Out of Hours...Boardroom Seductions: One-Night Mistress...Convenient Wife / Innocent in the Italian's Possession / Hot Boss, Wicked Nights. Anne OliverЧитать онлайн книгу.
and realized that the click had been the front door opening and he was standing over her, smiling down at her. He flicked the phone off.
“C’mon,” he said. And he scooped her up and carried her out the door and down the stairs.
“What are you—? Where are you—?” But she didn’t finish. She didn’t have to. She knew.
He kicked open the door to his place and carried her straight down the hall to the living room where he set her gently on the sofa. Then he sank down beside her and drew her into his arms.
She went willingly, happily.
Was she supposed to resist? It wasn’t possible. It was a dream come true.
Believe. Trust. Hope.
All the words her mother had given her—words she held close to her heart—even as she held Christo there.
Believe. Trust. Hope. And love.
She would give him everything she had and hope that it was enough. There was no choice.
She had to.
It felt as though he’d been waiting forever.
She’d only been out of his bed two nights. Two! Mere hours. And yet it felt like a lifetime. He’d heard her car, seen her come into the garden, and he’d gone after her almost as soon as she’d gone upstairs.
Now he massaged her aching feet and made her whimper with pleasure.
“Who’s Billy Hardesty?” He grinned, running his fingers along the sole of her foot, making her squirm.
“Oooh, you’re evil.” She gasped and giggled, writhed and twisted. “I’ll never tell.”
He ran his hands up her legs. “Never?” His fingers found her, teased her. “Never say never.”
Her eyes were bright and laughing as she tugged him down on top of her. “He’s the first boy who ever kissed me. We were five.”
“Ah. I guess I can let him live, then. As long as he doesn’t make a habit of it.”
“No one makes a habit of it,” she told him.
And Christo found himself thinking, I will.
But he didn’t let himself think of the ramifications of the thought. He only kissed her thoroughly and set about loving her. She returned the favor.
Christo wasn’t used to giving up control, but how could he refuse her? Besides, she didn’t ask. She simply touched. She, too, kissed, nibbled, caressed, laved.
She wrung him out. Left him spent and gasping. Left him sated and, at the same time, wanting more.
Wanting her. Because this—whatever it was—wasn’t enough. Somewhere deep inside Christo felt an odd persistent sort of ache he’d never felt before.
Knew the temptation to say three words he’d never said. Words he swore he didn’t believe in.
And realizing what those words were, Christo knew a fear as paralyzing as the one he’d helped Jamii vanquish.
He didn’t love Natalie!
He couldn’t.
WHEN Natalie looked back she couldn’t put her finger on the moment she realized that something was wrong. There was no clear defining instant.
The truth was, there had probably always been something wrong. She’d just been too preoccupied with wishful thinking to admit it.
Or maybe with the misplaced confidence of the young and in love, she had believed she could change Christo’s mind.
She’d been honest with him, after all. She had said yes, that three years ago if they had made love, she would have wanted the whole thing—love, marriage, happily ever after.
But not admitting in her heart that she still felt the same way, she hadn’t been as honest with herself.
She’d assured herself that knowing what Christo wanted was enough, that she was a big girl now, that she could cope with the limitations he imposed on their relationship.
Well, not quite.
Their relationship—or whatever you called it—was fine as far as it went. Heavens, being loved—in a physical sense—by Christo was amazing.
But it didn’t go to the heart.
Natalie, dreamer that apparently she still was, had dared to hope it would. She couldn’t imagine that she wouldn’t be able to convince him that what she felt for him was strong enough, stable enough, mature enough to stand up to whatever disillusionment he’d endured in the past.
Which just went to show, she supposed, how immature her love really was.
Or maybe not. But it wasn’t enough. She knew that. She loved him—and he was pulling back.
The desire was still there. He still said every morning, “Will I see you tonight?” He was still an eager, generous lover in bed. He could make her twist and writhe and shudder with her need of him.
But he didn’t hold her in his arms.
Not anymore. When she woke in the night now, she was alone. He was in the bed, yes, but removed. Distant. Only if he fell asleep still holding her did they share that closeness. If he was awake, he had pulled away.
At first she thought it might having nothing to do with their relationship. It could be his work, she thought. He had a lot of difficult, painful cases.
“Is something wrong?” Natalie asked the first morning after she’d experienced the distance. They were sitting in the kitchen. She’d made breakfast for the two of them before she went back to her mother’s to dress for work.
Christo, who had come in silently, poured a cup of coffee and was staring at the front page of the paper, didn’t answer at first.
When she repeated the question, he looked startled, then edgy. He’d shaken his head. “No.”
It was all the answer she got out loud. His silence said much more.
He started running in the mornings. She’d wake up and find he had already left her. He never invited her to go with him. Never talked about why he was going now when he hadn’t gone before.
And Natalie didn’t ask because she sensed instinctively that there were questions now he wouldn’t answer.
Was this the way it always happened? she wondered. Was this how he ended all his affairs? Or did she dare still hope?
“I’ve made a reservation for Friday.” Laura’s voice was so bright and cheerful in the face of her own grim mood that Natalie had to take a deep breath before answering.
“Everything well, then?” she asked. It would be some comfort to know that things were going well somewhere.
“We haven’t killed each other,” Laura said drily. “So all things considered, it’s going fine.” She sighed. “It’s an adjustment,” she said. “Gran wants to dance polkas. She has no patience. But she’s making progress.”
“Is she all right alone?”
“Yes. And I’ll come back and stay with her for a while in a month or two. But right now I need to get back to my life and she needs to adjust here.”
“Sounds good.”
“It will be a good time,” Laura said, “with Christo leaving, I’ll have a chance to catch up on office paperwork without him underfoot.”
“Leaving?” Natalie dropped the spoon in the pot of oatmeal she was stirring for their breakfast. “Christo?”
“He