The Undercover Billionaire Page 11

  You did affect him.

  A surge of something that felt awfully like satisfaction filled her, but she shoved it away quickly. She didn’t want to get into that. Didn’t want to get into feeling pleased that she’d done something to him. This wasn’t about him and his pleasure. This was about her and what she wanted.

  When she’d first entered the room she’d tried to tell herself that this was simply part of a mission she had to do, an operation to rescue herself, so there was no point in being nervous. She didn’t have to enjoy it. She didn’t even have to like it and that it was better not to, because it wouldn’t ever happen again.

  Yet he was laying there like a big lazy panther, and she knew that no matter how many times she told herself this was simply part of a mission, it was never going to be just that.

  She wanted him. She always had. And okay, so he didn’t want her, but what did that matter? She could take this moment for herself. She could savor it, enjoy it. And she would always have it, no matter what happened to her in the future.

  New experiences were far and few between in her life, her father’s protection being what it was, so why shouldn’t she fully give herself over to this one? Why should she view it as a mission?

  She hadn’t been fully truthful with him though. This wasn’t actually a fantasy of hers, mainly because she didn’t let herself ever have fantasies about him, not when they weren’t ever going to come true. But now …

  Oh yes, now she could have this particular fantasy. And she could make it come true.

  She lifted her hand, ran her fingers lightly over the front his jeans a second time. Again, he sucked in a breath, long, black lashes veiling the glow in his eyes momentarily. “Yeah, I like that. Do it again, baby. Harder.”

  “Baby.” He’d called her “baby.” She wasn’t sure if she liked it. She wasn’t sure she liked him ordering her around either, not when this was her fantasy, not his.

  “No,” she said and took her hand away.

  His lashes flicked up, the heat in his eyes focusing into a narrow beam and straight at her. As if he could will her to do what he wanted with the power of his gaze alone.

  It nearly worked too, her hand reaching out to him. But she stopped herself at the last minute. This wasn’t for him and she didn’t want him telling her what to do. She wanted to discover it for herself, explore him the way she wanted to. For once in her life please herself instead of someone else.

  “All right, suit yourself.” Wolf lifted his arms and put his hands behind his head. “But if you need some tips, just let me know.” His lashes fell again and it looked for a second like he’d gone to sleep.

  That was good, wasn’t it? Maybe she wouldn’t need to do this at all. Maybe if she remained quiet and didn’t move, he’d fall deeply enough asleep that she could grab his phone without him noticing.

  You don’t really want to do this after all, do you?

  She swallowed, realization hitting that now she was going to have to touch him again. Unzip his fly and touch him. Put her mouth on him. Make him come. It had been all fine in the abstract, but now that the moment was actually here …

  Maybe she should have accepted his offer of instruction?

  She stared at down at his body laid out on the bed, trying to think about how to begin, to approach it the way she approached some of the business problems she ran into with her father’s various interests. Breaking something down into various, smaller tasks and concentrating on those, was the usual way she handled it, so maybe that would work here.

  So first of all she needed to get his thermal off, because if there was one thing she wanted to do, it was to touch all that muscle he’d had on display. All those fascinating tattoos.

  But should she get him to do it? Or should she just … get on him or something and push the fabric up herself? Getting him to take it off was the most logical thing and yet there was a part of her that didn’t want him to move. She wanted to do it herself.

  Or you could just leave him to go to sleep. Because he probably will. The whole orgasm thing isn’t really necessary and you know it.

  Her heart was beating loud in her ears and her breathing was fast. No, it wasn’t necessary. But she’d told herself it was a vital part of her plan because letting herself have things she wanted had always been very difficult for her. Especially things she wanted very, very badly.

  You always lose them …

  But she couldn’t lose this moment and it couldn’t be taken away, could it? Right now, she had it. Right now, she had him.

  A brief moment of fear caught at her though she had no idea why, dismissing it before she could examine it too closely. Instead she studied him a second longer then, gathering her nightgown in one hand, she raised it up and climbed up onto the bed.

  It was awkward, but if she refused the fear, she refused the embarrassment as well, arranging herself so she was kneeling upright astride his powerful thighs. He didn’t move, but she could see the gleam of his eyes beneath his lashes—he wasn’t asleep after all. He was watching her.

  She sucked in a silent breath, her heartbeat getting louder. The denim of his jeans felt rough against the inside of her knees and he was so … hot. But then she’d felt how hot he’d been earlier, hadn’t she?

  Her mouth had gone dry. One thing to think about all of this, quite another to do it. To be kneeling over the man she’d been in love with for most of her adult life. The man she’d never allowed herself to fantasize about, because it was safer that way, easier to deal with.

  If you can’t ever have it, you can’t ever be hurt when it’s taken away.

  And right now, no one could take this from her.

  Olivia inhaled yet again, trying to get herself to calm down.

  Okay, so don’t think about the whole task, just the next step. What did she want to do now? Touch him …

  Slowly, she lowered herself down so she was sitting on his thighs. She could feel the muscles beneath her tighten in response though he made no other move. God, again the heat of him shocked her. She hadn’t expected to notice it or even that she’d like it. But she did. She really did.

