SecretsontheSandKobo Read online

  “Is that a yes?” he asked when she didn’t answer.

  But she crept one step closer, careful not to touch him. His eyes stayed firmly shut, and his chest rose and fell with slow, even breaths. If she hadn’t known better, she’d have thought he was asleep, and that gave her the confidence to get so close she could see his eyelashes brush against his cheek and the shadow of his whiskers. She let her gaze drift lower, counting a few stray hairs that peeked from the top button of the shirt pulled over well-developed pecs.

  He still didn’t move, so she kept looking, at his narrow waist and hips, and the rise...oh.

  He snagged her hand so fast she gasped as he yanked her onto the bed next to him with a slow, easy laugh, curling his whole body around her. “You’re staring at me, Mandy Mitchell.”

  She tried to deny it, but that came out as a soft catch of her throat at the pressure of his body next to hers. The sweet, sweet pressure.

  “I guess you owe me some staring.” His voice was gruff. “I stared at you enough.”

  “In high school?”

  “Tonight.” He eased her even closer, lining up their bodies on the bed. It felt so natural and right. But it wasn’t, and she couldn’t forget that. “Didn’t you feel it?”

  “Mmmm.” She closed her eyes and nodded, ignoring the warning bells to enjoy the solid man next to her. “I did.”

  “And you know what I was thinking?” With one finger, he traced her profile, brushing lightly over and over across her lower lip.

  “About that contract you signed?” She tipped her head to the side to catch his smile. He was so close, she could see the different shades of blue in his eyes, the silver rims, the dark pupils. Eyes that held hers, then searched her face as if he were looking for the perfect place to...

  “Yep,” he whispered. “And all the ways I can get around the terms of our deal.”

  She didn’t breathe, slowly realizing that her hands were locked on to his upper arms, the rock-hard muscle pressing into her palms. His leg rested over her thighs, and that rise she’d noticed?

  Rising against her hip.

  Everything in her—every single female cell in her body—ached for him. She wanted to turn, to press, to feel his hard maleness right where she wanted it. “You can’t...” Her voice was barely a breath.

  He pressed his lips against her temple. “I can.” And he…was.

  “But you can’t...”

  He feathered kisses down her cheek, making his way to her mouth. “There’s nothing in that contract about...” He grazed his tongue over her lower lip, making everything tight and hot and painfully aware of every inch of his body hardening against her. “Kissing.”

  “But I can’t...”

  “You don’t have to do a thing, Mandy.” His fingertips brushed along her jaw and chin, the touch so gentle it could have been air. Unable to stop herself, she felt her back bow, her face lift, her throat exposed to his touch. He ran his thumb over the skin, circling the dip between her collarbones, trailing a hot line lower and lower.

  “I have to breathe. And think. And stay sane.” She turned her face to him. “All of which I am right now forgetting how to do.”

  His hand flattened over her breastbone, a strong, huge, masculine hand with enough pressure to make her want to beg for him to...keep going. He leaned over her, his mouth barely an inch from hers.

  “You’re breathing.” He kissed her gently. “What did you think of that?”

  “Nice.”

  “See? You’re thinking. What was the last thing you said you forgot? Oh, sanity.” He lowered his head and nestled under her throat, sucking softly at her skin. His hand dragged down over the silk of her dress as his erection grew mighty against her. “Sanity is overrated.”

  She wanted to laugh, but nothing was funny. Nothing was real. Just the touch of his hand and the heat of his body and the taste of his lips. “Zeke...”

  He lifted his head and looked at her, his eyes dark with arousal. “You want to break the contract?” he asked hopefully.

  She shook her head, biting her mouth closed to keep the “yes” from popping out.

  He slowly moved his hand, her breast under his palm now, shooting sparks between her legs and making her want to scream. Instead, she squeezed his biceps with all the strength she had, and he slowly eased himself further on top of her. “Zeke.”

  “What do you want, Mandy?” He pressed harder, making everything hot and dizzy and so, so needy.

