Claimed: The Pregnant Heiress(8)

By: Day Leclaire


Her hands slid downward, over steely abs, and lower still. She cupped him, her hands unbelievably soft, shaping the length and breadth of him with gentle strokes. He almost lost it. But when he attempted to pull away, she shook her head in mock disapproval.

“Ah, ah, ah. You’re at my mercy, remember?”

Hell. “Is there any point in begging you to be gentle with me?”

“None.” A sultry smile drifted across her mouth and deepened the color of her eyes. “Since you’re one of those types who likes to be in charge all the time, you have to play this my way or we don’t play at all.”

“I’m not sure I like those rules,” he complained.

Just when he thought he couldn’t control himself a moment longer, she slid her hands upward and wrapped them around his neck. “But you’ll play by them, won’t you?”

He shot her a look filled with a combination of threat and warning. “For now.”

She tilted her head to one side in assessment. “Something tells me you’re a dangerous man to cross,” she said slowly.

“That something is called sheer self-preservation. I’d listen to your instincts.”

She simply laughed. “You wouldn’t hurt me.”

“How can you possibly know that? We’ve only been together for a handful of hours.”

Her laughter faded beneath the challenge of his statement and she studied him, pinned him in place with a penetrating stare. In that moment, he could see the father reflected in the daughter, the same fierce determination. “Is that the sort of man you are? Do you deliberately try and hurt people?”

“No. Not even a little. Will I hurt you? I hope like hell I won’t. It depends on where this takes us and what we decide to do about it if we continue down this road.”

A shadow flickered across her face. “I don’t want to worry about what happens next. If we’re going to do this, I can only handle tonight.”

“Then let’s make tonight count,” he suggested, allowing her a glimpse of the intensity of his passion.

She teetered, but she’d already made her decision, had made it shortly after he’d dumped her on to the bed. Whatever they’d ignited in his penthouse apartment in New York had continued to burn, the embers buried but still white-hot and ready to burst into flames with a simple touch.

“Please make love to me,” she whispered into the darkness.

“My pleasure.”

She pulled him in for another kiss, this one slow and languid, expressing a longing that matched his own. “Undress me,” came the hungry command.

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

He found the zip beneath her arm and lowered it. The bodice loosened, parted, allowing him access to the soft roundness of her breast. He shaped it in his hand and felt the nipple tighten and swell. She was so elegantly made, delicate and fine-boned. And yet there was a supple strength beneath her softness that spoke of someone well-honed in both body and spirit.

He pulled her up off the bed and into his arms, allowing the gown to drift downward. It snagged at the swell of her hips and she gave a quick shimmy that sent it sliding to the floor. She stood before him clad in garter and stockings, a small pale triangle of silk panties protecting her modesty. He eased her back onto the mattress.

“You’re beautiful, Emma.”

The words seemed so inadequate. Shallow. And despite what Rafe claimed, Chase didn’t find anything shallow about Emma. Granted, he didn’t know her well. Yet. But her intelligence glittered in her eyes, and enthusiasm exuded from her, a quiet, wholehearted joie de vivre filling her up and overflowing onto everyone around her.

With swift, economical movements he loosened the straps of her heels and tossed them aside. He took more time removing her garters and stockings, tripping his fingers along the outer edge of her shapely legs and then up again along the sensitive inner length. She shivered when he reached her thighs. Moaned as he approached the apex. Released a soft cry of need the instant he cupped the very heart of her through her silk panties.

Just that one touch left her teetering on the brink, as close to going over as he was. At the last possible moment he remembered to grab a condom from the nightstand table. Then he swept her panties from her hips and settled down on top of her. Her lips were swollen from his kisses and a flush ran feverishly high along the curve of her cheekbones. Passion turned her eyes dark with need, a ripe, blistering ardor that more than matched his own.

“Why did you leave me last November when we have this between us? When it only takes a single touch for us both to go up in flames?” he demanded. “Why didn’t you tell me who you were or how to find you again?”

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