His Heir, Her Honor (Rich, Rugged And Royal #3)(21)
Author: Catherine Mann

A slow, sexy smile creasing her face, she swayed closer, her green eyes glinting jewel tones. “Then what’s stopping you?”

As much as it pained him, he forced out the words that would push her away for the night. “It would be wrong to take advantage of a woman when she’s drunk or crying.”

When they went to bed together again—and he was damn determined that they would—he wanted her every bit as certain as he was. Although the anger tightening her face made it clear his road back into her arms might not be smooth. He’d wounded her pride.

“Fine, then.” She yanked up her zipper and swiped her fingers under her eyes a final time, clearing away all signs of tears.

Except for a tiny smudge of mascara streaking into her hairline. He thumbed the splotch and she jerked away.

He wished life’s messes were as easily cleared. “Sleep on it. If in the morning when you’re dry-eyed and rested you’re still interested, then believe me, I’ll have you on the nearest flat surface before the crepes cool.”

The anger in her face eased a hint to reservation. “You can cook crepes?”

“Is that such a surprise?” He wanted to coax a smile to her face, end this day on a lighter note, anything to keep tears from her eyes. “I would have made them for you that morning if you’d stayed around.”

She studied him with a narrowed, discerning gaze. “Is that what the cold shoulder has been about these past months? Because I left before breakfast? I remember things differently.”

“Tell me what you recall.” He could only think of how much he’d gone through the motions that morning, his insides shredded by the memories of his mother’s assassination. He’d been intent on not letting Lilah get too close, maintaining the distance that protected him from a past he didn’t stand a chance of reconciling.

“I remember the scent of bacon in the air along with the gruff tone in your voice and the way you hauled on your clothes for work.” Hurt leaked into her voice, filling him with regret. “Can you deny that breakfast together would have been decidedly awkward?”

The last thing he wanted was to revisit the past in any form, especially given how poorly he’d handled it all in the ensuing months. He mentally kicked himself for bringing up that night in the first place. “Why don’t we focus on now, rather than then? Meet me for crepes in about—” he glanced at his watch “—nine hours.”

Steeling himself from taking things further tonight, he pressed a kiss to her cheek and tasted the salty remnants of her tears. He stood quickly before she could pull away or get angry again, and gestured the way toward her room. As she walked ahead silently, he realized that while her crying had stopped, he could still see the tension rippling through her spine. He’d accomplished nothing to help her.

God, he hated being mystified when it came to this woman. He always, always could reason his way through anything. But the way he felt about Lilah had wreaked havoc on his self-control.

With the scent of her still on his skin bringing back memories of their night together, it was all he could do to keep from charging after her and taking her up on her enticing offer….

He watched Lilah across the ballroom. Their kiss on the rooftop garden had spiraled out of control until they were seconds from having sex right there. Only the prospect of frostbite had convinced them to relocate. To his office. ASAP.

Anticipation ramped his heart rate as he tracked her making her way through the throng toward the exit, doing her best to disengage herself from the other partiers attempting to snag her attention. Jim—the head of pediatrics—was especially persistent, but then the guy wanted a substantial chunk of some grant money that had just come through.

Vaguely, Carlos registered his own name being called. He half glanced to find the new radiologist—Nancy Something—waving to snag his attention. He nodded politely then surged ahead before he could become entangled in a conversation. His full focus was on Lilah and their assignation.

His office was distant and private since Lilah had relocated his space after the Medina exposé hit the news and brought reporters rushing into his life. And speaking of the press, he checked his back to make sure no one followed him down the back hall.

He slid his key into the office lock just as a hand fell to rest on his shoulder. Lilah. Turning, he looped an arm around her and sealed his mouth to hers again, reaching behind to open the door.

Her fists tightened in his tux, her kiss increasingly frantic. Their legs tangling, he backed into his workspace, kicked the door closed and flattened her to the door.

He didn’t know how this had flamed so high so fast, but he’d never wanted a woman as much as he had to have Lilah. Here. This minute.

Her hands fell to his pants and made fast work of his belt. Even now, the woman was bold and efficient. Strong. He admired that about her. He wanted to wrinkle her perfect dress, to ruck it up to her waist and bury himself inside her until she was lost in the moment. Out of control. Calling out his name. Especially with her fingers nudging down his zipper.

Good thing he was always prepared. He pulled the condom from his wallet and plucked out the packet of protection.

Reflexively, he pushed back thoughts of the children he would never have. Of how he didn’t even dare risk adoption, risk exposing any child, any woman, to the dangers his family had faced. He would not, could not live through the nightmare of watching another woman suffer because of her connection to the Medina name.

Restraint shaky, he gathered Lilah’s dress, bunching the silky fabric upward. He revealed his Grecian goddess inch by inch of creamy leg, nudged aside her panties and sunk inside. The warm clamp of her body took him to a level beyond anything he’d experienced…beyond anything he would feel again since this was the only night he could have with her….

Embers blurring as he stared, Carlos rubbed his fingers together, the moisture from Lilah’s tears soaking into his skin. Had he done the right thing in turning away from her, sending her to her room? Hell, half the time he didn’t know what he was doing when it came to her. He reacted with his gut instead of his brain.

The tears she’d cried were so different from the ones shed by his patients and their worried parents. In those cases, he knew how to respond, his eyes firmly fixed on healing. Here, he didn’t know how to ease her pain.

Then it hit him like the logs blazing back to life.

He was the cause of her tears and her tension. He’d sensed her anger the day she’d told him about the baby—tough to miss when she’d slapped him. But so intent on protecting her with distance, he’d missed the obvious.