He had never seen such a beautiful woman.
Never.
It had been that way from the beginning.
Yes, she had been young when she first arrived. And his feelings hadn’t been like that. But once she had begun to develop into a woman, he had been…captivated.
When she had come toward him in that dress, he had been reminded of the day by the pool when they had both been in high school. When he had been unable to keep his eyes off of the glory of her curves. When he had been unable to do anything but stare at how beautiful she was. So beautiful.
But it wasn’t only that; it was the feeling of possessiveness. She was his. His wife.
And the challenge as she leaned in to kiss him…
Now they were back in that hotel in Vienna, where they had stayed last time, and it was heavy with memories. Memories of the last time they had stayed here, and what they had done in the beds. On the floor. Against the wall.
They had done it. It should be over. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want this sharp, awful feeling riding him all the time. He wanted what they’d had when she was a continent away. But they couldn’t be separated by a continent, because they had to raise a child together.
He needed a Scotch.
But his suit was choking him.
He went into his bedroom, and it would be his bedroom—they had discussed this ahead of time, because they had an agreement—and closed the door behind him. Then he went to the sideboard where there was a decanter of Scotch, and stood there staring at it as he undid the cuffs on his shirt, undid his tie. He unbuttoned his shirt and slid it off along with his jacket, letting them fall to the floor. And then he took the top off the decanter of Scotch, very aware that if this was how he was going to cope with his feelings for her, he was going to be drinking a lot more than he should.
And how would that make him an exemplary father?
He had no idea. He didn’t have a plan. This was entirely fucked.
He was aware of that. He also had no answer to it.
He lifted up his glass, and brought it to his lips, just as he heard the sound of the door opening behind him. He froze. He didn’t turn around.
He heard her footsteps, and then she was just behind him. She reached around and took hold of the glass, setting it in front of him on the sideboard before wrapping her arms around his midsection. Her palms flat against his stomach. Then she began to let her fingers drift, one moving up over his nipple, the other moving down to cup his raging hard-on.
“Heather,” he said, his voice a warning.
“I know,” she said. “If we do this, then this is how it is. If we do this, then we have to contend with all of it, don’t we?” While she spoke she was stroking him, and it felt so good he couldn’t bring himself to stop her.
He didn’t want to stop her.
He was a fool.
“We could be friends, Romeo. We can have peace, but there’s always going to be this. Always. And I’ve decided that I can’t accept that. I cannot let you inside of another woman.” She wrapped her fingers around his cock through the fabric of his pants. And squeezed. “It’s mine,” she said. “You are mine.”
He turned around on a growl, gripping her face, holding it steady in his palm. “Is this what you want? Because let me warn you. If this is how you want to play it, it isn’t going to be soft or nice. If this belongs to you,” he said, putting her palm flat against him again, “you belong to me. All of you.” He traced the line of her jaw, down the side of her neck, and palmed her breast. Squeezing. “Mine.” Then he moved his hand between her legs, stroking her through the thin fabric of her gown, feeling her heat, feeling that she was damp. “And this is mine.”
“Yes,” she said, her throat tight. “That’s the agreement that we have. And that’s what I want. That’s what I want.”
“You’re asking for everything we agreed to?”
“Everything,” she said.
She took a step away from him, her hand behind her back as she unzipped her dress and let it fall to the floor in a shimmering puddle at her feet. He growled when he saw what she had on beneath. A white lace undergarment that held her breasts up on display, showed the shadow of her nipples beneath the lace. A pair of panties so small they covered nothing. Rather they only served as a tease.
“I bought this for you in New York. Before you told me that you wanted to be friends. At the very least, I thought you should have the chance to see it.”
“You’re playing with fire.”
“I know. I have been. For all these years, and that became so very clear to me today. I want everything. I want you.”
