CHAPTER SEVEN
A string of curses shot through Alec’s mind.
That urge he’d had to kiss her in her cottage earlier that week hadn’t gone away. On the contrary, it was stronger than ever now. So strong that he only barely managed to shift away from her.
But despite the gin she’d guzzled like a fish, she moved quickly. The next thing he knew, her arms were around his neck.
And, less than a heartbeat later, her mouth was on his.
His first thought was amazement that she tasted like flowers. As though the essence of her garden surrounded her always.
His second thought? That no lips had ever been so soft…or made him so greedy for more.
There was no finesse in her kiss, just a smash of her lips against his. But somehow, that made it all the better. Made him feel like he was a teenager making out with the one girl he’d thought he could never have, the one he’d watched from afar and had secret, late-night fantasies about.
Lord knew he’d had enough fantasies about Cordelia this week. But they had nothing on the sweet reality of her lithe body in his arms, or her soft mouth against his, or the little sounds of pleasure she made as she swept her tongue against his.
When Alec wanted a woman, he immediately got her. There was never time for anticipation. But all week, from the first moment he’d set eyes on Cordelia, he’d wanted her and hadn’t been able to have her.
At long last, she was offering herself to him. And he was so starved for her that unquenched desire temporarily overcame everything else, including the sure knowledge that she’d had far too much to drink to be making good decisions right now. It was up to him to make those good decisions for both of them, but first, just one taste. That’s all he wanted. And then he swore he would stop.
Taking her face in his hands, he moved her right where he wanted her. Soon, his hands were in her hair, tangled up in the silky strands, and they were lying on the couch, his body levered over hers.
Her legs went around his waist and her hands clutched at his shoulders in the same moment that he began to run kisses from her mouth, over her cheeks, her eyelids, her chin. Despite his vow to take only one tiny little taste, he wanted to cover every inch of her with his mouth, wanted to taste, to adore, every part of her.
She arched her neck so that he could rain kisses over her throat and shoulders. When the fabric of her dress got in his way, he was so overwhelmed by the need to make her his that before he could think like a rational human being and stop himself, he took a fistful of cotton in his hand and tore.
She gasped as his tongue laved a wet path over her fabric-covered breasts. And when his mouth latched on to the taut tip, she gave an even louder gasp. One that compelled him to draw down the fabric and to repeat the motion over bare skin this time. Perfect, sweet, soft, naked skin.
“Alec.”
God, he liked the way his name sounded on her lips, especially when it came out this aroused. This lush and heavy with pleasure.
Suddenly, his cell phone rang, the sound not far from that of alarm bells. Alarms that had been playing from the second he’d found Cordelia guzzling booze and blurting out everything to his sister at the funeral.
Sensual desperation was one thing, and he was all for that. Hell, he almost felt as though he and Cordelia had invented desperate desire. But while he could tell that she wanted him, when he could think rationally for a split second, he also understood that her desperation didn’t really have anything to do with him.
The funeral—along with finding out about Gordon and the inheritance—had done a number on her. He completely understood why she’d want to use sex to try to blot out the day she’d just had. The whole damn week, in fact.
Another time, with another woman, he might have been willing to let her use him for help-me-forget-everything-bad-in-my-life sex. But with Cordelia, he couldn’t ignore the feeling that escape-sex would be wrong. Really, really wrong. Not just for her, but for him too. Especially after she’d had so much to drink.
Somehow, he managed to pull his mouth from hers, even though it was the last thing he wanted. “Cordelia.” She tried to kiss him again, but he drew back far enough that she couldn’t. “We can’t do this.”
Her eyes were still fuzzy from the drinks she’d had, but less so as his words registered. “You don’t want me?”
“I do. Of course I do.” They were still tangled up enough for her to feel the proof of his words. “But it’s been a hell of a day.” He sat up, tried to move her into a sitting position as well. “I get why people have grief sex, but I don’t think—”
The words grief sex made her soft mouth settle into a hard line. “This doesn’t have anything to do with grief. You wanted to kiss me before and now I want to kiss you too.”
Alec was wealthy enough and powerful enough that he rarely had to watch what he said. But he knew he was treading on uneven ground here. “This has been a rough day for you, seeing your father for the first time at his fu—”
“It wasn’t a rough day! Seeing him in his casket didn’t even matter!”
She jumped off the couch as she tried to convince Alec to believe things he knew weren’t anywhere close to true. When her legs didn’t cooperate as she must have thought they would, and she stumbled, he stood and steadied her. The top of her dress was ripped so that it pooled at her waist, leaving her clad in only her cotton bra. A way-too-sexy-for-his-peace-of-mind cotton bra.
Not, however, that she seemed to be aware of her clothing being in disarray at all. Nope, she was far too pissed off at him to do anything but glare and fume. “Why are you making such a big deal about everything?”
Normally, he wouldn’t have. But Cordelia wasn’t just some woman he’d picked up at a bar or charity event. She was Gordon’s daughter. He couldn’t give her forever, but he could sure as hell do better than this.
“You deserve better than a drunken screw on my couch.”
“I should have known you wouldn’t understand.” She was trying to push out of his arms now, succeeding as she finally broke free. “With your big, perfect family always there to support you!”
“Wrong.” His voice abruptly turned hard as his answer whiplashed back at her. “My mother killed herself when I was five. My father went completely off the rails. Which left it up to me to make sure Harry, Suz, and Drake didn’t fall apart too. That song I couldn’t stand to listen to in your kitchen? It’s what my father used to sing to my mother. ‘Something in the Way She Moves.’ And then after she died, all we ever heard was ‘Fire and Rain’ on repeat. If I never hear a James Taylor song again, it will be too soon.”
