Kept by Him (8 page)

And if Monica was lying awake tonight, feeling the same starving need for him as he
was, then she was going to run again.

He stroked a finger down her face on the floating screen, knowing he couldn’t let
her. Wouldn’t.

Not anymore, Monica. Not this time.

Chapter Three

Monica awoke thinking of a particular set of eyes. Green eyes. Like forests, emeralds,
clovers. She showered to that same pair of eyes, drank coffee to that same pair of
eyes. On her way to Davenport’s, they were there, in the back of every thought. Sexy
and knowing, dark with arousal, watching her as he brought her to orgasm.

Scowling at herself, she pushed the thought aside as her driver pulled over right
in front of Davenport’s glass doors. The store was half a block in size and swept
six stories high, and the sight of the elegant store windows filled her with an almost
overwhelming sense of pride.

She’d loved her family’s store since she was a little girl and came to “work” with
her father on Saturdays, the clerks spoiling her by allowing her to ring up a couple
of amused customers. This Davenport’s location on the Magnificent Mile was the first
store among forty-eight across the country, and it had been in business for over sixty
years. Monica knew every doorman, every security guard, every attendant.

Her heart warmed in satisfaction as she went straight through the shopping area, aware
of dozens of shoppers already milling about. Two teenage girls started pointing in
her direction, as though they recognized her from a magazine or newspaper article,
and Monica gave them a smile as she headed to the elevators for the upstairs offices.

Manufacturing had always been taken care of overseas, in Scotland, where the best
cashmere was woven and washed, and the business side of the product was handled in
the floors above. Security, merchandising, conference rooms, and executive offices
were all spread from the second floor upward. Ever since Monica had taken over five
years ago, she’d slept and dreamed about cashmere and merchandising, worker’s compensation,
product liabilities, profit margins.…

When her parents had died, Monica had decided that she’d marry nobody but Davenport’s.
The store always gave her back exactly what she put in. And Monica had put in
everything
to this store.

She’d inherited a rapidly dwindling business and had taken control at twenty-four,
when the shares hit rock bottom and nobody wanted “in” except Monica. She’d removed
the old management and brought in new people, took out a bank loan to start expanding,
and as the share price rose, she’d sold a large percentage of Davenport’s to her board
members to keep financing its growth. She’d still managed to remain holding the majority
of shares along with keeping an amazingly successful board, and now the company showed
solid growth and impressive profit margins.

Today, she was especially excited as she headed to the third floor, where the photo
sessions for their winter catalogs took place. They had a special session planned
this morning, which had been scheduled with a Chicago top ad agency months before.

Her marketing staff was intent on using Monica’s iconic face for a publicity shot
they expected would boost sales dramatically. The team wanted to interplay her Ice
Maiden nickname with the warmth of cashmere, so rather than standing behind the photographers
and watching them shoot the models, Monica soon ended up spread on a bed of cashmere,
their finest two-ply from China, where the Capra hircus goats produced the softest
hairs known.

Tons of cashmere pillows were tossed out behind her while Monica lay in nude-colored
panties and golden heels, her only cover an earthy cashmere throw that matched her
glossy earth-toned lips. In the background, a winter wonderland showcased enough fake
snow to rival an Aspen ski slope.

Monica hadn’t realized how difficult it was for models to look into a camera lens
and willingly, openly transmit their emotions into the lens.

It seemed to be an art—and one at which she was
not
a natural.

She clutched the cover to her chest and tried to look warm. Chris, an amazingly talented
photographer who always did their most successful ad campaigns, rubbed his bald head
in exasperation a half hour later. “Go for more warmth, soften your expression, Ms.
Davenport.”

Monica tried fixing her expression for a couple of more minutes, first and foremost
attempting to calm her frustration, for it didn’t made her feel necessarily warm or
giving, much less sensual.

She did her deep breathing exercises, but the more she thought about being closed
off, the more she actually closed off. She didn’t mind being physically naked as much
as showing some inner vulnerability, which she usually dared not show anyone.

