in complete agreement.

Lust tempered by a softer but no less intense emotion hummed
through his body like an electrical current. Plans for dinner relegated to
later
,
he approached her. In a replay of the night before, he paused behind her, close
enough for the dark strands of her ponytail to tickle his chin. And he drew
closer still, until her lower back cradled his straining dick and his chest
pressed to her shoulder blades. Unlike last night, he didn’t allow a polite
distance between them. Nothing but her dress and his pants separated his cock
from riding the shallow dip below her spine. It still wasn’t enough. He rubbed
his cheek against the heavy silk of her hair. It wouldn’t be until her pussy
surrounded his cock with its blistering heat.

“Are you smelling my hair again?”

He smiled at the softly spoken question, acknowledging the
attempt at humor but detecting the shiver beneath. Trepidation or arousal? He
clasped her waist, his thumbs meeting on the ridges of her spine. Yet he didn’t
linger. His breathing deepened as desire punched a hole in his stomach and he
slid his hands up the sides of her slender torso, not stopping until he cupped
the undersides of her generous breasts. Generous,
beautiful
breasts—he
gave the mounds a light squeeze.

Rowyn stiffened, gasped and released the sweetest whimper
he’d ever heard. It echoed the need that stiffened his cock, gripped his balls
and twisted his gut.

“God, that’s sweet,” he murmured and flicked his thumbs
across the hard nipples poking against the thin fabric of her dress. His reward
came in the form of another needy moan. She dropped her head back and rested it
on his shoulder. Quick bursts of air parted her lips and thick, black fans of
lowered lashes hid her eyes. He pressed a kiss to her temple and, without
words, declared how beautiful he found her. With his hands he worshipped her,
molding her flesh, circling and then pinching the hard tips cresting her
breasts.

The pained cries in no way resembled the sobs from that
afternoon. Rowyn arched and twisted under his touch, then encircled his wrists
like cuffs with her fingers. But not to restrain him. To hold on.

He nipped the curve of her ear. “Do you know how good you
feel to me?” he rasped. “I could come just from squeezing these lovely breasts.
Or your nipples.” Darius released a rough, broken chuckle that sounded
tormented to his ears. “I’ve dreamed about sucking your nipples, sweetheart.
How they felt on my tongue. Sometimes I wake up savoring the imprint of them,”
he growled and rolled the stiff peaks, tugged them until she shuddered against
him. The restless shifting of her thighs, the sensual roll of her hips—they all
telegraphed her heightened lust.
So fucking responsive.
He gritted his
teeth as her ass stroked his dick.

“Fuck this,” he snapped and abandoned her breasts. Ignoring
her whispered protest, he shifted backward and attacked his belt. In seconds he
had the slim leather freed of its buckle, the pants closure open and zipper
lowered. With one hand he reached inside his boxers and fisted his aching cock
while with the other he shoved his pants and underwear beneath his balls.

“Lift your skirt.” The guttural command reflected the hunger
that flayed him. He wanted to give her tenderness—should have been controlled
enough to do so—but it eluded him at the promise of being balls-deep inside her
pussy after six long months of dreaming about it.

Rowyn obeyed. She clutched the skirt of her dress and
bunched the material until the hem brushed the bottom curve of her ass. Then,
like a seductive striptease, she revealed the perfect globes bared by a pink
lace thong. Son. Of. A. Bitch.

A bead of precum appeared on his cock head.

“Now the panties, sweetheart,” he encouraged, rocking his
hips forward and thrusting his dick through his fist—a poor substitute for the
wet, swollen flesh Rowyn slowly bared as she inched the lace underwear past her
ass. “Don’t let the dress go,” he ordered when the skirt started to drift down.
“Hold it up and bend over. I want to see your pussy.”

Rowyn hesitated, the minute clenching of her fists around
the dress hem a sign of uncertainly or embarrassment. Didn’t she realize how
hard she made him—how hot she made him burn? Shame on
him
if she doubted
his desire or need for her.

“Do it, sweetheart.” He rubbed his palm up the outside of
her smooth thigh. The muscle tensed then relaxed. He continued the sensual exploration
to her bare hip. “I’ve dreamed about your pretty pussy for months. I need to
see, baby.”

She gathered the skirt in front of her and bent over at the
waist. Immediately he centered his gaze on the pink, swollen folds that
glistened with her cream. He tightened his grip on his cock as Rowyn smoothed
her thong down her slim thighs and exposed more of her lovely sex.

He couldn’t help himself. Darius reached out and traced her
slit with his forefinger. His balls drew up at the first touch of her flesh
after so long. He groaned. Warm. Soft. Heavy juices coated his fingertip and he
stroked forward, covering the whole length of his finger in her wetness.

Rowyn flinched, a low, needy moan escaping her. She froze,
clutching her ankles where her lacy panties pooled. Except for that small,
initial jerk, she remained steady for his caress, her breath harsh pants in the
otherwise silent room.

