He understood what she was silently begging for, and pressed back, picking up on her rhythm and moving as she moved, until the jarring spikes of pleasure slammed into her brain. She scrunched up her eyes against the blinding sunlight and the invasion of his gaze as her orgasm rocked her.
Before she could even come down from her high, Alex was removing her jeans, tossing them aside. Her soaking panties followed, and then she was naked and vulnerable and consumed by want.
Her hands reached for her fly, but he patted them away. “Wait.”
“What? No, now!”
“Wait,” he growled again, and then delved between her legs with his hungry mouth, sharp teeth grazing, tongue teasing, flicking, invading.
Her second orgasm was more brutal than the first, more devastating, making her struggle and curse. Making her punch him in the chest and call him every name she could think of. But he laughed in her face as he rose up over her. And when she tried to look away as his thickness was poised at her entrance, he grasped her by the chin and forced her face towards his. “Look at me, my sweet. I want you toseeme.”
Then his body claimed hers.
***
The languor that Alex had experienced throughout the morning with Jacyn, after they had made love and then feasted on the debris of their ruined picnic, stayed with him for the rest of the day. His body wavered between feeling exhausted and energized, and his mind between exhilaration and doubt. What was this insanity? Surely, there was something wrong with this picture. His heart had always belonged to one woman, and one woman only. But now, he could almost feel a physical tug on it, as if Jacyn was the moon, drawing too close to the Earth and influencing the tide.
He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
He tilted his head, shoring up all his concentration skills to focus on what Jacyn was saying, rather than allow her presence to screw up his wiring and leave him in turmoil.
They were in the dining area of her suite, and she had spread several full-color printouts on the table. “I like this one the best, but this one is cute, too. What do you think?”
He could sense her excitement and fed off it. She had just heard back from her graphic designer, who had sent over several ideas for logos, packaging, and social media images for her products. Most of them were very good, and he was flattered and grateful that she trusted him enough to come to him for his opinion.
Focus, idiot,he reminded himself.She trusts you. Forget your emotions; forget this dilemma and give her the advice she seeks. Prove yourself worthy of her trust.
He studied the images for a long time, and then with confidence, began to eliminate the least desirable designs. “This one, it’s too complicated. There are too many tiny details that will not reproduce well in print.” He removed a page and tossed it to the other side of the table.
“This one, the cursive font is a bad idea. It will look weak, hard to read on the shelves. The font needs to be bold. As bold and colorful as you are,ma puce.You want to stop people in their tracks and turn their heads. Just as you do in real life.”
She was flushing, and once again, he found it hard to concentrate. What the hell was this? Why was it so impossible to think straight whenever this amazing creature was near him?
Surely, he couldn’t be falling in love with her. He was incapable of that: he’d proven it time and again. Women, especially beautiful women, were for pleasure. Companionship, occasionally. But rarely friendship. Rarely intellectual stimulation.
But Jacyn was bringing everything to him in equal measure. It was as if she had a special skill of cutting through the pretense and artifice in which so many others shrouded themselves. She said what needed to be said, and did what she needed to do. No games, no bullshit.
And everything about that shouteddanger.His survival instincts yelled at him, telling him to get out of whatever this was before it was too late.
But before he could listen with his rational mind, Jacyn once again had his full attention. Grinning, she was shoving aside the designs, pushing them out of both their minds. The clinging turquoise woolen dress she had been wearing was now swimming around her ankles, and underneath it, she wore nothing at all.
Alex decided that he’d done enough thinking for the night, thank you. His eyes fixed on hers, and he reached for her with both hands.
CHAPTER 14
LEAVING THE GYM WHICH was situated in the southern wing of the château, Jacyn chose to take the indoor route rather than access it through the back gardens as she usually did. It was the wing that Liam and his family occupied. During one of their long conversations, Willa had told her about a hall of family portraits, starting with one of their most venerated ancestors—the first Comte d’Ambly des Ayvelles, more than 200 years ago—and ending with modern-day photos of William and Alex as youngsters.
“Papa and Ton Alex shaved each other’s heads on a dare,” Willa had revealed, scandalized as only a child could be. “My grandmother put a photo of that on the wall to remind them of how stupid boys can get into trouble. It didn’t work. They thought it was funny!”
This I have to see,Jacyn had thought. And so, dressed in matching workout tights, sneakers and t-shirt, she strolled back to her wing via the hall of portraits, stopping to examine each one. It was like being in a museum, only she had that haunting feeling that she knew everyone in it. The family resemblance was clear: the hooded eyes, the high-bridged nose, the arrogant expression on the faces of all the counts in the bloodline, through the ages.
She came upon a photo that was clearly Alex’s and Liam’s father, sitting stiff-backed in an ornate chair in a somber black suit, his eyes a light brown, just like Liam’s and Willa’s, but utterly devoid of warmth. His mouth was a straight, contemptuous line, as if he believed even the photographer was beneath him. Standing on either side of him were his sons, looking to be around twelve and fourteen years old. They stood as stiffly as their father, their bodies not making contact with his, as if afraid to hug the man even for a photo.
“I hated him,” Alex had said. She wished she knew—
The smashing of glass made her spin around. It was followed by the sound of a woman screeching in French. The tone vituperative and vicious.
Then Liam’s voice responded, equally angry, but shredded by contrition.