“I still need you to relax, Ms. Davenport.”

“Can’t we tweak in Photoshop, Chris?”

“No, Ms. Davenport, it’s your entire expression. It’s too controlled, your jaw is
tight. Give me slackness, part your lips, give me an on-the-beach sensual look while
holding the throw tighter.”

Monica tried parting her lips, all while wondering how much they could improve with
Photoshop, when suddenly a dark figure moved through the swinging doors at the end.
Monica’s assistant turned, gasped, and stepped aside to make room for it. Recognition
struck Monica and her system froze and restarted as though the bolt of lightning had
struck her dead on her sex.

Her nerve endings trilled with a strange sexual alertness. Daniel came to a stop a
few feet away from the photographer, his feet braced apart, his stance oozing that
air of natural authority that always surrounded him. His shoulders were draped in
a dark black button-down shirt that matched his slacks, and all clad in black, he
looked even blonder, tanner, his eyes greener—every feature of his enhanced and striking.

Instantly, his forest green eyes locked intimately with hers, raking her form almost
possessively. Heat. It spread suddenly all over her and she became hyper-attuned to
him. Her awareness of him had heightened to new levels, and now it was almost painful
in its force.

This morning, what they’d done last night had felt surreal. Now her pussy throbbed
in memory, still sore from his touches, becoming strangely even sorer at his presence.
Monica had never been more painfully mindful of how empty she felt inside until she
stared at Daniel Lexington across a room full of dozens of people while desperately,
desperately wanting him inside her.

His intense green eyes stayed fastened to hers, only roaming briefly as he once again
took inventory. She became aware of every bit of skin exposed from the cashmere. Her
toes, her ankles, a part of her calf, her rounded shoulders, one of her arms … What
was he thinking? Why didn’t he smile? Oh, God, she felt like one of those women. One
of those who dreamed at night of this man, who dreamed of being the Prince of the
Windy City’s princess. The thought snapped her back into herself only to realize Chris
was shouting at the top of his lungs, “Yes! Yes! That’s the look!”

Monica jerked her eyes back to the camera, but her body still ached with such intimate
force that she instinctively drew her arms protectively over her pained breasts, trapping
the cashmere against her flesh, her heart pounding in awareness of Daniel’s green
eyes watching her.

The blinding flashes stopped, and Chris lowered the camera with a frown. He seemed
somehow disappointed that she had lost the magic as soon as she glanced at the lens.
He turned to study the source of Monica’s change, and his eyes lit when he spotted
Daniel.

“Would you mind if we tried something with you, sir?” he asked.

“Not at all,” Daniel said easily, his voice making Monica’s flesh pebble.

“We need a sweater in his size,” he said, and Monica’s assistant rushed to grant the
request.

Meanwhile Monica watched him strip off his shirt, and her pussy clenched despite her
wanting to stay cool and aloof. His chest became exposed, and Monica almost climaxed,
visibly jolting at the sight.

“Forget the sweater, look at this! Bare skin it is!” He began giving orders while
Monica and the rest of the people in the room almost drooled over Daniel’s torso.
Thick chords popped up in his hands and forearms, disappearing into the bulging muscles
of his biceps, shoulders, and triceps.

“Cool tat!” Chris said. “Great quality work, great bod, too! Ms. Davenport, there’s
going to be a change. I will take only some sample pictures of you with our new guest.
Our ads will probably be as planned, with you alone, but in the meantime let us get
into the mood of seduction.”

He turned to whisper something to Daniel, and Daniel nodded and pulled off his shoes
and tossed them aside with two loud thumps. He ended up in dark slacks, a belt, and
a chest that got her saliva glands working like nothing else.

His walk as he came over caused a tightening deep in her abdominal wall. She was so
sensitive today even dressing had felt sexual, and all those places throbbed even
more as the blood rushed in their direction.

A strange dread ran through her as he lifted the blanket to join her, somehow taking
care not to reveal her to the dozens of people gathered around. He turned his big
body to face her, his broad back angled toward the camera as he rolled to his side
against her, covering her nakedness from view.

