Claimed: The Pregnant Heiress(9)

By: Day Leclaire



“I was afraid.”

“Afraid of me?”

She shook her head, her hair forming a pale, tangled halo of white gold. “Not of you. Never of you. I was afraid of this. Of wanting someone like you so much.”

“Afraid of how you respond when we come together?”

In one swift move he mated their bodies, one to the other. The breath sobbed from her lungs. “Yes. Oh, please don’t stop. I’ve been waiting so long to feel like this again.”

“Look at me, Emma. I want you to know who you’re with.”

Anger burned alongside her desperation. “I know who I’m with, Chase. How could I possibly forget how it was between us?”

The admission threw him off stride, but only for a moment. “It’ll be even better this time,” he promised.

Because this time he knew what she wanted. What made her sing. What made her explode. What made her soar within his arms. And he’d do everything within his power to give her all that and more.

As much as he wanted to take her fast and hard, he wouldn’t. Couldn’t. He needed that slow build, to experience that climb every inch of the way. To absorb her breathless moans with his every kiss and have that soft, soft flesh brushing against his. To savor the sweet scent of desire gathering in the air and taste it on her mouth and skin.

He sampled first her lips, then her breasts. And he moved with her, a slow, gliding waltz. He caught her hands in his and locked them over her head, their fingers entwined. Her legs slid along his, her toes pressing into his calves in joyous welcome, then wrapping around his hips, anchoring him tight. The tempo increased, moving from waltz to tango.

Sighs turned to murmurs of demand. Control escaped his grasp. How was that possible? He never lost control with women. Always maintained a safe distance even in the most intimate of situations. Never allowed anyone to glimpse his raw emotions in case they were used against him. But with Emma… The dance grew ever faster and he surrendered to the drive, to the magical music the two of them made whenever they came together. She arched beneath him, bowing upward as her climax slammed through her. He couldn’t help himself. He followed her up and over, leaping with her into that glittering place of rapture met and fantasy realized.

Silence reigned for endless seconds afterward, while they both struggled to catch their breath. “How do you do that?” Emma asked at last, gasping for air. “How do you take us so much further than I ever believed possible?”

Her heartbeat thundered against his, a perfect counterpoint to his own. “It’s a skill.”

“One you have down pat, apparently.” She spared him a speaking glance. “Lots of practice?”

“Some. But with you—” He broke off before he revealed too much.

“With me…what?”

“It’s different.” And that’s all he intended to say.

She slipped out from beneath him and curled tight against his side, one leg thrown across his. “Different how?”

How the hell had he gotten into this? He decided to take the manly way out. “Why ruin the moment by picking it apart?”

She simply laughed. “Oh, please. You can’t get out of explaining yourself with that old dodge. You’re the one who brought it up.”

“You know it’s different without my explaining how or why,” he insisted gruffly.

“I just wanted to hear you admit it.” She relaxed against him. “And if it makes you feel any better, I don’t understand why we’re like this together, either.”

Chase had always been good at analyzing disparate elements and organizing them into a recognizable shape. It was one of the factors that made him such an outstanding investor. The instant Emma admitted that her reaction to him didn’t mirror what she experienced with other men, a puzzle piece clicked into place, causing that night in New York to assume a new and fascinating shape.

“You realized it the first time we were together, didn’t you?” he asked. “You realized that what we feel when we’re together is different somehow.”

She reluctantly nodded. “Yes.”

He dropped the other shoe. Hell, a closet full of shoes. “And that knowledge scared you.”

She hesitated for another telling moment before asking, “Doesn’t it scare you?”

“Anything I can’t control scares me,” he admitted.

“So what now?”

“Now we go to sleep.”

She didn’t speak for a brief moment, then remarked, “Wait until the cold light of day when we’re both running scared before discussing what happens next?”

His mouth twitched. Her sense of humor always took him by surprise. It was something he was learning to appreciate about her. “Better than making rash or stupid decisions in the post-heat of passion.”

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