  This. She wanted this. And, oh, that. And...oh, that gentle kiss. His mouth was like warm water, his hands sure but kind, his legs wrapping around her...he rocked into her, the unforgiving might of his erection shocking her.

  “It’s been so...long.” She rose and fell against him, completely unable to stop the waves. “But I’m....” How could she even say the word?

  He rose an inch. “Please don’t be scared of me, Mandy.”

  She wasn’t, but she was scared of this. Of how close this was getting to something she’d absolutely sworn she’d never do. His serious tone made her open her eyes and look right into his. She should tell him the truth. She should tell him what she’d had to fight and how ugly this beautiful act had become for her.

  But that would ruin everything.

  “I’m not scared of you,” she said softly. “Just men like you.”

  Very slowly, he lifted his hand from her breast and took all the pressure of his body to the side, releasing her. Instantly, she was cold and lonely and achy in a completely different way.

  “I’m not like anyone you’ve ever met,” he said simply. “And if keeping that contract will prove it to you, well, then....” He inched her bodice higher, getting her strapless dress right back in place. “I can wait.”

  She didn’t answer, searching his face, knowing he had to feel her heart thump the way she felt his. A billionaire with a good heart? Was this even possible? Could she trust him?

  “You can wait?” she asked.

  “What’s another few days after twelve years?” He kissed her cheek and inched her toward the pillow. “Sleep with me. Just sleep.”

  She could do that. The realization that she most certainly could do that, and it wouldn’t be wrong or stupid or anything but amazing washed over her as cool as the rain pounding on the balcony.

  “Yes,” she sighed, rolling into his arms. “I can sleep with you.”

  Hours later, Amanda woke up sweating and tangled. Without thinking, she turned to the man she’d fallen asleep next to, ready to make a joke about how her dress—her three-thousand-dollar designer dress—was wrapped around her legs.

  But the pillow next to her was empty. Sitting up, Amanda blinked into the darkness. Cool air ruffled the drapes shrouding the bed, the sound of steady rain loud enough for her to know the French doors were opened. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

  They’d fallen asleep on top of the covers, but at some point, Zeke had pulled the comforter down and covered her with a sheet.

  She threw that off and pushed back the sheer drape, peering into the darkness toward the balcony. It was hard to see, but it looked like he stood leaning against the railing, face up to the sky, rain pouring on him.

  He needed to be alone. Needed to do his...waiting.

  Her heart folded as she remembered the words he’d whispered to her.

  I can wait.

  But could he wait forever? She let out a long, slow breath of sadness and frustration. She should tell him now. She should tell him what he was getting into and how…unavailable she was emotionally and physically and every other way a man might want her.

  How would he take it? She barely knew him, but she had a sense that he was a man of honor. He was also a man who got what he wanted. A man who could tear a paper-towel contract in two with one sexy, talented hand. He could lick a contract apart, kiss it to pieces, make a mockery of…legalities.

  And he seemed to want more than sex, or was that her dreaming and fantasizing that he truly was the perfect man?
r />   Another long, low rumble of thunder rolled over the Atlantic Ocean, echoing in the room. Her entire being longed to bring him back to bed. But she couldn’t—she shouldn’t—do that.

  She slipped her feet to the floor, the sheer dress damp from sweat and discomfort. The bodice squeezed her top, the material stuck to her legs. Her fingers brushed something cool and crisp, and she lifted Zeke’s shirt, which he’d left on the bed.

  Without a second’s hesitation, she slipped out of the dress, wearing nothing but a tiny silk thong. The room lit with distant lightning, enough for Amanda to see Zeke’s silhouette standing on the wide balcony, the marbled section protruding out further than the overhang, rain drenching him.

  She stuck her arms in his shirt, buttoning a few buttons and standing so that it fell to her bare thighs. Taking a breath, she calmed herself and walked slowly toward the storm outside, which could only be a little more dangerous than the one raging inside her.

  She had to do something. She had to.

