Her Billion-Dollar Bump, page 13
She was growing bolder, learning what he liked, and slid her hand to the front of his trousers to squeeze him.
Saint grunted and backed her toward the bed, tugging at her clothing as he did.
Moments later, they were naked on the sheets, covers thrown back, kissing passionately. “Be inside me,” she urged, finding the bold, aroused length that brushed her inner thigh. She guided him to her center. “I need to feel you.”
“Careful,” he murmured, caressing her briefly before taking control and sliding the damp tip of his erection against her sensitive inner lips. “You’re not ready yet. Why the rush? We have two hours before we’re expected to make an appearance.”
“I know, but...” Everything would change in a few hours. The gossip sites had cottoned on to their relationship. They’d been photographed going out to dinner and shopping, but now they would be scrutinized up close by his peers—she would.
“Let me make it good for you.” He began running his hands over her body as though learning her anew, until every skin cell was awakened to his touch. Then he followed with the lazy graze of his lips. Damp kisses made flames of yearning lick through her so she was aching with need by the time he tipped her thighs back and settled his mouth against her most sensitive flesh.
When she was quivering with tension and on the point of breaking, he rose over her. Now he surged into her the way she needed. She had the taste of herself on her tongue as he sealed his lips to hers in a ravishing kiss. The first ripples of climax had her moaning into his mouth, twisting in the agony of supreme pleasure. He held her in that state with his superior strength and the slow, powerful plunge of his sex into hers.
This was where she needed to be, encased in the electric excitement of raw lovemaking, connected to him in a way that transcended the physical.
Now she only needed to touch his shoulder and he knew what she wanted. He rolled onto his back, and she sat up to ride the rhythm he set. She pinched his nipple and played her fingers over where they joined, knowing he liked it.
Saint’s lips peeled back, baring his teeth as he fought to hold on to his control. His cheeks were flushed dark with lust. His fingertips would leave bruises where he gripped her hips, matching the ones fading from last night or the time before that.
When the intensity grew too much for her and she closed her eyes and let her head fall back, succumbing to her thunderous orgasm, he arched beneath her, lifting her off the bed as he shouted with his own release.
Fliss slumped weakly upon him in the aftermath, loving the descent almost as much as the pinnacle. She liked feeling his heart pounding against her breast and hearing the rattle of his breath and knowing she’d done that to him. She liked the twitch of him still inside her, slowly relaxing. She liked the lazy way his hands petted her back in such a tender way.
“See?” he murmured. “We even have time for a nap.”
She carefully extricated herself from him and drew the sheet up so it fell between them, forming a small barrier because she had realized what was really bothering her.
People were going to look at her and see not just that she lacked an Ivy League education and wasn’t rich and famous and couldn’t tell a thoroughbred from a pack mule. She could stand that. She didn’t care about them enough to care what they thought of her.
But they would see that this was all she had with Saint. Sex. They hadn’t known each other long enough to even form something that could be called a true friendship, let alone the warmer connection of real lovers.
Actually, it wasn’t even that other people would guess how little she meant to him. It was her. She was realizing that even though he was considerate and generous and gave her such high-voltage orgasms they could power a small country, he didn’t really care about her. Not any more than he would about Willow or a stray kitten they found on the beach. He would look after her and be kind to her, but he wouldn’t give her his heart.
And that hurt.
Because there wasn’t a damned thing she could do about it.
CHAPTER TEN
“THE BELTON-WEBSTERS ARE some of my parents’ oldest friends,” Saint told Fliss two days later, when an older man sent a friendly salute of his rolled program from another box at the track. Saint tipped his straw boater hat in reply. “Walter is on the board at Grayscale. They have a home in Water Mill. I was at Harvard with their eldest son, Kyle. If we don’t see them at lunch, we’ll meet them tonight at their party.”
They were in the shade, but it was hot enough that Saint wanted to unbutton the cream-colored vest he wore with matching trousers over a pale blue shirt and a navy bowtie.
The clubhouse lounge, which his mother bought out every year as a giant flex, was air-conditioned and had an open bar along with the buffet she provided to her carefully curated guest list. It wasn’t enough to have an owner’s box, where a server brought them drinks and snacks on demand and they had a front-row seat to the finish line along with the entertainment between races. He and Fliss also had it to themselves. Norma was currently down at the paddock. Saint’s father wouldn’t turn up until the big race tomorrow.
“That will be nice,” Fliss said with a blank smile, feigning enthusiasm.
He’d been introducing her to people nonstop, first at dinner, then a cocktail party appearance, brunch yesterday, an afternoon garden party and another soiree last night. This was all very rote to him, the faces all slotted into their pigeonholes of usefulness.
Fliss was holding up well. Today she wore yet another perfectly on-point outfit that was sufficiently demure to meet the expected dress code but was also flattering enough to stop traffic. Her pink-and-green floral lace dress hugged her figure and fell to her knees in front, draping longer in the back. The sleeves flared at her elbow, and the neckline plunged enough to make the most of her spectacular chest, which Saint had adorned with a vintage gold necklace he’d chosen for its horseshoe charm. Rather than a hat, she wore her hair in a tight bun wrapped in a pink band. A pair of cats-eye sunglasses and bold fuchsia lipstick completed the look.
