Perfect Fit (7 page)

With the skill a juggler would have envied, he balanced the two mugs in one hand and twisted the doorknob with the other. The second shock of the day resonated through him. A feeling that smacked of panic nipped at its heels. He imagined how he appeared, standing in the doorway, holding coffee and staring at Rowyn as she roamed about the room in the robe the hotel provided. Preparing to run. Again.

Hurt and anger grappled for dominance until he couldn’t distinguish one from the other. They melded into a fiery mass that lodged itself under his breastbone.

After what they’d shared yesterday and last night, she would still run from him. Still jump from their bed and leave him as if he were still that one-night stand, when she had become so much more to him.

“Going somewhere?” he asked, brow arched as he set the cups on the long dresser nearest the door. His mild tone didn’t betray the emotion that blistered his chest.

“That was Cindy,” she said and crossed her arms over her chest in a gesture that seemed less defiant and more protective. “I have to get out of here.”

“Your sister is gone.” He dropped his hands to the pants zipper and, in a deliberate motion, lowered it. The only sound that penetrated the stillness in the room was the rasp of the metal teeth separating. Rowyn’s gaze followed the motion and widened as she realized his intentions.

“What are you doing?” she asked sharply.

Darius didn’t answer, letting his actions speak for themselves as he lowered the pants down his hips and thighs. He stepped free of the material and stood before her bare-ass naked. Her stare jerked from his hardening dick back to his face. The expression of dismay and arousal would have been amusing if he wasn’t so damn pissed.

On silent feet he stalked across the small space between them. He assumed her surprise allowed him to tug the terry cloth belt free, but her paralysis lasted a moment. Rowyn clutched the robe’s lapels to her throat with both hands.

“Darius,” she protested as he gripped the material under her fists and pried the robe loose. “We can’t—” The words died on her lips as the cloth slipped down her arms and pooled to the floor behind her.

“Yes?” He stepped forward. And groaned. The feel of her breasts with their hard dark nipples pressing to his chest chased away hurt and anger. A gnawing hunger remained, a hunger that he’d believed had been satisfied countless times the night before. He was beginning to think it could never be sated. A respite maybe, but never fully gratified.

He ground his cock against the softness of her stomach. On a low growl, he cupped her ass and held her still as he circled his hips, stroking his dick against her, needing that sweet pleasure of skin-to-skin contact. With a soft, ravenous sound, Rowyn surrendered. She lifted her arms and wound them around his neck. Their mouths met halfway. Tongues dueled, entwined, and sucked. He changed the angle of his head and dived deeper, demanding all she had to give him. Her taste. Her moans. Her submission…her heart.

In moments, Darius lowered Rowyn to the bed. She spread her thighs wide, and he settled into the natural vee and welcoming heat of her pussy. The swollen lips gloved his cock, and he couldn’t resist sliding his shaft through the wet slit. He grunted with pleasure. She whimpered as his cockhead bumped over her engorged clit. The pretty pink button he’d sucked and teased countless times hours before peeked from between the folds as if begging for attention. Shifting up, he ground the base of his cock against it, and satisfaction surged through him at Rowyn’s hoarse cry. With a low curse, he rolled off her and reached for one of the condoms he’d tossed on the bedside dresser at some point during the night. In seconds, he tore the small foil packet open, rolled the lubricated latex over his erection, and returned to the woman on the bed who represented pleasure and paradise. The breath hissed from between his lips as he reclaimed his position between her thighs.

“Listen to me,” he demanded and cupped her face, holding her head captive between his palms. Her lashes fluttered then lifted, and he stared down into her glazed eyes. “Here is where you belong.” He emphasized “here” with a small movement of his hips, and then he was penetrating her pussy with one hard thrust that sheathed half his erection. “And here is where I belong.” Again he punctuated the word with another stroke that buried him balls-deep inside her sex. Her shocked gasp heated his lips, as for the first time, she took his cock in two short thrusts.