  * * *

  Water sluiced down Zeke’s bare chest, dousing his hair, soaking his skin, and plastering the pants that still hung unbuttoned to his body. Mother Nature’s cold shower was doing its job, and he didn’t have to go into the bathroom and run water to keep his erection at bay.

  Around three, he’d awakened, a curvy, sexy, soft, sweet woman in his arms, her breath against his cheek, her sleepy sighs as intoxicating as the port he’d had in Garrett’s library. With each moment, he’d grown hotter, harder, and more desperate to touch her.

  He’d stroked her arm, let their feet brush, and listened to the music of a moan she’d never know she’d let out. If he’d touched Mandy, she would have responded. Their bodies were meant for each other, ready for the inevitable.

  But the pain in her eyes after their kiss had told him the ice-cold reality that some heartless bastard had slashed her heart. No, he couldn’t do anything that would—

  He shuddered as arms wrapped around his waist, stunning him with warmth and invitation.

  “What are you doing out here, Ezekiel?”

  Her voice was musical, gentle against the distant backdrop of thunder.

  “Solving a quadratic equation.”

  He felt her laugh. “What a geek.”

  “It’s that or break the contract.”

  She scraped her fingers over his chest. “You already did. This is not your shirt.”

  He put his hand on her arm, recognizing the feel of familiar fabric, already wet from the downpour. “No, but this is.”

  “I borrowed. Is that okay under our contract?”

  Mandy was in his shirt. The thought shot fire into his groin, taking him back to the state he’d tried for the last twenty minutes to drown. “No,” he said, the roughness in his voice surprising him. “Not okay.”

  In one easy move, he pulled her around his body, getting her right in front of him against the railing. She was rain-soaked already, the water battering her hair and pouring down her face. But she looked up at him, undaunted by a little smeared makeup and a storm.

  “The rules didn’t say whose clothes we had to wear,” she whispered. “And it was the closest thing to you in that empty bed.”

  Her words slayed him, punctuated by a flash of lightning in the distance. The light was just enough to highlight his wet dress shirt flattened against her body, molded to her form, the shape of her breasts visible, the points of her nipples like gumdrops he needed to taste.

  Instinctively, he leaned her back so more rain poured over her. She dropped her head and let the water cover her face and slide down her neck and into the shirt.

  How had this happened? What lottery had he won? What good deed had he done? What karmic retribution put her in his arms? “Mandy Mitchell.”

  She smiled, her back still arched, pressing her against him. “I really never thought I’d be called that again in this life,” she said.

  Still holding her with one steady arm, he lost the battle not to touch her hardened nipples. He flattened his hand over the shirt, right over her heart, and slowly, easily, gradually dragged his palm until he cupped her breast.

  She gasped softly, straightening, her eyes wide. He braced himself for the word “no” or that look that said sex terrified her. But her expression was soft, her jaw slack, her eyes dark with arousal.

  A loud shot of thunder made her startle and suck in a breath, coming closer.

  “All those nights, Mandy,” he whispered into her dripping wet hair.

  “All what nights?”

  He thumbed her nipple, gratified by the hard, relentless point under his fingertip. “All those nights I’d sit in my room and solve equations and make graphs and torture my brain with mathematics...” He unbuttoned the top button, easily able to reach into the shirt and caress her breast.

  For a minute, he couldn’t talk, his whole brain flatlined by the perfection of her skin and the slope of her woman’s body.

  “But then I would think about you.” His cock underscored the sentiment, growing harder against her belly.

  She smiled, either because of the words or what she felt. “What did you think about, Ezekiel?”

  “These.” He squeezed her breast. “This.” Soft, sweet, tender woman filled every sense as he brushed her lips with his. “And...” He slid his hand down to the bottom of the shirt, sliding easily between her legs, finding sweet, soft, soaked silk, the sexiness of it jolting him. “Of course, this.”

  She moaned as he stroked her panties and found a sweet spot.

  “And what did you do?” she asked.

