Rachel Bailey - The Blackmailed Bride's Secret Child

“Oh, I know!” said a woman in a tight-fitting red sheath. “I just about cried when he hugged her up there. After all she’s been through, I’m glad someone is looking out for her.”

Beth felt Nico’s grin against her cheek and now she did feel like slapping him.

“I wouldn’t mind him looking out for me,” a second woman replied in a high voice. “He is seriously gorgeous.”

Beth felt a hot, moist tongue run along the arc of her ear before Nico sucked her earlobe into his mouth. Her knees wobbled but he held her firm.

“Isn’t he ever?” Red Sheath said. “I’d buy as many bottles of wine as he told me to. They should have him on the label.”

The joint sensation of gentle tugging on her earlobe and Nico’s warm breath in her ear was as bone melting as the kiss had been. Beth absentmindedly thought that the women at the door had no inkling of just how sexy this man really was.

“Look,” the second woman said, “there’s John Willis standing on his own. I’ve been dying for an introduction to him, come and talk me up.”

The voices faded as the women rejoined the party.

Beth squeezed her eyes shut and sucked in a deep breath. She knew she should leave too or she’d end up doing much worse than making out on the darkened terrace. This time enveloped in the shadows was like a fairy tale. It wasn’t real.

She pulled her sleeve back onto her shoulder. “I need to go back inside.”

“I need you here,” he said, voice rough, sending her pulse racing again.

Nothing in the world could be more appealing than Nico in a tuxedo, hair rumpled from her fingers, telling her that he needed her. But she couldn’t stay.

She pulled together all the self-will she could muster to resist him. “Nico—”

“Okay, you’re right.” His eyes were as full of the devil as they had been at the podium. “Let’s go back.”

He stood and straightened his tuxedo, finger-combed his hair.

Wary of his swift about-face, Beth took a step away, but couldn’t afford to waste the opportunity for a scandal-free end to this tryst. “I’ll go first,” she said, adjusting her dress and feeling around her mouth for smeared lipstick.

Nico wrapped an arm tightly around her waist. “We’ll go in together.”

Before she could protest, he led her to the large doors and over the threshold, into the edge of the crowd. He was all confidence and composure while she struggled to catch up with the abrupt change of both mood and scenery. One moment she’d been kissed senseless by Lucifer himself, the next she was again in the middle of her husband’s wake.

He grabbed two glasses of Trio from a passing waiter and handed one to her, letting his fingers linger on hers a second too long. “As I said, one drink then we’re leaving—feel free to mingle while you have it. I’ll be back for you. Soon.”

The heat in his eyes as he turned and walked away was unmistakable. He intended to seduce her, to make love to her, tonight. Her skin quivered and tightened, her belly felt heavy with desire still simmering from his kiss on the terrace moments ago.

Although, she corrected herself, lovemaking wasn’t a part of his plans. He had sexual plans for her, yes, but they’d be fuelled by lust and passion alone. Not love.

And, shockingly, even knowing that was no protection. Fighting her attraction for Nico was as futile as it had ever been.

But … what if she gave in? Stopped fighting the inevitable? If she went to his bed, it would all be over by tomorrow. He’d leave never knowing the truth about Marco, about the blackmail … and she’d have one more memory of him to cherish.

Yes, her body whispered. Do it.

Under her clothes, her naked skin felt the caress of the soft fabric of her gown; the tips of her sensitized breasts strained against the bra cupping them. Every step she took, every movement, became part of a sensual dance.

She spoke to several winery and vineyard workers, sipping her wine as she mingled. Then called Andrew the acting winemaker over. “I’m so sorry, but I have a headache—it feels like a migraine coming on. I need to go home.”

His face was a picture of concern, causing a ball of guilt to form in her stomach. “Of course—it’s too soon. I can’t imagine how you’re feeling. As I’ve said before, anything we can do for you, let me know.”

“Thank you, you’re too kind.” Her voice cracked with the force of her desire—she could feel Nico behind her, waiting. Fortunately, people would assume it was raw grief. No one could see what she was thinking, what she was about to do.…

“May I call a taxi for you?”

She offered a small smile of thanks. “No need. My brother-in-law is here, I’ll ask him to take me home. Please tell the other guests I wasn’t feeling well?”

“Certainly.”

She walked back to Nico and looked him calmly in the eye, determined not to give away how fast her heart pounded, not to anyone in the room—including him. “I’m ready to go.”

He raised an eyebrow, surprised. His eyes searched her face again, and she felt the heat flash right through her. She knew what she wanted, and he knew she wasn’t fighting it anymore.

Finally, he nodded. “Good.” He took her hand and tucked it into his elbow, marking her as his—if only for tonight—as he walked her from the memorial of her husband.

Taking her to his bed.

As Nico guided her through the hotel-room door and took her coat, Beth caught sight of the interior and hesitated.

Every surface was filled with flickering candles, enough to light the expansive room with a soft glow. Vases of out-of-season honeysuckle scented the air with their perfume, and—

And it was obvious he’d planned the whole thing. Had planned it before he’d picked her up for the evening. Before she’d agreed to come here.

Panic clawed at her chest. What was she doing here? She wanted him to make love to her, but she wanted it to be making love. This had nothing to do with love. It was unfinished business to him. Perhaps even some kind of challenge to lure her back to his bed.

The man who’d seemed reflective—emotionally exposed—for a few minutes on the winery’s terrace was long gone. Maybe she’d imagined him. This Nico was the one who’d knocked on her door this morning, the man with a heart of granite and eyes alive with sin. She was out of her depth, playing games with the devil.

The tension of this moment, this night, this entire day, threatened to overwhelm her, but she couldn’t let it. Praying some vestige of the Nico she’d loved still existed inside—the man who would have moved mountains to save her from pain—she turned.

She faced him with what she hoped looked like resolve, when it was anything but. “I’ve changed my mind.”

He prowled toward her, his eyes glittering. “Are you asking me to believe you could walk away from this?”

He cupped her face and when she met his heated gaze the lines blurred, past and present and loss and need blending until even she didn’t know if this would be heaven or hell—all she knew was it was inevitable.

He lowered his mouth to hers and she parted her lips without thought. His tongue plunged inside as he gripped her upper arms and she fell into the kiss, fell into him.

She’d been starving for him these long years, and now his mouth was on hers, she wanted more, needed it all. It was more than a kiss. It was coming home.

His arms crushed her into his solidness, held her tight, but not close enough, so she pulled at his bow tie, opened buttons and slid her hands across his scorching skin.

He groaned and shuddered, but didn’t break the kiss. How had she lived without this? Apart from the joy of motherhood, she’d been a dead woman walking since she’d last lain with him.