Chapter 29: Dell
This woman is way more than I bargained for. Damn smart. Crazy sexy. Owner of the world’s most perfect breasts.
I’m done talking about business. And babies.
I couldn’t get away from Meredith fast enough. I kept fumbling, making it obvious my mind was elsewhere.
And now I’m here.
Arianna plucks at her shirt. She has to know what it’s doing to me. Each perfect globe is punctuated by a sharply delineated nipple. I could take it in my mouth through the flimsy fabric.
I plan to.
She hesitates after my line about where to sleep, her eyes big and round. She looks incredibly innocent, like she isn’t twenty-seven and surely intimately acquainted with what I’m after.
I give her no time to think of some way to say no. My mouth is on hers, and it’s as sweet and yielding as I remember.
Desire blasts through me like a flash fire. It’s fueled by all the images of her that played through my head at dinner, culminating in me just walking out. Meredith stayed behind, cozying up to some hedge fund investor as soon as she sensed I had cooled.
Fine by me.
My palm presses against the back of Arianna’s head, fingers working their way into the funny twist of her hair. It loosens easily, and soon her curls cascade down.
I touch them, soft and wild. I want to touch all of her, taste her, worship her.
I walk her back to the sofa, my arm around her waist. Then we’re down, her lying beneath me.
The position is too tempting. I’m raging for her, my tongue teasing the inside of her mouth, my cock pressed against her soft thighs. But she’s dressed. Jeans. Shirt. Bra.
I thread my fingers through a strap. Expertly, I drag one side down her arm, then the other. I reach beneath her and find the hook. In one swift movement, I’ve pulled it free, dragging it from under her shirt.
She gasps against my mouth, but I don’t release her. I won’t stop tasting her until I’ve moved to the next part of her body to savor.
My hand slides up her shirt, greedy to touch what I’ve recently freed. Her nipple beneath the thin stretchy fabric of her shirt is hard and pebbled. I roll it between my fingers.
Arianna lets out a whimpering groan and lifts her hips to mine. I grind against her. Yes, she knows where this is headed. At last.
My mouth moves down her jaw, her neck, her shoulder. Over the tank top, my breath is hot. My teeth find that wayward nipple and I take it in my mouth. The fabric is nothing, heating up with my breath.
Her hands are in my hair, her body moving rhythmically beneath mine. She’s so ready. So ready.
I shift my face up to near her ear. “Shall we retire to my room?”
Her eyes meet mine, and I see uncertainty there. I slip my hand along her body, cupping her breast, then down to the strip of belly exposed above her jeans. When my fingers come in contact with her skin, she draws in a quaking breath.
Finally, she nods. I shift away, standing, and take her hand to help her up. We’ve just passed the front door when we hear it.
Cries.
“Oh! Grace!” Arianna says. She rushes past me to the nursery.
I follow her, cursing the situation. I need a night nanny so I can seduce the babysitter.
Nanny. Friend. Whatever.
I run my hand through my hair with frustration. How are second children ever conceived?
Max is in the room, standing up. He looks at me with disapproving eyes, as if he knows what I’m thinking.
Arianna has the baby in her arms, up on her shoulder. She pats her back.
“Shh, shh, baby girl,” she says. “You’re okay. I’m here. I’m here.”
Her breasts sway as she moves, and my mind struggles with competing feelings.
“I think it’s gas again,” she says. “It’ll take some time for me to help her work it out.”
Great. I nod and sit on the bed for a moment. Arianna eases into the chair, laying Grace across her thighs.
I can’t watch. It’s torture. Those breasts. Those thighs. I want to fling myself back on the bed.
“I’m going to change,” I tell her. She nods, her eyes on the baby.
The hall feels ten miles long. When I arrive in my bedroom, I kick off my shoes and strip off my shirt. Shit. My raging hard-on won’t go down. I have to peel the suit pants off over it.
I survey the tent in my boxers ruefully. “Give it up,” I tell it. “You’re screwed.”
Or not screwed, as it were.
I don’t even bother to pick up after myself, leaving tux parts strewn across the floor like a college kid after a kegger.
Nothing about this night has gone as planned.
Or this week.
I don’t know if I should go help her, or let her do her thing. My boxers aren’t exactly containing this one-eyed jack. I don’t want to frighten the kid.
What the hell am I supposed to do?
I head into the bathroom and brush my teeth. I could go work out, I guess.
But I’m not up for it. I don’t want to let this go.
I want her.
I pace around thinking about puppies and cemeteries, and puppies in cemeteries, until my boxers somewhat resemble a normal state.
Probably taking one look at her will send it off again.
When I make it back to Grace’s room, she’s bending over the carriage.
Maximillion has settled back on the rug, head on his paws.
I stand next to her. Grace is asleep again, arms thrown out.
“Get it out?” I whisper. It’s very strange to be discussing body functions of babies while trying to have sex with a woman.
“Not as well as I would like,” she says, her forehead scrunched. “Her belly is hard.”
“We should have gotten those drops,” I say, feeling pretty pleased that I even know about them.
“We do. Carrie got them. I gave her some.” She pats Grace’s belly. The child’s mouth pouts even in her sleep.
“Do we need to take her to urgent care?” I ask. “Call someone?” I won’t stand for her feeling pain.
“It’s a normal thing,” Arianna says. “But we might try switching formulas. Some babies are sensitive to certain kinds.”
My shoulders relax. That’s an easy fix. “I’ll send the shopper out tomorrow.”
“I can do it,” Arianna says. “It’s a Saturday. I’m off. I’d like to look them over and decide.”
I won’t argue with that. I doubt my shopper knows much about the intricacies of baby formula and digestion.
“I should sleep in here,” she says. “She might wake up again.”
The boxers resume their normal shape entirely now.
“I’ll stay with you.”
She gives me a weak smile. “You should sleep,” she says. “You need your six hours on the weekends, remember. It’s already after midnight.”
Damn, that woman has a good memory.
“All right,” I say. “Just wake me if you need me. I’ll leave my door open.” Hopefully she gets all the opportunities that entails.
But her gaze is back on the baby. “Okay. We’ll be here.”
And with that, I let her be.
It’s about as honorable as I get.