Shattered by the CEO (The Payback Affairs #1)(22)
Author: Emilie Rose

“Oh, my gosh. Rand. How are you? Did you know the reunion committee—of which I’m in charge—has been searching high and low for you?”

“No. I’ve been in California until recently. Serita, I…need to know how you are.”

“How long do you have?” She laughed. “Let’s see. I’m married. Billy and I have three little hellions, hence the Serita’s zoo greeting, and we live outside Kissimmee.” She paused. “But that’s not what you’re asking. Is it?”

“I need to know about that night.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Rand. Nadia always said—Oops.”

His sister’s suggestion to call suddenly made sense.

“You’ve kept in touch with Nadia?”

“She’s the class agent for her year. I am for ours. And class representatives talk. Okay, here’s the abbreviated version. I faked a suicide attempt because I was ticked off with my parents. All of my friends were going away to college and my overprotective parents wouldn’t let me. And being a drama queen, I reacted by doing the one thing guaranteed to make my folks crack down even tighter. Dumb, huh? And of course, I am paying now because my oldest daughter is just like me.”

Faked. Stunned, he leaned back in his chair.

“Rand? You did the right thing in breaking up with me. We were too young to get serious, and I was way too immature. Besides, if I’d married you, I never would have met Billy. And he’s the one I was meant to be with. He’s my Prince Charming.”

He heard satisfaction and happiness in Serita’s voice, and a load of guilt lifted from his shoulders. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Oh, buggers. Little Billy’s splashing in the potty again. Gotta go. Keep in touch. And I expect to see you at the next reunion. No excuses.”

The dial tone sounded.

Rand stared at the receiver and slowly cradled it. The one-two punch of his telephone conversations with Serita and Nadia left him reeling but also feeling lighter than he had in decades. He hadn’t been the cause of Serita’s self-destructive behavior, and according to Nadia, the blame for his mother’s death couldn’t be laid at his door, either.

That left Tara. If she’d been a victim of his father’s machinations, could he blame her? Look how the SOB had made Rand jump through hoops, and Rand was no naive pushover.

Forgiveness no longer seemed too much to ask.

It was time to take a chance on a relationship with Tara. He wasn’t thinking marriage or even long-term. His head wasn’t ready to take that leap yet, but for the first time in his life, the possibility of a relationship measured in weeks or months instead of hours or days, was there. And Tara had proven through standing by her mother and by not taking any crap from Rand that she was strong enough to handle whatever the future held.

He shut down his computer and locked away the notes on his exchange with Nadia. Anticipation seeped into his bloodstream. Anticipation of an evening with Tara.

Showing Tara a good time had always resulted in a good time for him. She’d been the one who’d helped him defuse the tension when the battles with his father had become too much. And she’d done it again in the past two weeks. With the Jet Ski ride, the stupid hula lessons and even letting him mow her grass.

He shot to his feet, crossed the room and yanked open his door. “Grab your stuff and let’s go.”

Tara startled and glanced at her watch. “It’s barely five.”

“We’re leaving. Lock up.”

“Let me pack the confidential files to work on tonight.”

“No. No work tonight.”

Her confusion over his deviation from the norm of working almost around the clock showed in her puckered brow and the teeth pinching her bottom lip. “Did you decide to turn everything over to a forensic accountant like we discussed?”

“Not yet.”

She shut down her computer, locked away the files and retrieved her purse.

“Where are we going?” she asked as she rose.

“Home. To bed.”

Her eyes went wide and her purse slipped from her fingers and bounced off her shoe. Rand bent, snatched it up and handed it to her. Heat pooled in his groin. He planned to make love to Tara tonight without holding back. It was time. Hell, past time. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

Hope flared in her big, blue eyes, and for the first time, Rand didn’t feel an urgent need to crush it with caustic words.

Ten

H ad she imagined the look in Rand’s eyes?

By the time she and Rand had made the twenty-five-minute drive to her house in his Porsche convertible Tara had convinced herself she’d made a mistake. The roar of the wind and the sounds of traffic during the ride had made conversation difficult. She had no barometer to measure his strange mood.Her legs trembled as she traversed the sidewalk leading to her front door. She lifted a trembling hand to smooth her windblown hair. He caught it, pulled her behind the bougainvillea screening her front porch from the street and backed her against the porch post. His hands cupped her face, holding her while he studied her as if memorizing her features. His thumbs skated over her cheekbones.

Anticipation tempered with desire and something softer, warmer and sweeter than anything she’d ever seen from Rand before simmered in his eyes.

No. She hadn’t made a mistake.

Her heart skipped erratically. Hope filled her chest and bathed her with a heat far stronger than the summer sun’s evening glow. She dampened her lips and his eyes tracked the movement.

He bent his head and touched his lips to hers in a kiss so gentle, so fleeting, she sighed.

“Let’s take this inside.”

The gravelly timbre of his voice whipped her hormones into a frenzy. Whatever had come over him, she liked it, and she wasn’t about to argue.