  Her skin tightened, goose bumps rising. There was a heavy sensation between her thighs, a kind of throb.

  Desire.

  She’d felt it before, sometimes at night, in dreams. Formless dreams that she never remembered when she woke up, but that left her hot and sweaty and aching. She didn’t like to think about those feelings, so she always ignored them.

  But she had the thought, sitting astride Wolf’s prone body, that those feelings may not be so easy to ignore now. Not now she was here and he was beneath her.

  Perhaps this wasn’t such a great idea after all. Perhaps she should just get off him and leave him to sleep.

  “Hmmm,” he murmured, sapphire and emerald glittering under those long silky lashes. “Changed your mind already?”

  There was something in his rough voice that crept under her skin like a burr. A kind of challenge. Or a dare.

  It made her stiffen, a flash of irritation going through her. “I’m not afraid, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she said curtly.

  “Well, of course not.” This time there was an edge of amusement in his tone. “Olivia de Santis afraid of a little old blow job? Never.”

  He was mocking her now, which annoyed her. It also made her want to show him that she really wasn’t afraid, which was puzzling when she’d already decided she didn’t care what he thought of her. But somehow she couldn’t let it go. He thought she was trapped here, he thought she couldn’t escape.

  She’d show him. She’d show six feet five of muscle-bound Navy SEAL who was afraid and who wasn’t.

  Olivia said nothing. Instead she reached down and pulled at the fabric of his thermal, sliding it up his body and under his arms, revealing all that beautiful, sculpted muscle, tanned skin, and vivid ink.

  One corner of his mouth lifted, but she didn’t want to look at his face, because that hint of a smile and th
e gleam of his eyes were doing things to her she wasn’t comfortable with. So she looked down at his chest instead, reaching out her hands to touch him, placing both palms down on his pecs.

  Oh … God. So hot and so unbelievably hard. Yet his skin was smooth, satiny, with the slight prickle of hair.

  She swallowed, sliding her palms down his torso, watching the cut muscles of his taut stomach flex and release as she touched him. He felt … so good. Better than anything she expected.

  Finally touching him, after all those years …

  Her throat tightened and there was a part of her that wanted to snatch her hands away and run from the room, forget any of this had ever happened. But somehow she couldn’t bring herself to do it. He was here and he was letting her touch him and, God, she couldn’t stop.

  She stroked him, mesmerized by the play of his abs, by his ink, by the rise and fall of his massive chest, the slide of the dog tag chain across his skin as he breathed. Hot.… She couldn’t get over his heat and how her fingers felt scorched, like they would catch fire at any second. And her heartbeat was so loud she couldn’t hear anything else.

  She’d never thought about touching a man like this. Never allowed herself to, not even Wolf. She’d loved him but always from afar, always from a distance.

  But there was no distance now. He wasn’t merely a new email in her inbox, with stories from whichever place he’d been deployed. Or even a name in the “To” line of one her own emails, pouring her heart out to him about what was happening in her life. He wasn’t the memory of a tall, lanky boy who’d sat sprawled out in her father’s library, listening to her talk.

  He wasn’t the guy in the photos he’d sent her, cradling a gun or looking hot in a uniform.

  He was a living, breathing man who was lying right beneath her and she was touching him and it was real. It was all real. The hard heat of his body, the feel of his skin under her hands, the sound of his breathing …

  This was the man she loved. And he was right here.

  A small, cold current of fear wound through her.

  Loving Wolf Tate had been easy, because he’d existed only in her head. In her memory and in her imagination, fueled by his emails and the very rare phone calls. Her love had been an abstract thing, composed of longing and excitement, and a thrilling sort of nervousness. It hadn’t been physical, because she’d never let herself think of him like that.

  Because it made you uncomfortable. It made you want, and you can’t ever want.

  A tremble went through her and she found herself staring at the harsh lines of his beautiful face. That mobile, perfect mouth. The gleam in his fascinating eyes.

  And it came to her, very suddenly, that this wasn’t safe any longer. He didn’t exist in her head now, a construct she’d invented to channel all the love she had inside her into. A nice safe ideal to worship from afar without ever getting close.

  But if she continued with this, she’d definitely get close. And if she did, something would change inside her. A door would be opened that she’d always kept safely closed, and all the desires and needs she’d been keeping locked away would flood out. Real desires. Real needs. With hard, sharp edges that would cut her to pieces.

  She’d let herself want before. She never wanted to again.

  Olivia snatched her hands away from him, fear a cold stone in the center of her chest. Abruptly all she wanted was to get as far away from him as possible, put some of that distance between them right back again.

  Except Wolf must have realized something was wrong, because he sat up, and put his hands on her hips, large warm palms sliding down over her butt. Holding gently but firmly right where she was in his lap.

  “Hey,” he murmured, frowning, his gaze searching hers. “What’s up?”

  She had to fight to breathe, to not show a hint of her fear, because there was no way she could explain to him what the problem was. Not without revealing herself completely, and she couldn’t do that. Telling him she wanted him was one thing, but telling him she loved him was quite another.

