Millionaire's Woman: The Millionaire's Prospective Wife / The Millionaire's Runaway Bride / The Millionaire's Reward. CATHERINE GEORGEЧитать онлайн книгу.
Morgan was coming into the office or going straight home. Cory didn’t know if she altogether believed this, but the secretary would say exactly what Nick had told her to say, that was for sure. He must have known she was less than enthusiastic about going away for the weekend by the tone of her voice when he’d called her from Germany. That being the case, his astute and intelligent mind would know he had far more chance of persuading her if he stood before her in the flesh than by speaking to her on the telephone.
And he was absolutely right. Cory groaned out loud. In all her dreams she’d woken filled with a raging hunger for his embrace, an intense longing to feel his arms round her and his mouth on hers. He was just too good at everything he did, that was the trouble, and his lovemaking was top of the list.
When the door buzzer went a moment later Cory jumped so much she nearly fell off her chair. Telling herself she had to be the most feeble woman in the world, she walked over to the intercom in the hall. ‘Hallo?’ she said flatly as the butterflies in her stomach did the tango.
‘It’s me.’ Just two words but they had the ability to make her start trembling.
‘Hi.’ She breathed deeply, willing herself to calm down. ‘Come on up,’ she said, leaning with one hand against the front door as her legs threatened to give out.
She was still standing in exactly the same position when he knocked on the front door moments later.
You can do this, she told herself firmly, ignoring the racing of her heart. Just be cool and calm. No tears, no hysterics, no big scene. The ‘we can still be friends’ scenario, even though you know you can’t.
She opened the door. Nick was leaning against the stanchion, an enormous bunch of flowers in his hand. He wasn’t smiling; in fact, his expression was one she hadn’t seen before, almost brooding. The next moment she was in his arms, the flowers tossed carelessly on to the carpet.
He covered her lips with his in a kiss of such explosive desire that the world stopped, or Cory’s world at least. He’d kissed her hungrily before, passionately, until her legs had become weak and her mind befuddled, but nothing—nothing like this.
Her arms had wrapped round his waist and she pressed against him, wanting to absorb his heat and his strength, needing to fuse their bodies together. Curves melted against hard angular planes, rock-hard thighs against soft feminine places until neither of them could have said where one body began and the other finished.
Nick pulled his mouth away for a millisecond to fill his lungs, but then his mouth returned to hers as though he couldn’t bear even a moment of separation. His tongue touched hers, probing, urging her to respond, and she gave herself up to the wonder of pure sensation.
He had moved one hand to her head to hold her in place, one leg slid between hers to bring his lower body in alignment with her hips as he moved her against the hall wall, pinning her against him. The action both eased and increased the rocketing sensations shooting to every part of her body and she caught her breath at the sharp pleasure.
‘Hell, I’ve missed you.’ He lifted his head slightly so he could look into her face. ‘You’ve no idea…’
She had. Oh, she had.
‘I’ve dreamed of doing this every hour of every damn night.’ He bent his head again to tease one corner of her mouth with his tongue, before kissing her cheek, her jawline, then forging a burning trail to her ear.
‘Say you’ve missed me,’ he murmured, his breath in her ear making her shiver with delicious anticipation. ‘Say it.’
‘I’ve missed you.’ She arched against him, her body saying it too. ‘So much.’
He shifted her in his arms, his hands running over her soft curves and cupping the fullness of her breasts through the soft fabric of her top. She gasped against him and he smiled, a slow, masculine smile that made her toes curl. ‘You feel great,’ he said very softly. ‘You taste great. You are great.’
‘So are you.’
He chuckled into her mouth. ‘Not good enough. You’ve got to give your own accolades, not steal mine.’
Her eyes were heavy, her mouth swollen with his kisses. ‘You’re amazing,’ she murmured dazedly. ‘Will that do?’
‘For starters.’ He shifted her in his arms but then, instead of continuing to make love to her, he reached down and picked up the discarded flowers. ‘Put them in water before we go,’ he said quietly.
If she hadn’t noticed his hand shaking slightly she would have thought he was totally in control, despite the hard ridge of his arousal which had been forged against her only seconds before. The sight was comforting; she was trem bling so much she knew he must see it. She took the flowers without saying anything, walking with them into the kitchen where she buried her hot face in the fragrant freesias and soft white roses. She drank in their perfume, not thinking, not allowing any thought to come into her mind. Then she filled a vase with cool water and put the bouquet in it just as it was. She would arrange them properly when she came back.
Because she was going. She was going to have this one weekend if nothing else, she told herself, still a little dazed and numbed by the powerful emotions which had been released between them. It was probably the most stupid thing she would ever do in her life, a guarantee of emotional suicide at some point in the future, but suddenly she didn’t care. He was here, here with her, and for the moment that was enough.
‘Where are we going?’
They had been travelling for some miles before Cory asked the question, her voice low and husky. She was still registering the sensations which had taken her over at the flat—the way their bodies had fitted together, the pleasure given and received, the wonder of the world of passion and need and hot desire he’d taken her into.
‘Guess.’ He gave her a quick smile. ‘You know about this place but you’ve never been there.’
‘That applies to more parts of Britain than it should.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘I’m not exactly a seasoned traveller.’ She kept her eyes on him as she spoke although his gaze had returned to the road through the windscreen. He looked hard and dangerous and too sexy by far. He was dressed more casually than usual and she knew he must have gone to the flat before coming to see her. His formal suits or tailored trousers had been replaced by well-washed black jeans, tight across the hips, and his open-necked black denim shirt emphasised his flagrant masculinity more than any silk shirt could have done.
Suddenly it dawned on her. ‘We’re going to your home,’ she said. ‘The house in Barnstaple.’
‘Quite right.’ He reached for her hand and brought it up to his mouth, kissing her knuckles. ‘I thought it was about time you saw where I live.’
‘You live in your flat.’
‘No.’ The blue eyes flashed her way for a moment. ‘I only occupy that. There’s a difference.’
She stared at the dark profile. He’d shaved recently; there was a tiny nick on his chin where he’d cut himself. The rush of feeling this produced was scary.
‘Besides which I thought you might like to meet a few of the family,’ he continued casually.
‘Your family?’
‘I was thinking of the one next door,’ he said with gentle sarcasm. ‘Of course my family. Why? Does that bother you? They’re really quite normal.’
Cory didn’t know what to say. She wanted to ask if he usually took his girlfriends home to meet his family but she didn’t dare. Of course it was highly likely that he did, she warned herself quickly when her treacherous heart did a few cartwheels.
‘It seemed a good time with my mother’s birthday being on Sunday,’ he added.
‘Your mother’s birthday?’ She sat bolt upright in her seat, all the nice floaty sensations that had stayed with her from the episode at the flat gone in a moment. ‘It’s