Cordelia was halfway to the door, ripped dress, tangled hair and all, when she abruptly steadied herself on the kitchen island and turned around. “Wait. What did you just say?”
But he already regretted it. Was silently cursing himself for giving away more of himself to a woman than he ever had before. Sure, any stranger could get some of what he’d told her on Wikipedia due to his father’s fame, but Alec had never admitted the rest to anyone. Never even talked about it with his siblings in those heartsplat-words—trying to keep the people he loved from falling apart. Never admitted that just hearing certain songs on the radio could shred his insides to pieces.
“Nothing.” He moved into the kitchen. “I’ll get coffee going and will take you home once I know you’re not going to fall over if you’re left alone.”
With her hands on the kitchen island to stop herself from wobbling while she walked, she moved closer to him. “Your mom.” She looked sad. For him. “I’m so sorry she—”
“Forget I said anything.” What had he been thinking, shooting off his mouth like that? It was bad enough that he hadn’t been able to keep from kissing Cordelia, from climbing on top of her and ripping off her clothes. Blurting out his secrets made it infinitely worse.
Turning around and seeing Cordelia standing there in her bra and torn dress wasn’t going to help matters any. He unbuttoned his shirt and yanked it off. By the time he turned around, she had moved to stand right behind him. The urge to kiss her again was strong. So strong that he nearly lost sight of why he shouldn’t.
But the fabric in his hands reminded him—he needed to cover her up so that he wouldn’t be tempted to touch her again.
“Here.” He wrapped the shirt around her, tucking her hands and arms through it when she just stood there and blinked up at him with her too-big, too-pretty, too-honest eyes. Eyes that, even when she was plastered, seemed to see too much. “I’m sorry I ruined your dress. I’ll buy you a new one.”
That was when she finally seemed to notice that he was buttoning up his shirt over her. “I never liked it anyway.” And then she was putting her hands over his to still them over her chest, right where he could feel her heart beating. As fast as his was beating. “Your brothers, your sister—they would do anything for you. I was barely there at the funeral, barely able to see anything at all, but I could still see that.”
The coffee machine dinged, and he was beyond glad to be able to step away, to pour her a cup, and one for himself too. He hadn’t had a lick of alcohol today, but what he’d tasted of her had made his head spin. Around and around and around until he could barely remember why he shouldn’t just keep tasting her until he’d had his fill.
“Drink this.” He wrapped both of her hands around the mug so that she wouldn’t drop it.
Thankfully, she followed his direction, carefully sipping at the strong brew. However, she wasn’t yet inclined to drop her line of inquiry about his family. “Your sister said your father was there today. But he wasn’t sitting with you like your sister and brothers, was he?”
Instead of replying, he said, “Give me your cup. You need a top-up.”
“Gordon was there for you when your own father wasn’t.” This time, her words weren’t a question. She was simply stating a fact, one so obvious that she’d been able to figure it out even with gin still sloshing around inside her.
One more word out of her, and Alec was going to say something he would regret even more than what he’d already told her—if only to get her to stop talking about his father. About Gordon being gone now too. About what a mess it all was, top to bottom.
Yes, he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anyone else.
No, he didn’t want to talk about his feelings. Especially the ones that were mixed up with his father.
Which meant he needed to get her home and then forget about Cordelia Langley and her colorful garden and her sinfully sweet kisses and the feel of her arms and legs wrapped around him as she made those breathlessly sexy sounds.
But before he could do or say anything to speed the end along, she laid her head on the island with a groan. “I don’t feel so good.”
Alec swept her up into his arms before she could fall. Her lashes were long against her cheeks, and she was half asleep as he took her out of the kitchen and down the hall to his bedroom. He was going to have to watch her while she slept off the drink, make absolutely certain that she wasn’t going to be sick.
“Don’t let go,” she whispered, the same thing she’d said when they’d been mere feet from her father’s casket.
“Don’t worry,” he murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”
At least for today.
* * *
It was several hours later before Alec felt comfortable leaving Cordelia’s side. Her rest had been fitful at first, but finally she settled down.
He was more than ready to collapse on the couch himself, but first he needed to deal with the phone calls from his father that had kept coming all night long.
William picked up on the first ring. “Alec, how are you doing?”
“Fine.” Strangely, though he’d missed the bulk of Gordon’s service, getting to share the experience with Cordelia had made it more bearable. It might have been one of his worst days ever, had it not been for her.
“I’m not just talking about Gordon’s funeral. Suzanne told me about the bomb he dropped in his will. On you and his daughter.”
Alec couldn’t dispute that. But he still had to defend Gordon. “He must have had his reasons.”
“I’m sure he did. Families…they’re complicated. We know that better than most, don’t we?”
What the hell did his father expect him to say to that?
When Alec didn’t respond, William asked, “What can I do to help?”
“Nothing.” Surely his father had to realize he was the last person Alec would turn to if he needed help. “Everything is taken care of.”
“I wanted you to know that I’m not planning on heading back to the lake yet, so I’m here if you want to grab a beer or—”
“Go home, Dad.” Alec was too tired for subtlety. “Thanks for calling, but I’ve got to get some sleep.”
“Okay.” He tried not to hear the hurt in his father’s voice. “I just wanted to make sure you know I’m here for you. If you ever need me.”
“Great. I’ve got to go now.” Alec dropped the cell phone onto the kitchen island, grabbed the blanket draped over the back of the sofa, and lay down, deliberately blocking out thoughts of his father as he let the darkness claim him.