  Do you love him though? Or did you only love the idea of him? You don’t really know him after all.

  The thought made her breathless and she couldn’t stop staring at him, the familiarity of his face changing, becoming someone else’s. A man with lines and scars, with experiences she didn’t know about and maybe never would. A man who wasn’t that boy she remembered, or the guy she’d imagined sending her those emails.

  A stranger.

  His frown deepened and he lifted a hand, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingertips grazing her skin as he did so, sending a shiver of reaction right through her. “You looked scared,” he said quietly. “You know I would never hurt you, Liv. Never ever.”

  Her throat constricted and she couldn’t speak, not that she knew what to say anyway. She simply wanted to get off him and get away. Pretend this had never happened.

  But then you’ll never escape.

  Yes, she could. She’d just … wait outside until he went to sleep. Or ply him with more alcohol. Actually, that was a good start, wasn’t it? She’d go get him something else from the minibar.

  “G-Gin,” she forced out. “Would you like some gin?”

  His frown deepened. “Gin?”

  “I could go and get some for you.” She was achingly aware of his body underneath hers, of the firm press of his thighs against her butt, and the warmth of one palm resting on her butt cheek. All that insane heat he put out was soaking into her, making her skin feel tight and her mouth dry. Sending her pulse into the stratosphere.

  And now he was sitting up, his chest was mere inches from hers, and it was like he was everywhere, surrounding her with heat and that dark cedar and leather scent.

  It was too much for her. He was too much for her.

  She wanted to push him away, but that would involve touching him and she’d already discovered what a bad idea that was.

  He stared at her, obviously puzzled. “I don’t want any gin. I thought you wanted to give me a blow job?”

  “No,” she said thickly. “I’ve changed my mind.”

  “Why? Did I do something you didn’t want? Did I scare you?”

  She couldn’t look at him. Her heartbeat wasn’t slowing down and her fingers itched to touch him again, slide under his thermal and stroke his skin. Learn what it was like to touch a man like him …

  No, God no. She couldn’t.

  “Liv?” One thumb and forefinger gripped her chin gently, turning her face toward him. “What’s wrong, baby?” There was concern in his voice and she could see it in his gaze too.

  And she remembered the day in the library when she’d been struggling with the anniversary of her mother’s death, and he’d noticed she wasn’t herself, and had asked what was wrong. There hadn’t been any reason not to tell him, so she had and he’d pulled her into his arms and given her a hug.

  She’d burst into tears, because no one had hugged her like that for years, not even when her mother had died, and she’d forgotten how good it was to be held. To be comforted and reassured.

  It had been years since that hug, years since she’d seen that same concern and warmth in another person’s eyes, because although she knew her father loved her, he was a cold man and he never showed it.

  And she knew that if she didn’t get up and leave right now, she’d burst into tears like she had all those years ago. All it would take was for Wolf to open his arms and hold her the way he had before, and the door inside her would burst wide open.

  And she didn’t know what would happen to her if it did.

  “Let me go, Wolf.” Her hands curled into unconscious fists. “Please, let me go.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  He didn’t know what the fuck had changed, but the distress in Olivia’s lovely blue eyes was real and it made his chest hurt. He couldn’t think where it had come from either, because she’d looked like she was into it.

  Shit, he’d been into it.

  Her s
light weight pressing down on his thighs and the heat between her legs so very close to his aching groin had been a delight he’d never imagined.

  He wasn’t much into teasing or dragging things out when it came to sex. He was too impatient, wanting to get down to the business of orgasms pretty much straightaway—no fucking around, so to speak.

  But the way Olivia had touched him—half hesitant, half eager—stroking him as if he were a work of art, had been one of the most erotic experiences of his life. And he’d be fucked if he knew why. All she’d done was touch him, for Christ’s sake.

  Yet there had been something about the feel of her fingers on his skin and the way she was sitting on him, about the prim, plain white cotton of her nightgown and the deep glow in her midnight eyes, that had turned him on like nobody’s business.

  The expression on her face had been so serious and yet there had been an element of wonder in it too, that had mesmerized him. Because what had been so wonderful about touching him? Plenty of women had touched him and never looked at him like that, not once.

  But then everything had changed and she’d looked almost afraid, snatching her hands from him like he’d burned her.

  “Hey, hey,” he murmured, stroking his thumb over her chin in an unconscious soothing movement. “Where’s the fire?”

  But she only stiffened, jerking her head out of his grip and scrambling awkwardly up and off him.

  “Liv.” He made a grab for her and missed as she slid off the bed. “What the hell is wrong?”

  But all she said was, “I’ll go get the gin,” before turning and leaving the bedroom.

  He stared after her, surprised and not a little pissed.

  Okay, if she wouldn’t tell him what the issue was, then that was her choice. She certainly didn’t owe him an explanation either, not after the way he’d treated her. But he really didn’t like the idea that perhaps he’d scared her.

  Kind of like closing the barn door after the horse has bolted and all that shit.

  He sat back against the pillows and scowled, scrubbing a hand through his hair.