He strummed her clit once, twice. She repeated the low
groan—the one that twisted his gut—but stayed motionless for his touch. As a
reward, he gave the engorged nub a firmer touch. Her thighs quivered. He drew
back, dragging moisture with him. And when he came to the tiny entrance of her
pussy, he paused. Her breathing stilled. Darius tore his rapt attention away
from her ass and the puffy lips and skimmed down.

The long tail of her hair fell over her shoulder and the tip
brushed the floor. Her face was hidden from him as she pressed her forehead to
her knees, but the slight arch of her back, the suspension of breath broadcasted
her anticipation, her eagerness to be penetrated, filled.

He circled the opening and it clenched his fingertip. God,
it was so small. His dick jerked under his palm as he thought of pressing into
that hole, stretching it, being surrounded by it.

“Darius.” Rowyn’s muffled plea urged him to give her a
deeper caress. But he resisted. “No,” she protested as he abandoned her flesh,
lifted his juice-covered finger to his mouth and slid it over his tongue.

Ignoring her whimper, he sucked her delicious cream clean
and couldn’t contain a hungry growl as her essence detonated on his tongue and
filled his mouth. He wanted to dive back into her pussy for more. With regret,
he pulled his finger free of his mouth.

“You taste so good,” he murmured and lowered his hands to
her waist. “Stand up, sweetheart.” Rowyn straightened and stepped free of her
underwear. The desire to finally see her naked again roared up in him and he
submitted to the craving. He slid his thumbs under the straps of her dress,
stroked them over her shoulders and down her arms. The thin material caught at
her hips for a moment before joining the lace at her feet.

Leaning forward, he encircled her wrists and guided her arms
above her head, flattening her palms to the window.

She was…
breathtaking
. With the setting sun
illuminating her tall, elegant, curvaceous body, she resembled a pagan goddess
ready—demanding—to be worshipped. He succumbed.

Darius pressed his lips to her nape. He followed the elegant
length of her back to the dip at the base and then retraced the damp line, not
pausing until he reached her neck once more.

“So lovely.” With a reverent sigh, he cupped her breasts
again, the nipples captured between his fingers. As he pinched the hard tips,
he nestled his cock between her ass cheeks. Rowyn moaned and ground her hips
back against his groin, pushing her breasts into his hands. He bent his knees
and then slowly straightened, his shaft separating the shadowed cleft between
her ass cheeks. The paler flesh of his dick parting the mocha skin of the
rounded, firm globes struck him as beautiful. The perfect blending of rich
color.

He held her tightly to him, gripping her soft flesh like an
anchor as he pulled back, slid his shaft between her drenched pussy lips and
coated his cock in her cream. Rowyn widened her stance as if in invitation to
repeat the caress, but he again rode the dark slit of her ass. With a tortured
groan, he released her breasts, palmed her cheeks and pressed them close
together to form a tight channel for his aching dick.

“Fuck,” he whispered as his cock head appeared and
disappeared. Blood thundered in his head then rushed straight to his erection,
filling it, hardening it more. His breath burst from his lips in harsh pants as
electricity tingled at the small of his back and zinged to his balls. The slick
warmth of her flesh surrounding his cock along with the visual stimulation
dragged him to the edge of orgasm before casting him over with a hoarse roar.

His heart stopped, his hips jerked and his thigh muscles
twitched with the force of release. Rowyn bucked beneath him, rocking her ass
over his rigid length and wringing every drop of cum from his cock.

“Sweetheart.” The endearment was all he could manage after
the ecstasy he’d experienced. He leaned forward and rested his forehead on her
shoulder. Aftershocks raced through his body, shivered over his skin. And still
his hips worked at her ass in a lazy rhythm.

Several moments passed. Quiet claimed the room and, with a
sigh, he straightened and shifted away. He gazed at her back and the milky
evidence of his lust he’d shot all over her skin. He murmured an apology,
yanked his shirt over his head and wiped away his semen. After hitching his
pants and underwear up to his hips, he knelt and gathered her clothes from the
floor and folded them over his arm. Then he rose to his feet, clasped one of
her hands, lowered it from the window and turned her away from the glass to
face him.

“Thank you,” he said before taking her lips. He dipped his
tongue into her mouth and tasted her sweetness. Rowyn arched up to meet his
kiss and deepen it with a hunger that stirred the fire his release hadn’t
extinguished. She slanted her head and sucked on his tongue. And damn if the
suckling motion didn’t throb in his balls. “Come with me,” he growled into her
mouth.

Darius guided her across the room, and as they passed the
couch, he tossed their discarded clothing on the armrest before continuing
toward the bedroom.

They crossed the threshold and he closed the door behind
them. In seconds, he dropped his pants and underwear to the floor and stood as
naked as she. Her soft gasp seemed to resonate in the silent room like a shout
across an empty stadium. She raised her eyes to meet his and he almost grabbed
her to him. Need. Desire. Both darkened her gaze. Then she lowered her lashes
and hid what his mind wanted to believe had also been tenderness.