The Black Sheep's Secret Child. Cat Schield
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“Take your hair down,” Trent demanded, his voice an unsteady rasp.
Happy to oblige, she reached up and pulled out half a dozen pins and demolished the smooth, controlled hairstyle with a languid shake of her head. Long blond waves tumbled around her shoulders and tickled her cheeks. Trent had always loved her hair. He sank his fingers into the thick silky mass and brought her lips back to his.
* * *
Trent wasn’t sure how he’d come to be on his couch buried deep inside Savannah, her tongue dancing with his in a passionate kiss, her manner every bit as wild as he remembered. Another woman might have pleaded with him for help or screamed abuse when he refused to fall in with her plans. He’d had only the briefest suspicion that Savannah intended to seduce him into helping her before he rejected the idea. Her hunger for him was as all-consuming as his for her.
That didn’t make this a reunion between lovers. Not in the traditional sense. Sixteen months of bitter silence lay between them. Part of him didn’t want to open the door to her. The part of him that did was in charge at the moment. Maybe what they were doing was saying goodbye. But as her teeth nipped at his lower lip, driving him closer to orgasm, he knew this brief taste of her had only revived his unquenchable desire.
Trent fought to make the moment last. But he was only able to hold on until he could determine that she hovered on the brink of a climax.
Her soft keening and the accelerated rhythm of her hips pushed him over the edge and they came together. Heart thundering, Trent sat perfectly still, his body drained, his heart twisted wreckage. Damn her. She’d made him do what he promised he wouldn’t. He’d let her back in. His first instinct as he labored to breathe was to kiss her long and deep and never let her go. His second instinct was to remove her from his lap and kick her out of his office.
He did neither.
Instead, he sank his fingers into his hair, let his head fall back and stared at the ceiling. It was the pose of a man wondering what the hell he’d done.
Displaying no regret, Savannah pushed off the couch and got to her feet. Hips swaying in unconscious allure, she crossed to the bar and found a towel, bringing it back to him. By the time Trent had cleaned up and disposed of the condom, she was putting the last hairpin into her impromptu updo. The only signs of how she’d spent the last ten minutes were her flushed cheeks and smeared lipstick.
He glanced up and down the length of her as she stepped back into her tall heels, and all he saw was a tranquil, confident woman. Gone was the femme fatale. Trent couldn’t decide if he was glad or sorry.
“This doesn’t change anything.” His tone was brusque, his words more clipped than he’d intended. “I’m not going back to LA to bail out West Coast Records.”
She looked at him askance, her eyebrows lifted in disbelief. “That’s not what this was about.”
“No?” But he knew she wasn’t lying. Savannah frequently ended up in trouble because she wasn’t calculating. The fact that he’d just accused her of unscrupulous behavior demonstrated that their unexpected sexual encounter had thrown him off his game. He hated that. It was time to take the situation back in his hands. “Where are you staying?”
His question surprised her. Something flickered in her eyes. “I’m not taking you to my hotel suite, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
It wasn’t what he’d been thinking, but now that she’d mentioned it, that sounded like a great idea. He’d like to strip that conservative dress off her and make love to her properly. But it was too late for that. Two years, one marriage and his brother’s son too late.
“Where are you staying?” he repeated, letting her see that his patience was waning.
“Upstairs.”
Cobalt had been Trent’s first choice of location when he and his business partners decided to open Club T’s. The hotel’s owner, JT Stone, was a brilliant businessman with a great reputation and solid ethics. The rent was high for this exclusive real estate, but the hotel drew a chic crowd with deep pockets who liked to party and could easily afford Club T’s high-end table service.
“I’ll walk you back to your suite.”
“There’s no need.”
Savannah wouldn’t meet his eyes, and it was the first indication Trent had that the encounter had ruffled her composure.
“It’s two in the morning.” And Trent had no intention of returning to the club tonight. He’d lost his taste for partying the instant Savannah had appeared at his table. All he wanted was to head home, pour himself a liberal amount of scotch and brood. “And you’ve already had one run-in with a man you couldn’t handle.”
She gave an offhand shrug. “I think I handled you just fine.”
He fought back an admiring smile. “I meant the guy in the bar.”
“Oh, him.” She shook her head. “I was on the verge of crushing his toe with my heel.”
Unsure if she was kidding, Trent caught her by the elbow and turned her in the direction of the office door. He led the way through the back halls of the club and hotel to a service elevator. Once inside he turned an expectant expression on her. Rather than tell him her floor, she reached to push the button herself.
“It’s no good, you know,” Trent said as the car began to move upward. “If you try to bring me in at West Coast Records, Siggy will fight you with everything he has.”
“But you’re exactly what the company needs. You’re brilliant. Your father and Rafe never understood that.”
Trent stared at her in bemusement. She’d always been on his side. How had two people who only had each other’s best interest at heart failed so miserably at being together?
Because he didn’t want what she did. Family for him meant nothing but heartache.
“You’re wasting your time and mine. Let the company fold. You and Dylan will be fine without it. I’ll make sure of that.”
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