Despite the sophistication she projected, she was tense, struggling to smile at each new face. Sometimes he caught her stifling a yawn.
“Dad had an affair with Mrs. Belton-Webster,” he said, leaning closer to confide.
Fliss swung her head around and tipped her sunglasses down to look over them, eyes glimmering with shock.
That woke her up. Saint shrugged.
“They don’t know I know. I figured out that Mom knew about it when they didn’t show up to their daughter’s wedding. It’s all water under the bridge now. I think one of the reasons Mom stayed with Dad was because she was more afraid of losing that friendship than him. Or her place in all of this.” He used his chin to gesture to the racetrack. “You’ll keep all of that to yourself.”
“Of course.” She sipped the straw of her mint-julep mocktail. “Why did you tell me if you thought I would repeat it?”
“You seemed bored.” And he’d never had a confidante to tell. He’d had to let things like that fester inside himself, trying to work out what to do, how to react and when to let it go because his parents had.
“I’m not bored. I’ve just given up on trying to keep it all straight. I mean, I can’t get to know every person and every horse. You seem to have friends everywhere, though. You came here often growing up? I don’t mean the track. The beach house.”
“We came here in the summer if we were living in the city, but we lived in Texas and California at different times. I felt like a military brat, making friends, then leaving for a few years, adjusting to a new situation, then coming back and trying to fit in with the old crowd.” Eventually, he’d grown tired of trying. “I do know a lot of people. I don’t consider any of them friends.”
Her liquid-honey gaze searched his, making his chest itch.
The bell rang.
“Oh!” Fliss swung her attention to the track. “They’re off.”
At least she was having fun with the betting. She’d been appalled when he had told her he would stake her ten grand. He had threatened to pick her horses himself if she didn’t spend it, so she had sat down with the program and her tarot cards, making her selections before they’d even arrived to glimpse the horses.
She’d won the first race, but her bet had been so small, she’d only come away with eight hundred dollars, which she’d tried to give to him.
“Double down,” he had insisted, so he knew she had at least that much riding on this race. He’d dropped five grand, and things were not looking good.
“Which one is yours?” he asked.
Fliss’s hand came out to grasp his arm. Otherwise, she wasn’t moving, wasn’t breathing. She was transfixed by the sprinting horses.
“The one in front?” he guessed, starting to grin as her expression began to glow.
“Shh.” Her grip crushed his sleeve.
It was like watching her as she approached climax. Her breath was uneven. Her breasts trembled. Anticipation radiated off her, tightening his own nerves.
It was titillating enough to set hooks into Saint’s libido, but he was also amused in a completely non-carnal way. She was mesmerizing, looking so sexy and cutely rapt at the same time. He was twitching into arousal and wanting this win for her in a way he’d never wanted anything, just so he could see her reaction.
If the race had gone one second longer, he would have been fully hard, but there was a collective roar. Fliss screamed in triumph and leapt into his arms, crashing her curves against him, filling his senses with floral and citrus notes that he was learning were innately her. She was warm and soft beneath the thin layer of crepe, light and lovely. Her wild excitement provoked a rusty scrape of laughter in his throat, one that stalled when he noticed his father had turned up after all. He was watching them.
Saint’s first, most primal instinct was to draw her protectively closer, but another more harshly learned response recognized that he had revealed a weakness.
He set her back a step. “How much did you win?”
“Enough to pay you back your stake.” She was jubilant, smile wide and eyes bright as she straightened the sunglasses that had been knocked askew.
“I don’t want it back. It’s for you to play all weekend,” he reminded.
She did pay him back, though, since she had doubled her money by the end of the day.
“Beginner’s luck,” she claimed that evening when they were on the terrace at the Belton-Websters’. Word had got around that Fliss had been on a hot streak today. Everyone wanted to know her secret. “Also my lucky horseshoe.” She picked up the pendant she wore.
“Have you looked at tomorrow’s races?” a middle-aged man asked her.
“I’m saving most of my money for Paprika’s Tuft,” she said, mentioning Norma’s thoroughbred. “But there are a couple others that look promising.”
“Show me.” The man had his program and a pencil in hand.
Saint excused himself to the bar and was returning with a fresh drink when he ran into Kyle, the son of their host that he’d told Fliss about. Kyle was newly divorced and a little drunker than was wise.
“So that’s her, the one who got you in trouble with Dad and the rest of the board?” Kyle snickered, his attention twisted to where Fliss still had her head together with the older man. “I see the attraction. Nice.” His hand came up to his chest, cupping imaginary breasts.
“That’s your one shot, Kyle. Leave it there, and I’ll forget we had this conversation.” It was a lie. Saint would never forget. He wanted to blacken both his eyes.
“She’s a housemaid. You’re not serious about her,” Kyle scoffed. “Let me know when you’re done with her, though.”