Rand unlocked the door, ushered her over the threshold and then reengaged the lock with a quick flick of his wrist. Without a word he laced his fingers through hers and led her upstairs to her bedroom. Her pulse raced, and it had nothing to do with his swift ascent of the stairs.

In her room he shrugged out of his suit coat and tossed it on a chair, and then he took her purse and sent it in the same direction.

“Rand?” She kept waiting for one of his barbs—the ones she’d finally figured out he used to push her away whenever she got too close.

He lifted his hands and removed the pins from her hair, dropping them on the bedside table. When he finished, he finger-combed her curls. “I like it short.”

“Thank you?”

“It’s sexy. Makes it easy for me to do this.” He buried his face in her neck. His five o’clock shadow pricked deliciously beneath her ear, contrasting with the soft touch of his lips, the erotic scrape of his teeth along her tendon and the slick heat of his tongue.

She shivered and hooked her fingers over his belt for balance. He found her zipper and lowered it. Cool air dusted her spine. And then he straightened and pulled her fuchsia sheath dress over her head, leaving her in the matching fuchsia bikini-panty-and-bra set she’d bought specifically with him in mind. The flare of his nostrils and his expanding pupils told her he liked the semi-sheer lace. Her dress landed somewhere near the chair, but his eyes never left her and hers never left his.

His hands clasped her h*ps and his thumbs caressed the sensitive skin beneath her navel. Goose bumps lifted her skin.

She covered his hands. “Rand, what’s going on?”

He looked deep into her eyes. “We’re going to do something that’s overdue. We’re going to make love in your bed. All night long.”

Her breath stalled in her chest and the blood drained from her head. She felt wobbly and weak. He’d said make love instead of have sex or, even worse, do her.

Did that mean what she thought it meant? She was afraid to let herself hope. She’d hoped for miracles before, with Rand, with her mother, and she’d been the loser both times.

Tara’s bold, new courage deserted her. She couldn’t ask for clarification. Because his reply could be the answer to her prayers. Or the end of her dreams. But she could show him what she wanted him to mean.

She reached up, curled her fingers around his neck and brought his lips to hers. He took her mouth in a hot, hungry kiss, raking his hands up and down her bare back, and she poured every ounce of feeling she had into her response.

A flick of his fingers loosened her bra. When he broke the kiss and pulled back slightly to remove it she shoved her hands between them and tackled the buttons of his shirt. Concentrating on the task wasn’t easy with his hands shaping her br**sts and buffing the sensitive tips. Once she had his shirt open and his shirttails free, she burrowed herself against his skin, absorbing his heat and relishing the tickle of his chest hair on her tightly beaded n**ples.

Rand released her long enough to deal with his cuffs and then he removed his shirt. His gaze devoured her, her br**sts, her panties, her legs, her face. She’d waited years to see that look of pure, unrestrained passion aimed at her from those hazel eyes.

She loosened his leather belt buckle and his pants and eagerly shoved the fabric down his thighs. His hands mimicked her actions, skimming her panties over her hips. The lace pooled at her ankles. She kicked her sandals and panties out of the way, and stood nak*d before him in the bright sunlight streaming through the windows. She suddenly felt self-conscious and crossed her arms. Each time they’d made love the room had either been dimly lit or dark.

“Don’t. You look beautiful. You were gorgeous before, but now…” He pursed his lips and let out a silent whistle.

“Stunning.”

She basked in the words, but even more so in the approval and hunger in his eyes. This was what she’d wanted from him five years ago when he’d swept her off her feet and what she wanted even more now. And with every passing second she wanted to believe in miracles.

He sat on the mattress to remove his shoes. Tara quickly knelt in front of him and took over the task. Her fingers trembled, but as soon as the wingtips, socks and pants were history she rose, eager to hold him, to be as close to him as she possibly could be.

Instead of standing, Rand grasped her waist and pulled her between his legs to lave her breast with his tongue. She shifted impatiently as he circled, grazed, sucked and caressed, but he wouldn’t be rushed. One big hand splayed across her bottom, alternately kneading her flesh and caressing her crevice. The other combed through her curls, found her slickness and stroked, igniting the desire smoldering low in her belly.

She tangled her fingers in his hair, then shaped his brow, cheekbones, stubbled jaw and strong neck while he worked magic with his hands and mouth. The tremors started deep within her. She didn’t want to peak alone this time. She wanted to share that moment with Rand, for she truly would be making love.

She dug her nails into his broad shoulders, wiggled free of his embrace and opened the nightstand drawer. After locating a condom she knelt again to roll it over his hard, smooth flesh. His hands dug into the edge of the mattress. His chest and his penis expanded. His scent—part arousal, part Rand—filled her senses.

And then he bolted to his feet, pulling her with him and into his arms. The heat of his body scalded her and his caressing hands lit trails of fire over her skin. His kisses devoured her with sweeps and swirls of his tongue and left her with a head-spinning shortage of oxygen. She clung to him, stroked him, his shoulders, his back, his buttocks, his upper thighs—every supple, taut inch within reach.