Jennifer Greene - The Billionaire’s Handler

She was doing the same thing. Exploring him. Every which way. Her gaze intent, absorbed, her touch wild, then measured and tender. She shivered from thrill, then from…something else. And when she met his eyes, he thought maybe time had stopped forever.

He swished her beneath him, whispered, “Hold on, Cee.”

She whispered, “You’d better hold on too, Maguire, because I’m not gonna be gentle.”

How could there be laughter again, in the midst of so much tense tight need? Desire made his heart slam, his pulse skid, his body heat beyond boiling. Yet he flowed inside her, butter on butter, a smooth, tight, hot joining that made her cry out.

And urge him on.

A tumultuous ride of pure sensation, wild and free, sunlight flooding on her slim white body, her face, as if she were just that. Sunlight. Pure sunlight. The light in her seemed to reach him like nothing else ever had.

Her body suddenly arched, pleasure bursting from her in a cascade of shudders, and that light of hers, that heart-light, pushed him over the edge.

Later, she slept on his chest. He grabbed a jacket to cover her, but he didn’t nap. He couldn’t. Heaven knew what had just happened, but positively, it had never happened to him before. She had never happened to him before.

He was in love with her.

Forbidden or not, that’s what it was. Right or wrong, there was no other name for it.

It was the craziest thing-at his advanced age of thirty-five, with all the complicated crazy life he’d already been through-to discover that he’d never been in love before.

He’d dealt with crisis his entire life. But never one this momentous or petrifying.

“Oh, my…oh, my…oh, my.” Maybe she’d daydreamed about spending the night in a tree house, but the reality was infinitely more wonderful. Right outside the window, on a nearby branch, perched an owl. A big owl. A big, beautiful whiteish owl. Just sitting there, where she and Maguire could look at him. “Isn’t he magnificent?”

“Compared to you, no. Compared to other creatures-yeah, he’s pretty damn amazing.”

She twisted in his arms. The cushions on the floor made a mattress. Moonlight pouring in was brighter than any artificial light. She was scooped in his arms, using one of his arms as a pillow, his other arm tucked around her, both of them naked beneath a mound of sleeping bags. “Did you just call me magnificent, Maguire?”

“Couldn’t have.”

“Because it sounded like it.”

“You misheard. Or it was a slip of the tongue, because it’s so late and we’re both tired.”

“We’re both tired because you were so magnificent.”

Oops. Wrong thing to say. He tensed up like a shutter slamming out sunlight. For a while, he’d been lazy and relaxed, the Maguire she knew could be coaxed out of hiding. He was a man who laughed, teased her, took teasing back, inhaled the silver-and-black-velvet night out there with the same relish she did.

Apparently he forgot he was the relentless alphamale Maguire for a few hours…but now he went quiet on her again. It occurred to her-it kept occurring to her-that she’d used silence as a way to protect herself in a very similar way. Maguire might not have a case of hysterical deafness, but just like her, he’d found a way to shut himself off from things that were threatening to him.

“Hey, lover,” she murmured, trying to capture his attention, and of course, she did. She got “the eyebrow” at the use of the endearment. “The tree house is impossibly wonderful. I’m really glad you found it.”

“Me, too. I can’t believe I never even thought about one before.”

“It’s such a perfect hideaway. Nothing big to take care of. Just a place to hide out. Forget civilization for a while.” Without skipping a beat, she segued into the topic on her mind and heart. “Maguire, if you’re feeling guilty because of something to do with me-don’t.”

His head swiveled toward hers immediately. His eyes looked huge and dark in the moonlight. “Want some wine?”

“Nope. Just want to say…I’m hugely glad we did this.”

“Good,” he snapped.

She’d survived putting her finger in an electric socket before. And was willing to risk it again. For him. “You know,” she murmured, “I have every right to love you if I want to. Every right to admit that you turn me way, way on. To admit that I care for you. To admit that I’ve never felt…this kind of desire before. And that I’m old enough to throw caution to the winds and do something just for myself.” When he didn’t respond-how easy for Maguire to shut up and dodge her that way-she said bluntly, “You care a lot for me too.”

“Of course I do.”

“No. Not like a big brother. Not like a responsibility. I mean…the lover kind of caring.”

“Do we really have to have this talk?”

“Uh-huh.” She nodded vigorously, propped up on an elbow.

He sighed, heavier than a north winter wind. “Here’s the thing. This shouldn’t have happened. The making love. The problem is…your vulnerability. I came into your life to right a wrong, to fix things. Making love with you was taking advantage.”

“Hello. Do you remember my participation both times? Did you have to sell me tickets?”

“Two weeks ago you were crushed.”

“Yeah, I was. A mess. But that was then. I wanted this. You wanted this. We’re both bringing trust and respect and a whole lot of plain chemistry to the table. I don’t see anyone getting hurt in this scenario.”

“You could be hurt.”

“Maybe. But isn’t that what you said our time together was about? Making me tougher. Making me stand up for what I want and need. Making me decide what’s right for me and how to go about it.”

“Carolina. You’re not in love with me. This is just a moment in time. Two weeks. Not a vacation from life, but a moratorium on stress. Nothing you want or do is wrong. I just don’t want you getting long-term hopes-or fears-that are distracting. I want you going back to your life feeling strong and good.”

She leaned closer. Touched his bottom lip with her fingertip, saw his eyes, that flash-fast spark with fire.

“Okay,” she said, “but what I’ve been trying to tell you, Maguire, is that you’re exactly what I needed. Not just the mentoring lessons and all the spoiling. But you, specifically you. Making love with me. There’s no guilt or wrong. What you’ve been with me has helped me become stronger.”

“That sounds real good, Ms. Toughie. But it doesn’t make sense.”

“You’re not a woman. It makes perfect sense to me.” She touched his arm-not in invitation, not about the discussion, but to motion him outside. The white owl had spotted prey somewhere in the darkness. One instant he was perched high and silent, the next soaring, swooping down…silent and beautiful.

“I have the feeling a mouse is going to have a very bad night,” Maguire murmured.

“But our owl has to eat too. He’s been sitting there for hours in the cold.” Like Maguire, she thought. He took it for granted. That he’d always be alone in the cold. “Okay, you.”

“Okay, what?”

“Okay, I know you’re sick of talking. That you don’t like this kind of talk. So I just want to say one more thing and then you’re free.”

“No. Nothing good ever follows after a woman says she only wants to say one more thing.”

She grinned. But not for long. She went soft and quiet. “You made me reexamine my life, Maguire. Made me think about all the things I’ve yearned for or wanted-and most of them, I figured out, aren’t about money at all. They’re about fun. And wonder. And new experiences. And wanting richness-not money richness, but richness in life experiences and relationships with people.”