Page 24 of The Housekeeper's One-Night Baby
‘No.’
She thought how comfortable he seemed giving orders and how sometimes he behaved as if she were a puppet, whose strings he was pulling. Was that how the party guests saw her? As some passive, previously unknown conquest who had turned up at the party like a tame incubator and left meekly when the powerful billionaire commanded her to do so. But she smiled her way past the doorman and waited until they were back in the limousine and driving through the thronging streets of Manhattan, before turning to him.
‘What exactly did you tell Donna about me?’
He turned towards her but the only thing she could see in the passing city lights was the glitter of his narrowed eyes. ‘The facts, of course. That I met you in England and that you’re pregnant.’
‘And?’
He frowned. ‘And what?’
‘You were supposed to say it had been a brief fling and we were handling it like adults.’
‘I did.’
‘So why was she making out we had some kind of future together? Like we were...’ Her words stumbled, but she forced herself to say them. ‘If not exactly love’s young dream, then certainly some kind of item.’
‘Was she?’
‘Yes, she was! Like I’d pretty much broken every heart of the women in this city.’
‘That part could be accurate,’ he mused.
‘Niccolò!’
He breathed out an impatient sigh. ‘I guess it’s human nature to see the things you want to see, and she and Matt have been mounting a campaign for years to find me therightwoman. Agoodwoman.’
‘And I suppose I couldn’t be further from that model, could I?’ she retorted, aiming for brightness rather than bitterness as their limousine stopped in front of the hotel.
There was a pause before the chauffeur opened the car door. ‘But there is no such woman, Lizzie,’ he informed her softly. ‘Not for a bastard like me.’ His laugh was bitter as he guided her across the shiny lobby towards his private elevator. ‘I just wish people would accept that.’
But despite the candour of his words, Niccolò’s heart was hammering as the lift doors slid closed behind them, imprisoning them in this silent box, which was the last thing he needed. He’d spent the evening giving her space and that had been deliberate. He had tried to concentrate on what was being said to him, rather than watching her moving around the room, which had been his instinct. But now there was nowhere to look but at her and he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away.
Her hair was gleaming like fire beneath the overhead light and, in the pale lace dress, she looked soft and ripe and inviting. He could detect her scent—sharp as limes and sweet as blossom—and, vividly, it took him back to that night he’d spent in her arms. His blood thundered as he recalled the way she had given herself to him so fully. So completely and openly, and without condition. He remembered the exquisite feeling of tightness as he had broken through her hymen, and the sense of wonder in her voice when she had come that first time beneath his fingers.
He glanced up at the dial. Had time slowed, or something? They had now reached the fifteenth floor, with another eight to go and sweat had begun to bead his forehead, because this was claustrophobia with a spicy twist. Was she aware of the need which was pulsing through his body, and was it the same for her? Was that why she was staring at him like that—all startled green eyes, her freckles standing out like tiny stars beneath the harsh elevator lights?
‘Lizzie,’ he said urgently. That was all. But maybe his husky tone sparked something inside her because suddenly her lips were parting.
‘Niccolò.’ Their eyes locked. Her voice seemed almost slurred, though she’d drunk nothing stronger than water—and all he knew was that she sounded nothing like the innocent he had bedded back in the summer. Didn’t look like her either, with that slumberous spark in her eyes and a soft smile curving her lips. Yet he didn’t know how to be with her, even though his desire for her was off the scale. The rules were different. She was pregnant, for a start.
‘Don’t you know that you’re driving me crazy?’ he grated.
‘In what way?’ she enquired.
‘Oh, no. You’re not getting away with that, Lizzie. You’re no longer qualified to play the innocent,’ he told her heatedly. ‘You know damned well what I mean. In every which way.’
‘But you’re the experienced one,’ she pointed out, her calm logic fuelling the fire of his senses.
‘What does that have to do with anything?’ he growled.
‘Well...’ Her voice was soft. ‘I have no idea what to do in a situation like this.’
‘You know something?’ He gave a short laugh. ‘Neither do I.’
Niccolò wasn’t sure which of them moved first, only that suddenly she was in his arms and he was smoothing back her hair and bending his head to kiss her, with an aching frustration building inside him which made him feel like a novice. That first touch was like wildfire—igniting all the pent-up hunger which had been building inside him for months—and he groaned as the tip of her tongue entered his mouth, because never had such a simple gesture felt so intensely erotic. Why was that? Because he could feel her fecund new shape pressing against him, terrifyingly unfamiliar to his usually experienced fingers?
Bitter thoughts attempted to assault his mind but his body’s needs were greater than the painful tug of his memories. Their mouths still locked, he splayed his palms over her ripe breasts, luxuriating in their heavy firmness. He could feel the diamond tips of her nipples pushing hard against her lace dress and he wanted to peel it off and reveal her freckled flesh. He heard her groan as he deepened the kiss and now the scent of her cologne had been replaced by the far more evocative tang of feminine desire, obliterating any last vestiges of doubt in his mind. He wanted to ruck up her dress and feel her silken thighs. He wanted to touch her bud and feel it engorged with blood. But most of all, he wanted to be inside her again, with a wild and primitive hunger which took him by surprise. To fill her with his hardness. To hear her cry out his name, as she’d done before. To forget the world and all his memories.
