Her Little Secret, His Hidden Heir(42)

When he lightened his hold enough to let her gasp for air, she blinked like a newborn foal and let her head fall back against the door while he continued to nibble at her loose, tingling lips.

“This isn’t what I had in mind when you said we’d be sharing your rooms,” she managed—barely—after filling her lungs with a gasp of much-needed oxygen.


“Funny. It’s exactly what I pictured.” He murmured the words against her skin, moving to suckle the lobe of her ear around her small hoop earring.

Somehow she didn’t doubt that. But letting his mother think they were sharing a room and actually sharing a room—a bed—were two completely different things.

“I was going to sleep on the chaise in the other room. Or slip into one of the guest rooms when nobody was looking. This…”

She moaned as his tongue darted out to lick a line of electricity from her collarbone to the hollow behind her ear. The sensation shot through her like a shock wave, turning her knees to jelly.

“Not smart. Not smart at all,” she wheezed, unsure of whether the words were actually coming out of her mouth or simply echoing through her rapidly liquefying brain.

Shifting to wrap his arms around her and lift her against his body—one hand at her back, the other cradling her bottom—he turned and strode directly to the bed.

“I think it’s positively brilliant,” he replied, and then dropped her to the mattress like a sack of potatoes.

She certainly didn’t feel like a sack of potatoes, though. Not when he followed her down, covering her from chest to ankle with his hot, heavy bulk.

This time, when he kissed her, she didn’t think to protest where all of this might be leading. Maybe because she knew where it was leading. They both did.

Or maybe because his mouth on hers, his hands on her body, drove every other rational thought straight out of her head.

With deft fingers, he untied the knot of her dress’s bodice behind her neck, lowering the gauzy yellow material to reveal her braless breasts. He cupped them together, kneading, brushing the tight nipp**les with his thumbs until she moaned and wiggled beneath him.

He returned her moan with one of his own, then let his hands slide around her waist to the rear zipper. She rose slightly and waited for the gentle snick-snick-snick-snick to stop, for him to tug the full skirt past her hips and thighs. Lifting himself up, he pulled the dress completely off, then divested her of her strappy sandals, as well.

She lay there in only a pair of thin, silken panties. They weren’t the sexiest thing she’d ever worn, but she thanked heaven she was past the “granny panty” phase of pregnancy and new motherhood.

Judging by Marc’s expression, he approved. For long minutes, he stayed propped on one strong arm staring down at her with eyes that had gone dark and primal. A shiver stole over her at that look, at the way it made her feel.

Not helpless or vulnerable by any means. Instead, she felt powerful. That she could incite that level of heat and lust in him continued to amaze her.

It had been that way in the beginning, and for most of their marriage, but she wouldn’t have expected such intense desire to still be there after all they’d been through. That it was felt a bit like a miracle, even though she had no idea how the passion they shared in the bedroom could possibly translate to their future everyday lives.

His fingers delving beneath the elastic waist of her underwear dragged her up from the quagmire of her inner thoughts, and she was more than willing to grab hold of the life rope he offered.

She let him snake the panties down her legs, laying her bare, and then wrapped her arms around his neck to pull him down for a deep, soulful kiss. With a groan, Marc ground the bulge of his still-trapped erection against her hip.

Shifting beneath him, she welcomed him into the cradle of her thighs, crossing her legs behind his waist. He groaned again—or maybe it was a growl—and pressed even closer.

There was something between them, Marc thought. Something compelling and meaningful and not to be taken for granted. And he realized suddenly that that’s exactly what he’d done—he’d taken his relationship with Vanessa for granted.

He’d married her, and brought her home, and simply assumed she would always be there. How could she not be happy in a house roughly the size of Buckingham Palace on an estate that boasted a tennis court, movie theater, two swimming pools—one indoors, one out—a riding stable, gardens, walking paths, a pond…everything anyone could ever want. Add to that the fact that he had more money than Midas and Croesus combined and he’d thought there was nothing he couldn’t offer her, no reason any woman would ever walk away from him.

He’d never been one to delve too deeply into his or anyone else’s feelings, but these past few weeks had him thinking differently. Feeling things he’d never felt before and wondering things he’d never thought to wonder about.

Maybe money wasn’t everything. Maybe situating Vanessa in his family’s mansion and giving her carte blanche with his primary bank account hadn’t been enough for her.

But wasn’t that a good thing? Didn’t it mean that she hadn’t loved him for his money alone? For what he had or what he could give her?

He wasn’t sure what to think of that, since he was rich and intended to stay that way.

What he did know was that some sort of bond obviously still existed between them.