Chapter 9

Four, Emily counted to herself as Max put his hand on the small of her back to guide her toward the elevator that went directly to his penthouse. It was only the fourth time that he had touched her since he’d picked her up at the house. There was the quick kiss on the cheek after she answered the door, the brush of his wind-chilled lips shimmering over her skin. He’d lifted her hair from under the collar of the coat as he helped her into it, which had sent tingles of pleasure waltzing down her spine. He’d offered his arm as they walked down the steps to the limousine, his strength making her feel intensely feminine.

But then he’d wedged himself in the corner of the back seat and simply watched her while she sat two feet away from him on the smooth leather.

His heavy gaze made her skin go tight and prickly in anticipation. Every time the car turned a corner or hit a pothole, she felt the slide of her dress against the tops of her legs where the thigh-high stockings left her skin bare. She’d been honest with herself about how the evening was likely to end, so she’d worn a dress that revealed some cleavage, her best black lace lingerie, and sky-high black stilettos. All in good taste, but leaving no doubt as to her intentions.

She’d seen that Max had gotten the message when he stood stock-still on her porch, his eyes searing their way down every inch of her and back up again, the desire in them making her insides melt. It took so long that Izzy peeked around her to say, “Isn’t Mr. Varela coming in? He’s going to turn into a snowman standing out there.”

He’d come in from the frigid outdoors, presenting all of them, including the babysitter, with gourmet chocolate. Emily had let herself drink him in as he handed out the beribboned boxes—the gleaming waves of his dark hair, the slash and shadow of his cheekbones, the wide, snow-dusted shoulders of his black leather jacket, and the gray wool–covered length of his legs. She wanted to run her hands over all of them.

Now, as they stood in front of the brushed-steel elevator doors, he laid his thumb against a wall pad, his change in position increasing the pressure of his other hand on her back ever so slightly. But she was aware of every nuance of his touch and the different sensations it evoked in her.

The doors glided open, and she stepped into the private elevator, marveling at the polished wood paneling and gilt-framed artwork. She caught sight of the artist’s signature on one painting. Matisse. And she was willing to bet it wasn’t a reproduction.

“You look beautiful.” Max’s bass voice reverberated off the hard surfaces of the elevator and into her bones.

She tilted her head to meet his eyes. They were hooded, his half-closed eyelids shading the dark irises. A shudder of nerves quivered through her. “Izzy gave me her seal of approval.”

He smiled, a flash of white teeth and crinkled laugh lines at the corners of his eyes. “A far greater compliment than mine.”

“I dressed for you.”

His smile vanished. “I’m holding on to my willpower with both hands already.”

“Why?”

His nostrils flared as he drew in a sharp breath. “It’s been seven years. I can wait until the right place and time.”

The elevator eased to a stop. The doors opened into a grand entryway two stories high with a cantilevered staircase rising to the second-story gallery. The floor was a wide-planked, elaborately grained wood covered with a rug that was a work of modern art. A sculptured silver chandelier cascaded down from a skylight that framed the glow of the flurry-filled New York sky. A table made of a thick round slab of marble held a huge ceramic vase loaded with twisted bare branches, evergreens, and holly.

“It’s big. And gorgeous,” she added, but her overwhelming impression was of enormous space in a city that put a premium on it.

“Thank you, but we’ll be dining somewhere more intimate,” he said, taking her elbow to move her forward.

When she stepped out onto the wooden floor, the click of her high heels made her glance down to make sure they weren’t leaving marks.

He led her past the staircase and down a hallway with doors opening off it on either side. She caught glimpses of vast rooms with windows that showcased the glowing lights of the skyscrapers reflected off the swirling snow. “What do you do with all these?” She gestured toward a dining room that could seat at least twenty people.

“Business entertaining. This is all for show. I spend my time in the private rooms.” He kept her walking, as though he sensed her mood was shifting, his stride making her hurry in her heels.

They passed through an archway with its two huge wooden doors flung open, and the decor changed to something designed less to overawe and more for comfort. Max stopped and gestured for her to precede him through a normal-size doorway.

The room was by no means small, but at least it couldn’t accommodate every CEO in the Fortune 500. Emily’s eyes were drawn to yet another spectacular view, but it was softened by drapes of deep green silk. A table set for two stood in front of the window, its array of candles reflecting in the glass. Flames danced in a stone fireplace that invited a visitor to sink onto the leather sofa or one of the armchairs arranged in front of it. Bookshelves lined the opposite wall, their contents not bought by the leather-bound foot for appearances’ sake, but rather a motley collection that looked as though they’d actually been read.

“I think the decorator called this my study,” Max said, surveying the space as though he was seeing it for the first time himself.

“What other rooms do you have in your private area?” Emily asked.

He shifted his weight. “The usual. Kitchen, office, bedrooms, and a few others.”

“A bit fancier than your one-bedroom apartment at Lejeune.”

