Baby for the Billionaire(49)
Author: Maxine Sullivan

“The billion-dollar baby bargain,” he said sardonically, his fingers sliding along her jawline.

“Hey—” the implication annoyed her, and his caress was unsettling “—I’m not doing this for money, you know that. I wouldn’t take a cent from you.”

But despite her heated words her bones were turning to fluid under his tantalizing touch. The citrus and male scent of him surrounded her. And the assault on her senses conspired to make her give a little shiver.

His fingertips came to rest under her chin. “Perhaps I should’ve offered you a million dollars to walk away from your custody and guardian responsibilities?”

Could he be serious? She wasn’t sure. But she decided to rid him of that notion once and for all. “You’re insane. I would never’ve taken it. Dylan is worth more than any amount of money to me.”

“And me, too.” He moved his thumb along her throat until it rested in the soft hollow beneath her ear. “Stalemate. So we’re stuck with each other.”

“But we’re not going to have sex.” She sounded ridiculously breathless.

He smiled, a slow, wolfish smile. “If you’re certain, then why is your pulse beating so fast?”

“It’s not my pulse—it’s yours you’re feeling through your thumb,” she said in a strangled voice.

Connor laughed. And her toes curled up at the sound.

“We’re going to have sex,” he said. “And like I promised, it will be far from casual.”

“You’re so arrogant,” she accused him.

“Think so?”

He moved and she squealed.

“Too late.” His arms were around her shoulders. “I’m not going to let you go.”

“But we agreed—”

“The idea of being married and not making love is …” His voice trailed away as he placed a kiss against her neck.

“Is what?” He’d taken her breath away again—along with her ability to think.

“It’s stupid.” His mouth opened hungrily against her silken skin. “Whose idea was it, anyway?”

“I don’t know.” Her voice was hoarse.

He blew softly, and shivers broke over her skin.

“Million-dollar question—what do you want me to do now, Victoria?”

Was he asking permission? Did Connor really care what she wanted? Or would he just take what he wanted and tumble away, like every man she’d ever known?

Chapter Ten

Connor felt her stiffen.

Not giving her time to gather her defenses, he licked the hollow at the base of her throat.

She jumped.

He repeated the caress. This time she groaned, and her body went soft, pliable—no sign of resistance remaining.

Her dressing gown opened with one tug of the sash that she’d tied in a bow. Underneath she wore a white, lacy confection that was likely to drive him insane.

Three buttons teased him.

It took him less than thirty seconds to unfasten them all. He brushed the neckline open, exposing the sweetly scented dip between her br**sts. The slopes of her br**sts glowed, pale and luminescent. Like a pair of priceless pearls.

Dana had always sported a tan. He forced his thoughts away from Dana, and stroked his hand across the rise of pale skin.

“Beautiful.”

He peeled the lace of the tab away, baring her br**sts and covered her with his hands. “See? You fit inside my palms like you were made for them. Why would you want more?”

He could feel himself growing hard.

Releasing her, he unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged it off. Her hands came up and touched the bare skin of his stomach. His muscles pulled taut, and he fought back a groan of delight.

He wanted to murmur, “Touch me, touch me”. But it was too soon.

Instead he lowered his head and kissed the tips of her exposed br**sts.

She arched her back, coming off the couch.

Connor opened his mouth, covering her whole nipple and used his tongue.

Victoria moaned, her eyelashes falling against her cheeks. Her head moved restlessly from side to side.

He moved across and sucked on the other nipple, until she shifted and moaned again.

“Like that?”

All he heard was a guttural sound of pure desire.

Connor blew on both n**ples, and watched as they hardened and gooseflesh rippled across her br**sts and belly. The hunger that took him was raw and primal in its intensity.

Lifting his own head, Connor slipped his hands under the hem of her skimpy nightgown, and stripped it off over her head.

His fingers trembled with want. And his heart was racing, the beat of it pounding in his ears.

He rose to his feet and dropped his pants and boxers.