“There you go,” he whispered and dipped deep in her mouth for a short kiss. “Fuck, I can feel your pussy shivering around my dick, baby.” He groaned and pressed his forehead to hers. “This is where
we
belong.” He rolled his hips and stroked his pelvis over her clit. When she lifted her legs and circled his waist with them, her feet settling in the small of his back for a long ride, he withdrew, emitting a groan at the exquisite pleasure of her flesh dragging over his sensitive shaft. “Don’t try to leave again, Rowyn,” he murmured, voice hoarse with lust and a fierce need that had nothing to do with his cock and everything to do with his heart. “I won’t let you go again.”

And with that promise thrown between them, he proceeded to make love to her, branding her as she’d already done to him.

***

“Thank you.” Rowyn nodded as she accepted the glass of champagne from the server. God, she hated these tedious parties. She lifted the drink to her lips and sipped, not in the mood for the alcohol or the social event. She would have preferred to remain locked up in Darius’s hotel room with him. Or over him. Under him.

A small smile curved her lips. She hid it behind the rim of her glass, but nothing could suppress the warmth that unfurled in her belly. The last two days had been…magical. From walking among the shops of Boston hand in hand to the hours of hot sex—no. Not sex. Making love.

For her, she’d made love last night and this morning. In one afternoon, Darius knew her like no other person. His compassion and kindness had rubbed balm over the wounds in her soul, and his touch had conveyed how special he found her. Rowyn had felt beautiful. Even…loved.

She slammed the mental brakes and skidded all over the road called “Happily Ever After.” One night—okay, two and a half days—didn’t make their ending a fairy tale. Let’s face it, she cautioned herself, I’ve known so little love, it would be a simple leap to confuse affection and great sex with something deeper.
Don’t be a fool.
Her smile dimmed. Pamela, her mother, couldn’t give her love. What made her think Darius would?

“You look like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders,” Wanda said in lieu of greeting as she pressed her cheek to Rowyn’s. “Someone with champagne in her hand should not appear that serious.”

Rowyn snorted. “I’m just answering the royal decree to attend this event. I have exactly”—she shot a discreet glance at her wrist—”one hour and forty-three minutes before I can leave.”

“Come on, Ro,” her friend drawled. “One would think you weren’t excited to be here.” They stared at each other for a long second before snickering into their champagne glasses.

“When did you get here?” Rowyn asked.

“About fifteen minutes ago.” Wanda fell silent and, her brown-eyed gaze inscrutable, studied Rowyn. “I heard about the potential merger. And the women’s fashion division being the guinea pig.”

Rowyn shrugged and forced a nonchalance she didn’t feel. That particular knife had yet to be yanked from her heart. “It’s Daniel’s company to run as he sees best.” The company line. And so much bullshit.

“That’s bullshit,” Wanda snapped, echoing her thought. Her friend edged closer and lowered her voice, but the fury rang as clear as a bell. “He is your stepfather. There were other departments to consider and choose from. Departments almost as profitable too. I bet he didn’t even tell you what he’d planned.” At Rowyn’s silence, Wanda’s full lips thinned into an angry slash. “What an inconsiderate, conniving asshole.”

“Inconsiderate, yes. But not conniving,” Rowyn contradicted and earned a glare for the effort.

“You’re defending him?” The other woman’s voice dropped to an ominous level, and Rowyn smiled. To be championed was a rare occurrence, and her friend’s rage on Rowyn’s behalf felt…well…good.

“No.” She shook her head. “I’m not defending him. But to call him conniving suggests he actually contemplated how I would feel and made a decision to be sneaky. Daniel didn’t even
consider
me in his decision. I was a nonfactor.”

“That’s worse.” Wanda inhaled, held it, and released the breath in a slow, deliberate exhalation. “No,” she growled, “what’s worse is your bitchy sister making the rounds, spreading rumors that you slept with the businessman your father is courting for the merger. According to her vicious gossip, you’re trying to land this deal on your back.”

“What?” The word exploded from Rowyn’s lips on a hard gust of breath. Fingers of ice clawed at her, freezing the blood in her veins. “Darius?”

