She swallowed. “Anthony?”
There was a silent pause, and she feared he was going to send her away.
“Come in,” he finally said.
She slowly pushed open the door. He was propped up in bed, bare-chested, the pages of a manuscript piled on the covers around him.
“Hi,” she muttered, and slipped inside.
“Everything okay?” he asked in a cool, professional voice.
She nodded. Then she shook her head. “No, it’s not. I am
He shrugged, but even in the dim light from the bedside lamp, she could see the distance in his eyes.
“Anthony.”
He looked back down at the page. “Don’t worry about it.”
She took a few steps forward. “But I
He looked up sharply. “You think
She faltered, confused. “Yeah…”
“I’m mad because you slammed yourself.”
She blinked at him.
“Do you honestly think only ‘trailer trash’ read your books?”
She didn’t have an answer for that one. “I…”
He flipped back the covers, and she tensed, afraid he might be naked. But he was wearing boxers.
“They have you brainwashed,” he said, coming toward her.
“I can’t do this right now,” she protested, her throat thickening. She’d come here to apologize, not to fight. She was heartsick at leaving him and heartsick at leaving her career, truth be told. More than at any other time in her life, she needed Anthony’s shoulders to lean on.
He took in her expression, and the chill left his eyes. He moved forward and gently pulled her into his arms. “It’s going to be okay.”
Her chest tightened, and she hiccupped, unable to speak.
“Don’t worry,” he said, rocking her back and forth.
“I’m so sorry,” she mumbled against him. She was sorry for insulting his family, sorry she couldn’t be what he wanted her to be, sorry she was leaving him.
She looked up into his eyes, memorizing their intelligence, their sympathy, their passion.
He lifted a hand and brushed her hair back from her temple, sending a familiar wave of desire through her body.
She wouldn’t ask. Couldn’t ask. After being turned down, a woman didn’t beg twice. She had some pride.
The seconds ticked by, and her body molded itself more tightly against his. His scent teased her, and the texture of his fingertips burned into her skin. Her core temperature rose, and her hormones swirled to life until the world contracted to the two of them.
But she wouldn’t ask. She…would…not…ask.
“Please?” the whisper slipped from her. “Oh, Anthony, please.”
HER WORDS raked over Anthony’s soul. Powerless to resist, he swooped down to kiss her mouth. She was delicious, gorgeous in her sleep-disheveled state-an arousing, erotic goddess.
The kiss went on and on. Her lips parted and her tongue met his, hesitantly at first, then with more confidence as his hands roamed up her back, slipping over the thin silk of her robe.
“I’ve missed you,” he groaned.
He didn’t ever want to experience her anger or her distance again. If she was going to Paris, so be it. He would take her as Joan Bateman, as Jules Burrell, or as anyone else she wanted to be. If he had to fly to Paris to see her, he’d fly to Paris to see her.
They finally broke the kiss, and she gazed up at him, her round, emerald eyes shinning in the lamplight. “I could come back.”
He shook his head sadly. He knew deep down that this was the end. Her family was too powerful, they had too much influence over her. “You won’t come back anytime soon.”
She didn’t deny it.
“I shouldn’t have walked away last night,” he told her. “I should have dragged you into that bed and made love to you until neither of us could see straight.”
She paused, her voice soft. “And now?”
He smiled at her hesitance. He wasn’t feeling the least bit unsure. “I like to think I learn from my mistakes.”
She smiled, reaching for her robe. “Good.”
He followed the movements of her delicate fingers as they worked their way through the knot in her sash. The temperature in the room spiked, and her perfume, her delectable, familiar perfume, wrapped around him in a wave.
He reached for the free ends of her sash and drew her against him. Her hair was loose, and he kissed it tenderly, inhaling deep, mouthing the softness. Then he kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose, and worked his way back to her lips.
With a moan of surrender, she twined her arms around his neck. Her body came flush against his, and all the sensations from the night before rushed back. She was soft where a woman should be soft, narrow where a woman should be narrow. Her hair was fragrant, her skin smooth as warm silk, and deep in her eyes he could see peace and paradise.
He lifted her from the floor, continuing with a kiss that felt bittersweet. It was Joan, finally, and he was losing her in the morning.
The satin of her nightgown slipped against his bare chest. He drew her head into the crook of his shoulder, stroking her soft hair. “I need you,” he whispered honestly, rocking her against his body.
“I need you, too,” she confessed, and the world started to spiral out of control.
He took the last few steps to his big bed. There he placed her gently on the sheets, following her down to lie beside her.
Her lacy, satin V-neck revealed the mounds of her creamy breasts. He traced the line of lace and felt her tremble beneath his fingers. Then he dipped beneath the fabric, and she sucked in a breath.
He propped himself up with his elbow. “I’ve dreamed of you,” he told her, staring into eyes that had gone opaque with her arousal. “For years and years, I’ve dreamed of having you in my arms.”
A shy smile curved her lips. “I never thought you noticed me.”
He chuckled. “Noticed? It’s been a struggle to keep my hands off you. Every time we get together, I lecture myself on appropriate behavior.”
“You don’t say?” she mumbled, burying her face into his bare shoulder.
“I do say.”
She pulled back, and her smile turned coquettish as she dropped one strap of her nightgown.
His gaze feasted on her soft shoulders and her creamy cleavage.
Her eyes turned from jade to smoke as she dropped the other strap. Then she pulled one end of the bow holding her bodice together.
He covered her hand with his. “Let me.”
She released the tie, and he slowly drew out the satin strip. The bow melted to nothing, and he loosened the final knot. The ties slipped through the eyelets as he eased the silky fabric apart, revealing her breasts, the smooth curve of her stomach and the dusky triangle at the apex of her legs.
“Gorgeous,” he breathed, bending to kiss one breast.
Her hands tangled in his hair as he drew her nipple into the heat of his mouth. She squirmed beneath him, her breathing going shallow.
He moaned her name. Then he kissed his way toward her mouth while his hand closed over her damp breast. His tongue tangled with hers, and his fingertips continued an erotic exploration of her body. He tried to take it slow and gentle, but passion surged through him, desperate and impatient.