“Don’t stop,” she remonstrated, opening her eyes. They grew wide as they took in his nak*dness, his readiness for her.

He waited for her to back out.

But she didn’t.

Instead she sat up and stroked the length of his erection with her delicate fingers. Connor saw stars. He fell back against the couch and pulled her over him.

“Now,” he whispered.

She straddled him. Before he could shift himself nearer, she’d surrounded him with her hands and drawn him to the entrance of her body. In one swift movement she sank down on him.

Her body was hot and wet and wild around his.

When she started to move, he moved, too. The rhythm that built was full of passion and power. As he thrust upward, Connor felt the heat take him.

He met her gaze, the green-gold eyes wild with emotion. He’d never seen anything … felt anything … so absolutely, perfectly exquisite.

“I can’t hold—” He gasped.

Then pleasure surrounded him as her orgasm hurled her over the edge and the feminine shivers trembled around him.

Victoria awakened to the sound of clinking china. She opened her eyes to the unfamiliar surroundings of Connor’s bedroom. And the domestic picture of Connor clasping Dylan—clad in only a diaper—against his hip, while he carefully poured tea. The dark liquid spilled into two delicate, rose-patterned tea cups arranged on a tray on the chest at the bottom of the bed, much to Dylan’s wide-eyed fascination.

Connor should’ve looked incongruous—he didn’t.

In fact he’d never looked more gorgeous. Wearing only a pair of boxers—and an almost nak*d baby—he’d never appeared more male. Her gaze lingered on the broad chest on which she’d rested her head before falling asleep in the early hours of the morning.

Images of the intimacies they’d shared last night flashed through her mind.

It had been wonderful. And, as Connor had promised, there had been nothing casual about the experience. Victoria stretched, languorously, slowly becoming aware of all the hidden places where she ached.

“You’re awake,” Connor greeted her as she moved.

She gave a soft groan. He raised a dark eyebrow with interest and she felt her cheeks grow hot.

Before he could say anything—anything at all, however innocent—she said, “Oh, I’m dying for a cup of tea.”

At his slow grin she realized she’d given him an opening for any number of risqué comments, so she simply cooed at Dylan to break the growing hush.

A moment later Connor asked blandly, “Do you want sugar in your tea?”

The incongruity of it all struck her. She’d slept with a man who knew barely anything about her, who didn’t even know how she took her tea. Yet he was her husband—and now he knew exactly what intimacies made her go wild with delight.

As for herself, she suspected she was falling headlong in love with her handsome husband. The thought of being at a man’s mercy was what she’d always dreaded. But it was proving to be the most sensual, most emotional experience of her life. Nothing like what her mother had experienced.

“One spoon, please.”

He stirred it in. Hitching Dylan higher, he picked up the cup and saucer and came around the bed end.

As Connor put the tea down on the bed stand, Dylan grunted in protest and wriggled in his arms, clearly intent on diving into the covers. Laughing, Victoria hoisted the baby into her arms and buried her nose in his soft neck, making snuffling sounds that caused him to wriggle more wildly. Happiness soared through her.

Dylan grabbed at her hair.

“Ow.” Victoria carefully freed his fingers from the silky strands. Connor stooped forward to help. Dylan, finally spying an opening, dived under Connor’s arm in search of the tea cup.

“Hot,” Victoria said. Dylan reared away, already recognizing the warning.

A pile of newspapers landed on the bed beside her. “Why don’t you take it easy. Drink your tea, and take the opportunity to read the paper?”

She laughed. “Opportunity? With Dylan to help?”

“I’d planned to take Dylan to shower with me.”

“Ooh, he’ll love that.” And she gave Connor a glowing smile. “Thank you. I can’t remember when last I relaxed and simply lazed in bed.”

Shadows darkened the eyes that looked down into hers. Her heart contracted. They both knew the last time for either of them to relax without a care had been before that watershed weekend when Michael and Suzy had been killed.

