Out of Hours...Boardroom Seductions: One-Night Mistress...Convenient Wife / Innocent in the Italian's Possession / Hot Boss, Wicked Nights. Anne Oliver
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enough. This time she didn’t help him, but just lay there watching him, waiting for him to fumble out of his dress shirt, to rip off his tie. He hadn’t changed when he’d come home. He’d just slumped in the chair with his book, determined to wait until it was time to go to bed.
“Bit slow tonight, aren’t you?” she murmured, sending his temperature up another couple of degrees.
He nearly ripped the buttons off his shirt, then dropped his trousers and kicked off his shoes. He came down on the bed beside her then, reaching for her.
She shook her head and caught his hands. “No.”
“No?” He couldn’t believe his ears.
She laughed and reached down for his feet. “I’m not having my last memories of you naked in bed with your socks on.”
Christo laughed, too, as she bent down and peeled them off, then ran her fingers over his feet and up his legs. But it was a strained laugh, and once his socks were disposed of, he bore her back on the bed, needing the feel of her body against his, hungry for the embrace of her arms.
His body wanted fulfillment now, this very minute. His will power, better disciplined, made him slow down. It made him take his time with her—savor every caress, every touch—get his fill.
At the same time he memorized the look on her face as his hands roved over her body, absorbed every detail—the curve of her ear, the tiny mole on her shoulder, the impossibly long lashes that fluttered as he kissed her eyelids. He drew in the lime-and-coconut scent of her shampoo as he nuzzled her hair and the faintly salty tang of her skin wherever his lips and tongue touched her. He stroked her and made her back arch, made her toes curl, made her reach for him.
But he resisted. “Wait,” he told her. “Wait.”
And when at least neither of them could stand waiting a second longer, he came over her and slid into her, relishing the slick tight warmth that enveloped him as her arms came around him and her fingers raked his back.
The moment was so perfect that Christo simply froze, desperate to capture it, to make it last.
Then Natalie moved. And the sensation of her body against his shattered the last remnants of his control.
He surged against her, meeting her as their bodies moved in perfect counterpoint, until he felt her body spasm around him.
One last time he lost himself in her. Then he no longer knew where he ended and she began.
Closure, Natalie thought for days afterward, was highly overrated.
Certainly she had her memories, and some of them made that last night in Christo’s arms were absolutely amazing.
But they didn’t change anything.
She had still left his bed before dawn, though he’d been awake this time. She’d moved to get out of bed and he’d caught her hand and said, “Stay.”
For an instant, she’d dared hope he meant forever. But then he said, “It’s only three. We’ve got time.”
But Natalie knew that time had run out. “I need some sleep,” she’d said, marveling at how matter-of-fact she sounded. “And you do, too, so you can get things all shipshape before you leave.”
It was the single time in the last couple of days that she’d mentioned anything to do with their lives beyond the bed. It was an acknowledgment of reality. Nothing more.
Christo hadn’t argued. He’d seen the logic of it, the reason. Christo was all about logic and reason, after all. He’d let her go, had watched her dress. But before she left, he’d climbed out of bed and pulled on a pair of shorts.
“I’ll see you home.”
“I’ll be fine,” she said, not at all sure she could stand the civility of this last gesture.
But Christo insisted. “I’ll see you to Laura’s door.”
They went in silence. He didn’t touch her now. But she could feel his presence right behind her. Could hear him breathing. Their arms brushed as he opened the door for her and let her go past him.
Natalie held her head high. Refused to allow herself the tears she knew would have come by now if she’d walked home alone. She got to the top of Laura’s stairs with her dignity intact, and put the key in the lock before Christo could do it for her. Then, with the door open, she turned and held out her hand, even managed a smile.
“Good night.”
He didn’t reply, just stood looking down at her in the darkness. Then he took her hand, held it, squeezed it for just a moment, then let it go. She heard him swallow.
“Sleep well,” he said. Then abruptly he turned and was gone.
Natalie stood there in the stillness, waiting for the sound of his back door to open and close. It never did. She heard the gate instead.
She went inside quickly and went to the window in time to see him disappearing down the walk toward The Strand, then hopping over the wall to hit the sand and take off running.
She headed straight for the bedroom, for all the good it would do her.
“Sleep well,” she echoed his words out loud as she lay down and stared at the ceiling.
Yeah, right.
“Are you all right, dear?” Laura stopped mid-sentence in her description of how well Grandma’s recovery was going to study Natalie closely.
Natalie, who had invited her mother over for meat loaf because she truly did want to hear about her grandmother while at the same time she did not want to run into Christo, smiled brightly. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You’re very quiet.”
“I’m generally quiet,” Natalie reminded her. “Dan was the noisy one.”
“Yes, but you’ve barely said two words since I got home last week. Every time I ask you how things went—even when you worked with Christo—you just say, fine.” Laura was regarding her suspiciously over a glass of wine.
Natalie shrugged negligently. “Because they were fine. No problems at all. Why? Did he say there were?” She frowned now as she put a helping of green beans on her plate.
“No. He hasn’t said anything, either. He works all the time. Never even stops by for dinner now. He stays at the office until nearly bedtime.”
“Maybe he has a lot to catch up on.”
Laura nodded. “He works very hard.”
“Have you talked to Grandma today?” Natalie changed the subject as soon as she could.
There was no point in talking about Christo. There was nothing she could tell her mother—and nothing her mother could say about Christo that she wanted to hear.
She’d got through the last week and a half in zombie-like fashion, putting in time, taking things one at a time, trying to focus on the matter at hand, and ruthlessly dragging her thoughts away from Christo every time they ventured in that direction all day long.
And she had survived.
But the nights nearly did her in. She couldn’t sleep. She could only lie there and remember. It was all there to replay endlessly, to make her smile and cringe and laugh and ache.
It would get better, she told herself. She would move on, find new preoccupations.
“Get a life,” Sophy had suggested more than once in the past ten days. “Or better yet, take a vacation. You look like death,” she’d said this morning when Natalie had been working at the office.
“I do not,” Natalie retorted. “I’m fine.”
“You have big dark circles under your eyes.”
“I’m not sleeping well. I’m…allergic.”