  He wanted to laugh at the question, but he wasn’t capable of anything but feeling her buckle a little under his touch. “Not calculus.”

  “Did you...” She wiped her hands down his chest, over his abs, lower to his already open pants, a question in her eyes.

  He closed his eyes and hissed when her fingertip made contact with him, the slight touch injecting more blood to an already engorged hard-on. The rain was useless now, doing nothing but making this even sexier. “I did,” he admitted. He buried his face in her hair, nestling into her neck, fighting the urge to howl and slam himself into her fist.

  She moaned, clearly turned on by the thought. Pulling her in, he kissed her, tasting rain and the remnants of lip gloss, tasting sex and desire. “I want you, Mandy,” he murmured as he broke the kiss. “Here, there, anywhere you’ll have me. I want to be inside you. I want to make love to you.”

  The lightning answered for him, the shock of light catching unmitigated fear in her eyes.

  There was no doubt about it. “Sex scares you,” he said flatly.

  She didn’t answer, looking down, the distant rumble like an echo of her pain. “It does more than scare me,” she said softly. “I...can’t. I may never...again. I just can’t.”

  Then he knew. All the comments about powerful men, her hesitation about sex, her assumption that everything between a man and a woman caused...pain.

  She didn’t say a word, the rain rolling over her cheeks like tears he knew with certainty she’d shed a million times. “He hurt you.”

  Her eyes shuttered. “I told you he did.”

  “No, he physically hurt you.”

  She didn’t answer, biting her lip, looking down in shame.

  “Tell me.”

  She shook her head.

  “Please, Mandy. Did he...” God, he couldn’t say the word. It made him recoil, a testosterone-induced rage bubbling through him. “If he hurt you, wherever he is, whoever he is, I’ll kill him.”

  He could see her eyes fill despite the rain. “No, you can’t. And that’s not...please, Zeke. I can’t talk about it.”

  “You should talk about it,” he urged. “Let someone share your anger.”

  She shook her head again. “I’m past anger and, honestly, I didn’t come out here to talk about that.” Her fingers brushed his abs again, but the fire was gone.

  Until she got over this—until she talked and healed—he wasn’t
going to have her. Not the way he wanted.

  Far-off thunder rolled, and rain splattered around them, chilly now and not nearly as seductive as it had been a minute ago. No, until this pain was gone from her heart, every time they kissed and touched, some asshole came into the room with them.

  He might want Mandy in every way a man could want a woman, but before they could share that, he had to at least try to help her forget the guy who’d wrecked her. Sighing, he put his arm around her. “Come in with me.”

  “I can’t go to bed,” she said, and he understood what she meant.

  “I have a better idea.”

  Chapter Nine

  Zeke brought Amanda towels and wrapped her in them, then sent her into the bathroom where she found a thick velour robe. She stayed in there a few minutes, corralling her composure, toweling off her hair, then staring in the mirror to see herself through Zeke’s eyes.

  But all she saw was…Doug Lockhart’s wife. A shadow of the woman she could have been, and certainly not the woman Zeke thought she was.

  She closed her eyes and released a pained sigh. She couldn’t go the rest of her life alone, could she? But anything else meant...

  A shudder passed through her whole body. She wanted him. Really, truly felt the desire that she’d long ago thought Doug had killed. But there it was, alive and sparking in every nerve ending in her body.

  Oh, it had been so long since she’d made love to a man who cared about her feelings. In the early days of their marriage, Doug had, but then…things had escalated.

  If he hurt you, wherever he is, whoever he is, I’ll kill him.

  Well, good luck finding him.

  It would never get to that point. She couldn’t let it, even if she did give in to her body’s urges. In a week, Zeke would be gone. Pretend would end. She’d start her business, and he’d go back to his life in New York, and this would be nothing but a lovely interlude that made her feel beautiful again.

  Holding that thought, she opened the door to find a fire raging in the fireplace and Zeke on one knee, adjusting the glass enclosure around the flames.