Her throat tightened … her happiness, this dizzy emotional roller coaster, had followed the worst tragedy of her life. The terrible, wrenching loss that had taken Suzy from her had given her Dylan—and brought Connor into her life. He was far from being the total jerk she’d always thought he was—she’d discovered a side of him she liked … loved … that she wanted to get to know better.

It was insane.

Connor bent forward and kissed her forehead. “Take it easy, Tory. Dylan and I will make breakfast after our shower.” He swept the baby off the covers and jiggled Dylan up and down. “Won’t we, big guy?”

At the familiar name, she gave him a misty smile, then settled herself against the pillows and listened to Dylan’s crowing with glee.

“Thanks, Connor. It sounds like heaven.”

He hesitated. “I seem to remember Suzy calling you Tory. Everyone else calls you Victoria?”

“Well, yes, it’s my name, after all.”

“Don’t get smart,” he growled, swotting her bottom.

“I’ve never liked being called Vicki.”

“What about Tory? Do you like that?”

A pang shot through her. “Only Suzy and her parents ever called me that. It made it very special. Now they’re all gone.”

A brief silence fell.

At last Connor said gruffly, “Tory suits you. Makes me think of the toffee-gold in your eyes. It’s much less of a mouthful than Victoria.”

“You can call me Tory if you want,” she offered.

“I think I will.” He looked down at the baby curled against him. “Don’t you think so, Dyl?”

Dylan gooed.

Grinning at her, Connor said, “He agrees I should call you Tory.”

Still smiling, as Connor disappeared with the baby into the en suite, Victoria thought about the unexpected turn her life had taken.

And the Connor she’d discovered last night had blown her mind. Gentle. Passionate. She’d never intended to sleep with him, but it had been so right. She couldn’t bring herself to regret the annihilation of their no-sex pact, even though she suspected last night was going to change everything between them.

For the better.

From the bathroom she could hear the rumble of her lover’s deep voice and Dylan’s squeals.

He’d assured her he wouldn’t leave her high and dry. They had a chance to be the family she’d never dared dream of.

Despite her reservations about herself, about Connor’s ability to give her the independence she needed, they really could make this marriage work. At least they both knew exactly where they stood. There were no pretenses. For a brief moment she thought about the fact that she’s never told Connor that her eggs had helped Suzy to fall pregnant. That Dylan was part of her. Then she pushed it away. That wasn’t really a pretense—she’d kept it secret for Suzy’s sake. And she’d never considered herself Dylan’s mother—not until Suzy had been killed. But she knew she would have to tell Connor the truth—the sooner the better.

Contentment spread over her as she picked up the paper. The headlines were too depressing; she pulled her face. Her usual favorite, the financial pages didn’t draw her as they normally did. She flipped to the middle of the paper, to the personality features. An inset photo drew her eye.

Connor …

In the gossip pages?

The larger surrounding photo was of a laughing couple in wedding dress. She glanced at the caption. “Business as usual?” Dana and Paul had gotten married?

Did Connor know?

She quickly scanned further. The story salaciously rehashed the fact that Dana had been Connor’s live-in lover and that her defection to Paul’s bed had caused a split in the company.

But it was the concluding paragraph of the story that disturbed Victoria most. The reporter’s sly insinuation, that Connor’s same-day, low-key wedding had been his way of beating the wedding couple to the church door was given credence by Connor’s apparent refusal to comment.

Unmindful of the hiss of the shower and the sounds of glee in the en suite, Victoria set down the paper and stared blindly out of the bedroom window. She didn’t even see the first pair of tuis of the spring whistling in the giant pohutukawa in the garden—which would normally have delighted her.

Connor had known that Dana and Paul were getting married yesterday.

Nothing could dislodge that earth-shattering discovery. Connor had clearly known about the wedding—he’d even been tackily asked to comment. Had last night been about Dana marrying Paul?

A feeling of violation shrouded Victoria. Was it possible that in some twisted way she’d become Connor’s instrument of revenge against the couple who’d betrayed him?

No, it wasn’t possible. Because she had made the choice to move in with him. Not Connor.