Virgin: Undone by the Billionaire: The Innocent's Dark Seduction / Count Maxime's Virgin / Untamed Billionaire, Undressed Virgin. Jennie Lucas
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she found Ruby enjoying an extremely messy breakfast in her high chair. Her nanny was unloading the dishwasher, putting the china away in the cupboard as she made silly faces to make the baby laugh.
“Good morning, Mrs. O’Keefe.”
“Good morning, Countess,” the plump, kindly woman replied with an Irish lilt.
“And good morning to you, Ruby,” Lia said, wiping a clump of strained peaches off her chubby cheeks tenderly. “And how are you enjoying your breakfast this morning?”
Ruby gurgled at her happily, waving a spoon.
Lia kissed the baby’s forehead, feeling a wave of love. As always, she hated the thought of leaving her daughter, even for just a few hours. Even for such a good cause.
“She’ll be fine, my dear.” Mrs. O’Keefe said with a smile. She leaned forward to tickle the baby’s tummy through her pajamas, making the baby shriek with glee. The capable Irish widow had cared for them since before Ruby was born, watching over the whole household as if they were her own daughter and granddaughter. “We’ll have a lovely morning, reading stories and playing with blocks, then her morning nap. You’ll be gone such a short time. She won’t even miss you.”
“I know,” Lia said numbly. Ruby would be fine. It was Lia who always had a hard time. “It’s just that I was already away from her for the wedding last night …”
Mrs. O’Keefe patted her shoulder. “I’m glad you got out. About time, I think. Your husband was a good man. I mourned my own, as well. But you’ve been mourning him long enough. The count wouldn’t have wanted you to take on so. You’re a beautiful young woman with a wee baby. You deserve a night out for a bit of fun.”
A bit of fun? Lia thought of Roark pressing her legs apart, his hot breath on her thighs. The feel of his tongue as he tasted her.
Her whole body trembled as she tried to push the memory away. It’s over, she told herself desperately. He’s gone. I’ll never see him again.
But she couldn’t stop trembling.
She’d spent ten years being faithful to Giovanni in a marriage of companionship. After his death, she’d found out she was pregnant with Roark’s child and she’d never had the chance—or the inclination—to sow any more wild oats. She was twenty-nine years old and she’d had only one sexual experience in her whole life. Only one lover.
Roark.
No wonder he held such power over her.
Lia’s hands shook as she put on her white wool overcoat with the princess-style collar. Even hating him, she couldn’t resist. This fire for Roark had burned inside her for far too long, unstoked but hot beneath the ash.
Her only hope was to never see him again.
Lia put on her white gloves and scarf, then hugged her peaches-happy baby. “I’ll be back before noon.”
“No hurry, love,” Mrs. O’Keefe said placidly. “She’ll likely sleep till two.”
Picking up her Chanel handbag in her gloved hands, Lia gave her daughter one last kiss, then took a deep breath and left. As she came out of her town house she looked up at the acres of empty space on the other side of the street.
She’d bought this new town house last year because of the location. No one had understood why she would want to live in the Far West Side of Manhattan, away from the more exclusive Upper East Side where most of her friends lived; but this was the only place in the city that made her feel a sense of home.
Her sister’s unfinished park was across the street, holding the silence of winter in the snowy, sparkling morning. The railyards and broken-down warehouses had been cleared. The park waited breathlessly for spring, when the frozen earth beneath the snow would soften and warm, and grass, flowers and trees could be planted. The Valentine’s Day fund-raiser would pay for much of that.
“Good morning.”
She nearly jumped when she saw Roark standing at the bottom of her town house steps. Seeing him was like seeing a ghost. She’d already decided he was long gone, on his private plane flying across the Pacific.
She swallowed. “What are you doing here?”
His dark eyes gleamed as he looked at her, and she felt her heart quicken and pound, making her cheeks hot. Making her hot all over. “Waiting for you.”
He came up the steps and took her hand. Even through her gloves she felt his touch sear her skin, his heat causing sparks all over her body.
“I thought you were going back to Asia,” she whispered.
His gaze traced her hungrily. “Not till this afternoon.”
She’d been so sure he was gone. But now, with his hand holding hers, all she could think about was how glad she was to see him, how intoxicating it was to be near him again.
Then she remembered Ruby.
Her sweet laughing baby, eating peaches and rice cereal in her town house. Lia glanced behind her, then clenched her hands.
She had to get Roark out of here.
“I’m on my way to work.” Ripping her hand from his grasp, she started walking quickly down the steps.
“I didn’t know you had a job.”
“I’m still doing fund-raising for the park.” Stopping on the sidewalk, she looked each way down the quiet street. “It’s not as easy as you might think.”
“I’m sure,” Roark said, sounding amused. “What are you doing? Looking both ways before you cross the street?”
“Hailing a cab,” she said, annoyed.
“You’ll never get a cab this time of the morning. Where’s your driver?”
“It was an unnecessary expense. I let him go when I had …” When I had a baby. She coughed, coloring. “Lately, I’ve been working more from home.”
“I can help.” Roark indicated the black Rolls-Royce that was waiting discreetly at a distance. “My driver can take you wherever you need to go.”
She ground her teeth. “I am not one of your floozies, Roark, waiting breathlessly for your assistance. I can get my own cab.”
He lifted his hands in surrender. “Go ahead.”
She looked first one way, then the other down the quiet street. A few cars went by. She lifted her arm as several taxis passed—all of them already filled with passengers. And she felt Roark’s amusement.
She glowered at him, reaching into her handbag. “I’ll call a car service.”
He placed his hand over hers. “Just let me take you.”
She swallowed as she felt his heat through her white gloves. Why did his slightest touch always have such an effect on her? “You’ll take me straight to work?”
“Yes. I promise.” He stroked back a tendril of hair that had escaped her chignon. “Right after breakfast.”
Breakfast? Was that a metaphor for a morning of hot, fiery sex? She licked her lips. “I’m not hungry.”
He gave her a slow-rising grin that she felt to her toes. “I think you’re lying.”
She sucked in her breath, tried to regain control. “I told you, I need to go to work.”
“And I’ll take you there. After breakfast.”
“Breakfast?” she whispered. “You mean breakfast at … at a restaurant? With food?”
“That is how breakfast is usually done.” His eyes gleamed wickedly, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. He glanced up at her town house. “Unless you want to invite me inside.” He stroked her inner wrist beneath her glove,