Heiress's Pregnancy Scandal. Julia James
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in every cell of his body. It’s part of him. It isn’t arrogance or conceit—it’s just... Well, it just is, that’s all. And he’d be glad I’m thinking it.
She didn’t need to spell it out. Didn’t need to think about it. Didn’t need to analyse it or wonder about it or speculate about it. All she needed to do right now was answer the question he was asking her as he picked up the menu, flicked it over to the dessert list.
‘Ice cream?’ he asked.
Fran smiled. That was one decision that was easy to make.
‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘Definitely.’
* * *
They drove back to the hotel, the moon rising to the east, the night ablaze with stars. Nic had seen Fran glance upwards as they got back into the SUV and an idea had struck him. As they drove he gave voice to it.
‘Would you have any interest,’ he opened, glancing at her briefly, then back to the ink-dark road, ‘in maybe taking off to see the South-West Array tomorrow?’
She turned her head. ‘Could we do it in a day?’ she asked. Unconsciously, she had used the word ‘we’, and it registered a moment later. But she didn’t mind that she had. It seemed right that she had.
‘If we make an early start,’ Nic said. He paused. ‘So, how about it?’
‘Oh, yes!’ Fran answered, enthusiasm in her voice. ‘You know,’ she mused, ‘as a theoretical physicist I simply use the data that the observational physicists provide for me, to test my theories—but to actually see where they get that data is always a privilege. The South-West Array is only just coming on-stream—’
She fished in her bag for her phone, looked it up. Her face brightened.
‘Nic, could we? I can message them tonight, see if I can get in touch with one of the onsite guys tomorrow...’ She paused. ‘It might be boring for you, though,’ she warned.
Then she wondered whether she should have said that. Maybe this was just another tour laid on by the hotel, with her own personal chauffeur? But she didn’t think that—not now. Not any longer. Not after sharing steak and ice-cream at a roadside diner.
This isn’t about his job, or even mine. This is about us.
She felt the now familiar skip of her heart rate, telling her she was glad—glad that that was what it was about. Then she realised Nic was speaking again.
‘You can give me another physics tutorial on the way there,’ he said. ‘The elementary version, that is.’
There was a smile in his voice, and in hers as she answered. ‘Physics is usually simple—it’s just the maths that’s hard!’
He laughed, that low, gravelly sound that she was getting used to sending a little frisson through her—a frisson that she felt again as, gaining the hotel’s rear car park, he helped her step down, retaining her hand just a fraction longer than was necessary. Then he was opening a side door and they were heading down a deserted corridor towards the lobby.
As they did, a service door opened and someone emerged. He glanced at Nic as they headed past.
‘Evening, boss.’
Nic acknowledged him with a brief nod, and as the staff member passed by, Fran murmured, ‘Boss?’
‘He’s on my team,’ Nic answered smoothly.
They arrived at the elevators. Nic was glad that no other members of his staff were around, and without waiting to be invited he stepped inside the lift with her.
‘I’ll see you to your room,’ he said.
Fran made no demur, but suddenly, out of nowhere, she was supremely conscious of the confined space of the elevator, of Nic’s closeness to her, of her own heightened sense of the moment. Would he try and kiss her? She tensed, not knowing whether she wanted him to or not.
He made no move on her, however, just waited until she had opened her room door and was turning to bid him goodnight, finding it hard to take her eyes from him when she was this close to him.
His hand splayed against the doorjamb, enclosing her. ‘Thank you for tonight,’ he said. ‘It’s been good.’
There was a low note in his voice, a huskiness, and a smile—she could hear it, see the slight curve of his mouth, the dip of his long, long lashes over those blue, blue eyes. And then, while she was still gazing up at him, his mouth was lowering to hers.
It was a kiss like none she’d known. Slow, deliberate, and for one purpose only. To tell her what she could have if she chose to.
She gave herself to it, her eyelids fluttering closed, feeling her shoulders sag against the door, her hands slacken as her whole being became focussed on the sensation he was drawing from her.
It was like a kind of silken velvet, moving over her leisurely, tasting, exploring, taking his time. And then, without her even realising, he was deepening the kiss, easing her lips apart. Letting her taste, enjoy his tasting, enjoy what there was between them. What more there could be.
She felt arousal flare within her, more powerful than she had ever felt, more intense, more sensuous, and she yielded her willing mouth to his, feeling the pleasure of it until, it seemed like an age later, he was drawing back from her, gliding his mouth over her, skimming leisurely over her parted lips, a velvet withdrawal.
He lifted his head and her eyes fluttered open, looked into his gaze. So close...so very close to hers. She felt dazed, dizzy. He smiled, seeing her reaction to his kiss, liking it.
He stepped away, giving her a little space. ‘Goodnight, Doc Fran,’ he said, but there was intimacy in the way he said it. ‘Sleep well.’
She gave a reply, and then he was turning away, heading back down the corridor. She watched him reach the elevators. Felt dizziness inside her still.
Knew that whatever this man wanted of her she wanted it too.
* * *
Nic did not sleep well that night in the suite he’d reserved for himself at this, his latest multi-million-dollar acquisition. He lay sleepless, gazing at the shadowed ceiling, one arm crooked behind his head, feeling a mix of restlessness, satisfaction and anticipation.
Dio, but how he’d wanted to stay with her! That kiss had been like dipping his finger into a pot of honey to taste the sweetness, and it had told him she had found it just as pleasurable as he had. But it had also told him, just as every instinct since he’d first set eyes on her had told him, that she was not a woman to be hurried. She was no hedonistic party girl. She was a mature, highly intelligent woman, who would make her decision in her own time, in her own way, about indulging in a romance with him.
And if she did, as he burningly hoped she would, it would not be conducted here at the hotel. He liked it that to her he was not Nicolo Falcone, and if they stayed here it was bound to come out at some point. That encounter in the corridor had been a warning of that inevitability. No, better that they took off to somewhere he was not known, so that he was still simply Nic Rossi to her.
Nic Rossi—his birth name, abandoned so long ago, when he’d first set out to forge his glittering empire, echoed in his mind. It had been strange to use it again. As strange as remembering the way he’d revealed so much of his own deep feelings and his passionate beliefs to her in that very first conversation he’d had with her the previous night. His belief never to accept what life had dumped you with—to make someone new of yourself by effort and dedication and determination.
His thoughts moved on. Back to the familiar territory of his empire-building. He ran through his latest ambitions to launch a flagship hotel in Manhattan. It wouldn’t be easy, let alone cheap to achieve, but he’d do it in the end. He always did. Always. The determination to succeed in business never left him.
And to succeed on more pleasurable fronts too.
His