“We’re getting married.” Saint squared himself against the man, planting his feet. “She’s going to be the mother of my child.” He blindly reached to the table beside him to set down his drink.
He missed. The smash of glass on the stones silenced the din of conversation, but Saint didn’t look anywhere but at Kyle’s disbelieving smirk.
“Swallow what you just said, or I’ll shove those words back down your throat for you,” Saint warned.
“She’s pregnant?” Kyle guffawed into the silence. “Man, I gave you a lot more credit than you deserved.”
The heel of Saint’s palm hit the middle of Kyle’s chest before he realized that he was reacting. It was a shove, not a strike, but it was strong enough to send Kyle stumbling backward. His arms flailed as he hit the edge of the pool, then he was plummeting backward into it. The splash washed across nearby shoes, making everyone gasp and step back.
“Saint!” His mother’s voice cut through the murmur of shock.
Kyle was slapping at the water, clumsily swimming to the edge, swearing a blue streak.
Saint resisted the urge to stand on the man’s head. He looked for Fliss and found her staring at him with the same appalled shock as everyone else.
All heads turned to her now, making her the center of attention as everyone reevaluated her dress, which was three long layers of pleated ruffles from a single shoulder strap, disguising her thickening waistline.
“She does bet on the right horse, doesn’t she?” an amused voice gurgled.
“Shut up,” Saint said in the direction of the voice.
Fliss pivoted on one sandal and walked into the house.
* * *
“Fliss!” Saint caught up to her in the music room.
Fliss was so furious she couldn’t even look at him. “I need the ladies’ room.”
“You’re not locking yourself in a bathroom,” he said through his teeth, looming closer.
“I will use the loo when I need one!” She paused long enough to glare a warning at him. “Take away every other bloody right I have, but not that one.”
Heads swiveled in their direction, the level of acute curiosity sizzling on the air like electricity building for a lightning strike.
“It’s this way,” he said tightly and directed her through an archway and into a short corridor.
Tempted as she was to crawl out the window, she flushed and washed her hands and came out a few minutes later.
Saint was leaning on the wall, arms folded, expression grim. He straightened. “The car is waiting outside.”
“Oh, are we leaving?” she asked with facetious surprise.
“You want to stay?” He held her simmering gaze without flinching.
“Does it matter what I want?” She stalked ahead of him to the door.
He waited until they were in the back of the car to say belligerently, “I didn’t like what he said.”
“I didn’t like what you said. Can I push you in the pool?”
“Will it get us over this spat as quickly as possible?”
“Is that what this is? Tell me I’m overreacting, Saint. I dare you.”
He waited a beat, then spoke in an ultra-calm voice that was so condescending, she wanted to hit him. “The news was going to come out eventually.”
“I asked you for one thing.” Fliss’s voice shook despite her best efforts to keep it level. She removed her necklace and earrings and dropped them into the cup holder that was closest to him in the console between them. For good measure, she toed off her shoes and pushed them toward him with her foot.
“Really? You’re going to go barefoot to prove a point? It was his disrespect toward you that got under my skin.” Saint was speaking through his teeth again. “Now they know where you stand in my estimation.”
“Do they?” she cried. “You have no idea how hard this is for me, do you? That I have to use your money to pretend I belong here when I absolutely do not and everyone knows it? They see straight through me, but I soldier on, pretending for your sake that I can’t tell they can barely bring themselves to speak to me. I’m trying not to embarrass you. And I keep telling myself that it’s okay that you don’t know how hard this all is because you can’t know. You’ve never been in this situation. So I accept your ignorance.”
He opened his mouth, and she held up a finger.
“It’s the part where you don’t care how hard this is for me—and just went ahead and made it harder—that I can’t forgive. Yes, I know exactly where I stand in your estimation, Saint. Guess where you stand in mine?”
They didn’t speak again until they were back in their suite, but all Fliss said was, “I’m going to bed.” She removed her makeup and did just that.
She was so tired she fell into a deep sleep immediately, but after a few hours, her turmoil of emotions conjured an old dream that was nightmare and memory combined. Granny was gathering her into her arms, speaking before she’d fully awaked.
I’m sorry, pet. I’m so sorry. At least you were safe here with me and not in the car with them.
“Fliss, wake up.” Saint’s voice was a hard snap that had her gasping and fighting the blankets and his arms, trying to sit up. “Are you okay?” His hand slid across her back as he gathered her closer, but she pushed away from him, heart pounding, skin clammy.
“Don’t.” She realized her cheeks were wet and reached to the nightstand for a tissue.
“Was it just a nightmare or...?”
Just? All of this was a nightmare!
She grabbed her pillow and swung it around, managing to catch him by surprise enough that he took a face full of silk and feathers before he cursed and grabbed the pillow, throwing it off the bed.
“You sounded like you were in pain,” he said with fresh frustration. “Tell me you’re okay. Is the baby okay?”
“The baby is fine. I am not okay. I thought I could count on you a little. But all you did was tell everyone the only reason you’re keeping me around is because your previous lover sabotaged your birth control.”