“All it takes to have this is money.” He pivoted to face her, curling his hands over her shoulders. His touch sent a wave of molten sensation across her skin. “Money doesn’t buy courage or compassion or strength. You would have those qualities whether you lived in a hovel or a palace.”

She laid her hand against his cheek, the sweetness of his words burrowing into her heart. “I don’t know where you get your ideas about me. I’m nothing out of the ordinary.”

He frowned down at her. “You are the most extraordinary woman I’ve ever known.”

It was impossible not to be flattered, but she shook her head. “You’ve created some ideal image of me, enhanced by the effect of seven years’ absence.”

“No.” He pulled her into him, his eyes blazing. “You are so much more than I remembered. More beautiful.” He skimmed one finger along her cheekbone, his touch a whisper that sent delight echoing through her. “Stronger.” He slid his hand under her hair to the back of her neck, his palm warm and smooth against her skin. “Infinitely more desirable.” He lowered his mouth to hers, his lips demanding that she believe him.

It didn’t matter if she believed him, because all she cared about was the feel of his mouth, the circling power of his arms, the strong, silky texture of his hair. Her body lit up everywhere he touched her, the glow spreading inside her to flare low in her belly. It felt so utterly right.

She threw back her head to let out a long sigh of delight.

“That was a sound to raise a man’s temperature,” he said, placing a hot kiss in the hollow of her throat.

“Lower,” she said.

He shifted his hands so he gripped her forearms, lifting her onto her toes as he dragged his mouth down between her breasts, licking the curves exposed by the V of her dress’s neckline.

“Not enough.” She needed his mouth on her aching nipples.

“Not nearly enough,” he agreed. He released her arms only long enough to rip the dress’s back zipper open and push the dress and her bra straps off her shoulders and to her elbows. Then he seized her arms again, his gaze locked on her breasts. “Emily.”

Her nipples drew in tighter just from having his focus on them. Anticipation of his touch fanned her longing higher. She arched to tempt him and was rewarded when he dropped his head to tongue one nipple. A charge of electricity shot straight to her core.

“Yes,” she hissed, pushing into his mouth.

The heat and moisture and pressure as he sucked and nipped and rolled sent bolt after bolt of delicious heat sizzling through her. Her skin was on fire. She wanted him to touch her everywhere.

She put her hands on either side of his head and pulled him away from the breast he was teasing, loving the sound of frustration he made. “I want to get my dress off.”

His smile was pure predator. “Let me help you.” He finished pulling down the zipper and helped her extract her arms from the sleeves before he shoved the material down over her hips and to her ankles, where she kicked it away.

She unfastened her bra, letting it slip the rest of the way down her arms before it fell to the floor.

“God in heaven.” His voice was a harsh rasp. He ran his fingertip along the lace top of one stocking, the touch teasingly close to where the hollow ache of longing was strongest. She drew in a gasp.

“I want to kiss your thighs,” he said, moving his finger to the other stocking.

“Yes! Please!”

He went to his knees and wrapped his hands around her hips to hold her as he bent his head to trace the same line his finger had followed around her stocking, but this time with his tongue. His hair tickled her bare skin, and his breath feathered over her in quick, hot bursts.

“I can see how wet you are,” he murmured against her skin. “I want to taste you.”

All she could do was moan and grab his shoulders for balance when he hooked one finger into the silk of her panties and moved it aside to give himself access.

Using both thumbs, he spread her open. She felt the brush of air against her, and then his tongue, lapping, stroking, probing. Her entire universe was centered on where his mouth touched her between her thighs. She glowed and pulsed and gasped until finally everything stood still for one long, exquisite moment before she exploded into an orgasm so overwhelming that she shrieked and dug her fingers into his shoulders to keep herself from falling.

When her brain began to function again, she found that Max still knelt in front of her, his head turned so his cheek was against her stomach, his arms around her hips to keep her upright.

She unclamped her fingers from his shoulders, flexing them to get the cramps out. Then she stroked his hair. “Max, that was . . . unbelievable.”

She felt the breath he blew out across her skin. “Like a dream. Yet you feel real to me.” He came to his feet and took her head in his hands, feathering his lips over her face, as though he wanted to make sure of her solidity.

“You feel real to me, too,” she said, leaning into his warmth. The texture of his shirt against her breasts reminded her that he was fully clothed and she was nearly naked. “But I’d like to feel more of you.”

She pushed her hands between them and began to unbutton his shirt, spreading the fabric apart as she released each button. His chest was dusted with dark hair, and she pressed her lips against it while she worked at the next button.

He stood still, his hands cupping her behind, keeping her close enough to feel his erection against her belly. She pulled the shirt out of his waistband to reach the last button. When it flapped open, she skimmed her hands over the ridges of muscle in his abdomen and let her fingertips follow the arrow of dark hair that ran down to his belt. His muscles twitched and contracted and tempted her to rip open his belt buckle, but first she pressed her lips to the flat copper disk of his nipple, making him groan and rock against her. Which inspired her to do the same to his other nipple.