As soon as he dropped the throw over his hips and hers, his legs entangled with her
nude ones, and Monica’s body chemistry altered. Everything—heart, lungs, flesh—heightened
to alarming levels.

His scent stole into her lungs, causing her mouth to water even more. “What are you
doing here?” she murmured, horribly breathless, hot,
aching.

He bent so only she could hear. “I’m a little early for the board meeting and was
told I could find you here.” His strangely hoarsened voice flooded her with memories
of last night and the coiling, writhing tension of desire came alive within her as
he pulled her against him, the move proprietary, possessive—protective.

He braced up on one elbow, his powerful arm around her waist, his back shielding her
from everyone present as he ducked his head so that practically no one could see her.
But him. She felt immediately safe, while at the same time, electricity crackled through
her, clanging off all the warning bells in her body.

Years ago, she had felt enormous pleasure when she’d lived with the Lexingtons temporarily,
and Daniel had held her at night. She’d count the hours until he’d appear, large and
manly at her door, and when he slid his arms around her, his touch would release some
strange calming hormones in her body.

But that had started changing, even back then.

When the tears stopped, the hormones clamoring for his touch had been different ones,
frightening ones, and had been the reason Monica had pulled away.

Now his effect had magnified to proportions beyond her understanding, his suddenly
familiar nearness causing every cell in her body to jolt into wakefulness. She wanted
to melt, while at the same time, she feared the power of his nearness, remembering
how she’d broken in the funeral when he held her, how she always seemed to shatter
either in pain or in pleasure in no place else except his arms.…

“Ms. Davenport, if you would embrace our male?”

Heart accelerating, Monica gingerly slid her free arm around his waist, her hand splayed
on his muscled back as the other soon joined it. His eyes darkened, and he was looking
down at her with a strangely animalistic gaze, the slight flare of his nostrils making
him appear almost menacing in his hunger.

“All right, now act like you want each other. Look, touch, nuzzle…”

Their bodies seemed to seek closer contact, and his muscles quivered under her fingers
as her hands slid almost involuntarily over his skin. Time came to a standstill. Noises
fading. People fading. They were breathing hard and she forgot everyone in the room.
Even the screams.

“Yes! You’re dying for a touch … a kiss … look for it, that’s it. My God, that’s superb
chemistry. Superb!”

Daniel spoke in her ear. “Are your nipples hard?”

“Yes.”

“Let me feel them.”

Monica could only hear her heartbeat as he seized her wrists and brought her arms
above her and brushed his nose against hers, grazing her lips with his. She let him
draw them up and press his chest into her, feeling the soft mounds of her breasts
flatten wantonly against him, her nipples pricking into his pecs. She had never been
as wet as she was now, this instant, lying in cashmere and Daniel warming her. His
lips parted, and she parted hers, eager, needy, everything else forgotten.

He bent his head, their mouths painstakingly close, their hearts thundering. She could
remember his powerful presence inside her and every way he stretched and widened her,
every way he made her feel.

The rising heat in her body made her breath quicken, made her think of wrapping her
legs around him, and she started sliding her feet up his calves, feeling his breath
quicken, too. He groaned softly against her. “I could eat you up alive, Monica.”

Oh, God, she really wanted him to. She was restless against him, unable to feel such
proximity to him without seeking closer contact. Her voice was barely audible, airless
with lust as she discreetly bent to lick the hollow under his neck. “Tell me that
you’re hard, too.”

He tensed every muscle, dropping his head. “I’m hard as hell, and it’s all for you.”

Pleasure shot across her nerve endings at his words, making her struggle to stifle
a shudder. She tilted her pelvis anxiously upward. “Let me feel you.”

He shifted so his erection nestled at the apex between her legs, and her panties got
instantly damp with a surge of wet heat. A shiver of pure feminine delight ran through
her, and she closed her eyes and dug her nails into his back, her other hand sliding
around him to improve her grip on him, her hip moving timidly up to him, seeking …
“What did they tell you to do to me?”