“Darius?” Wanda repeated. Confusion wrinkled her brow seconds before surprise swept it away. “Do you mean the Darius you met in Seattle last year?”

Rowyn nodded, uttered a faint “yes,” and skimmed the room, the ice in her belly and chest reaching for her throat. For the first time, she noticed the sly glances or careful avoidance of eye contact.

No. Why would Cindy…? Rowyn closed her eyes. And heard her stepsister’s voice as if the younger woman stood next to her, whispering in her ear.

“It seems I do understand after all…”

Oh God. Cindy—sweet, butter-won’t-melt-in-her-mouth Cindy—had fucked her.

“Rowyn.”

As her heart executed a swan dive toward her feet, she turned around to face her mother’s pinched, thin-lipped face.

“In the study,” she snapped, her black eyes glinted with fury. “Now.”

***

By the time Rowyn closed the study door, she couldn’t shake off the feeling that she’d just survived a gauntlet of stares and whispers. And each pointed look and hushed comment slapped and punched at her, leaving invisible but very real bruises to her pride.

And it isn’t over yet.
She drew back her shoulders, fixed her I-don’t-give-a-fuck mask firmly in place, and faced the family that stood across the room as one unit—against her.

“Rowyn,” Pamela began, “I have never been more ashamed of you than I am at this moment.” Contempt dripped from her voice, and it wounded Rowyn more than she cared to admit. Not the words or even the scorn—those she was used to. Her mother’s quick acceptance of Rowyn’s alleged crime, though… It most likely never occurred to Pamela to give her daughter the benefit of the doubt. Or even defend her character.

“Convicted without a trial, I see,” she murmured.

Pamela slashed a hand through the air, cutting through Rowyn’s protest. “Do you deny that you slept with Darius Fiore?” she asked, eyes narrowed. “And before you lie, consider that we would not confront you if we didn’t have a reliable source about your actions.”

Inside, Rowyn snorted. Like hell. The validity of the source or the information didn’t matter one damn to them. It was the embarrassment of being whispered about that had tried, convicted, and hanged Rowyn. And the source—she studied Cindy—wasn’t that reliable.

Her stepsister wore the appropriate concerned-and-disappointed expression. Yet beneath the slightly troubled frown, her eyes gleamed with a satisfaction and malice that Rowyn had always known existed beneath her sweet exterior. From the time Rowyn had entered Daniel and Cindy’s home, the younger girl had perfected her innocent persona while all along playing her cruel games.

Daniel, so besotted with the child by his beloved first wife, didn’t perceive how Cindy monopolized his affection, gently demanding his attention so he wouldn’t give too much to his new wife. He didn’t catch on to her seemingly guileless comparisons of her mother and Pamela, until finally he found himself married to an embittered woman who hadn’t been able to compete against her first husband’s family and now couldn’t win the love of her current husband from his dead wife.

Cindy delighted in drama, unhappiness, and confusion—especially if she was the maestro behind the discord.

Her stepsister met her stare, and a tiny smile lifted a corner of the younger woman’s mouth.

“Well?” Pamela demanded. “Do you deny it?”

“No,” Rowyn answered, voice steady. “I don’t.”

“You slut,” her mother spit. Rage contorted her features, and for the first time, Rowyn recognized the hatred that ate at the older woman like a cancer. Hatred for the daughter who was a constant reminder of her failure as a woman and a wife. Hatred for the life that should have been happy but instead had become a miserable prison that she abused alcohol to escape. Hatred for herself.

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” Cindy said, regret heavy in the soft tone. “I didn’t want to hurt you, but I thought you should know. I wish I hadn’t recognized Rowyn’s purse and keys. I wish…” Misery etched her features, as if being the bearer of bad news tortured her.

Rowyn’s palms itched to strangle the deceitful bitch.

“I wish you had come to me with your suspicions, Cindy,” Rowyn said. “Then I could have explained that my being with Darius had nothing to do with your father’s company or the merger. He and I met months ago.”

“Liar,” her mother accused. “If that’s true, why didn’t you say something Thursday night?”

“Because it was, and is, our business,” she countered coldly.