She yelped in surprise when he flexed his fingers into her buttocks and lifted her off the ground, striding over to the big sofa in front of the fireplace. “I wanted to see you naked by firelight,” he said. “But I’ve changed my mind.”

“You have?” She was pretty close to naked right now.

“Leave the stockings and shoes on.” He put his knee diagonally on the couch cushion and tipped her onto her back against the glove-soft leather, seizing her ankles to bring her feet up so she was lying lengthwise on the sofa, staring up into his hot, dark eyes.

“Oh!”

“But you won’t mind if I get rid of all my clothing, will you?” He shrugged out of his shirt so it fluttered to the floor.

“I’m enthusiastically in favor of it. I could even assist you.”

She started to sit up, but he put his hand on her bare shoulder and pressed her back down. “I want to look at you while I undress,” he said. “Your skin glows like pearls against the couch.”

That was enough to make her self-conscious about being stretched out with nothing to do but watch his gaze travel over her body. He solved her problem by unzipping his trousers and shoving them down his long, hard thighs. Now she watched while his muscles shifted under his skin as he toed off his shoes and stepped out of his clothing. His erection tented the material of his black boxer briefs in a way that made her want to circle her fingers around it.

Once again he set his knee on the couch beside her. “Now it’s time to put the final touch on this pretty picture.” He slipped his fingers into the sides of her panties and tugged them down over her stockings and heels before tossing them over the back of the couch. Then he simply stared down at her.

She felt a flush of heat climb up her neck to stain her cheeks. Instead of giving in to her embarrassment, she decided to escalate. She stretched her arms up over her head, arched her back, and drew one knee up so her spike heel rested on the cushion beside the other knee. “Like what you see?” she purred, doing her best impersonation of what she thought a sex goddess would sound like.

He should have at least smiled at her act, but instead his face went incandescent with what she could only call lust. “I want to touch you everywhere at the same time,” he said, his voice a growl. He stood and yanked his briefs down. “But later. Now I need to come inside you.”

Before she could react, he had ripped open one of the condoms he’d dropped on the floor and rolled it on his cock. Then he was over her, his hips angling her thighs wide apart before she could lower her raised knee. The head of his cock was between her legs, and he was braced on his forearms so his chest just brushed her hard nipples. The hollow inside her went liquid with a yearning to be filled.

“Are you ready?” he asked, his jaw clenched so that his voice sounded almost strangled.

“So ready.”

He was inside her with one hard thrust. The emptiness was filled. Her body softened with the pleasure of having him there. His weight pressed her into the embrace of the cushions when he began to stroke in and out with a slow, sensuous rhythm. He bent to murmur by her ear, telling her how good this felt, how much he wanted this, how wonderful she was, moving in time with his words.

Then he propped his shoulder against the back of the couch and reached down to grab her bent knee, pulling it higher on his hip. The changed angle of her pelvis let him drive in deeper, and he began to pump faster, winding her arousal tighter.

She crooked the other knee and brought it to his hip, tilting up to meet him. Closing her eyes, she tipped her head back to push into him. He released her knee and reached down between them, rubbing her clit as he plunged into her.

Her breath caught and held as the moment of stillness suspended her on the edge, and then her muscles clenched hard around his moving cock, gripping him so that he exploded into his climax in a flurry of sound and motion.

When she opened her eyes, he had one hand braced on the back of the sofa while his head hung down as he gulped in air. He was still inside her, and she felt the ripples of her fading orgasm move over him. He sucked in a breath when she tightened her internal muscles to extend her pleasure. “That was for me,” she admitted.

“I’m not complaining.” He opened his eyes so she could see that his pupils had dilated to nearly cover his brown irises. “But I’m afraid I can’t stay there.” He slipped out of her and got up to dispose of the condom.

She kicked off the high heels as she watched the play of his muscles while he walked. The firelight bronzed his skin so he looked like one of the Greek sculptures in the Metropolitan Museum. Her lips parted on a sigh of pure bliss. She’d forgotten how marvelous it was to be skin to skin with a man.

When he returned, he gestured for her to shift forward on the cushions so he could spoon in behind her. He reached back to grab a soft wool throw blanket from the back of the couch, shaking it out to cover them. “I thought the decorator was just running up her bill when she insisted on this overpriced blanket, but I might have to send her a thank-you note,” he said, wrapping his arm around her waist and snugging her close into him.

She reveled in the slight roughness of the hair on his thighs and calves when he interleaved his legs between hers. Max felt different from Jake. Their angles and textures weren’t the same. A pang of uneasiness hit her as Jake skittered across her mind. Funny, she hadn’t thought of him at all during sex, but this cozy afterglow made her feel guilty. As though she shouldn’t enjoy cuddling with another man so much. Or maybe that she shouldn’t enjoy cuddling with a man she’d known when she was married.