PIERCE : A Billionaire Romance Book Series (The Complete Van Doren Series) (3 page)

              “Now, actually…” Pierce responds, giving first Christina. “My morning’s free, as is my afternoon.  How about we make a day of it?” 

              Christina feels her heart shudder and her knees go slightly weak, but she nods and smiles as best she can.  “Sure,” she says, shivering inwardly as a single drop of sweat courses its way down her spine.  This definitely wasn’t where she anticipated today going, and she has no idea how to proceed with this guy.  Peter’s expression leaves no wiggle room, though.  He wants an article.  His eyes tell her in no uncertain terms that she won’t get another chance.  “Let’s make a day of it.” 

              Pierce smiles that blindingly perfect grin of his, steps forward, and places his hand in the small of Christina’s back, making her shiver again before she can stop herself.  He spreads his fingers and applies a little bit of pressure, urging her towards the door as he gets moving, himself.  “Since you’re such an early bird, let’s have breakfast.” 

              “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Peter says to their backs, his chair squeaking as he settles himself back into it and leaves his reporter to her job.  He doesn’t add anything more. Hopefully, Christina won’t fuck things up again.  He should have known better than to give this type of exclusive to such a newbie.

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              “So,” Pierce begins, his hand still warm against the narrow small of Christina’s back.  He propels her along towards the elevators, apparently unconcerned with her need to retrieve her bag from her office.  She turns away from him without speaking, heading back towards her own desk.  He follows, slightly bemused by her behavior.  It’s not until they are both in the small cube of her workspace that she addresses him, gently closing the door behind her.

              “What the fuck?” she asks, stepping up close to him and lifting her chin so they’re almost eye-to-eye.  He’s quite a bit taller, but she’s wearing heels and all puffed up and irritable.  He meets her gaze steadily at first, but then glances to the side and shrugs.

              “I wanted to talk to you.  I…” He takes a step back from her, unconcerned by her anger.  “I felt like things got off on the wrong foot.  I figured we should start over.”  He attempts to flash her a boyish grin, but Christina doesn’t seem interested in his disarming ways.  She’s really pissed.  Her hands are clenched into little balls at her sides, and a vein in her pretty neck is standing out in sharp relief.  She shakes her head.

              “Start over?  You fucking lied to Pete!  I could have lost my job!  What if…” She trails off, shaking her head and reaching up to twist a lock of sunshiny curls around her index finger. “Never mind.  Let’s get this done.  I don’t want to spend any more time with you than I have to.”  Christina moves to step around him then, reaching for her bag from the desk.

              Pierce steps in as she moves forward, one hand sliding around her midsection so his hand can splay across her back.  His other hand slides up along her neck, lightly seizing the back of her head with his fingers buried beneath the warm, silky curls of her hair.  Christina is startled, eyes going wide as she looks up at him, and her hands come up to press against the firm plane of his chest.  She wants to push him away – wants to squirm free – but instead she finds herself inches from his face, her mouth slightly parted in preparation to tell him to go fuck himself. 

              Any words she has on her tongue are swept away when Pierce leans in and claims her mouth with his own.  His lips are warm, soft, and hungry – his tongue wet and electric as it teases hers with hesitation, at first. She finds her own tongue responding with warm pressure, and her hands slide up to grip the strong knots of muscle in his shoulders, her back arching so her belly presses firmly against his abdomen.  A low whimper – one of mixed dismay and pleasure – escapes into his mouth, and he deepens the kiss with a hunger that’s finally loosed from his control.

              Christina’s knees go weak once more.  Her hands grip his shoulders, as much for support as for passion, and her heart slams in her chest.  Her nipples are tight against her demure cotton bra, and her businesslike pink blouse rasps softly against the crisp, starched material of his shirt.  She can feel warmth in her panties, and when his hand slides down to grip her ass, she lifts her foot and wraps it around the tight muscle of his calf.  His fingers work to bunch up her straight skirt until he can feel bare skin beneath his fingertips, and she finds herself nearly swooning in the sudden passion.

              As quickly as she’s swept up into the kiss, Christina realizes what’s happening.  She once more presses her palms against his chest, twisting her head away from the kiss and recoiling with a sudden jerk backwards.  Her shoulders bump the door hard enough to make it shudder lightly in its frame, and she begins straightening her skirt, smoothing it back down and adjusting her blouse.  She doesn’t look up at Pierce until she’s mostly regained her senses, and when she does she has a hard time meeting his eyes.

              “Let’s go,” she says, snatching her bag from her desk and pushing past him before he can interfere again.  He follows, stepping closely alongside her but thankfully keeping his hands to himself as they make their way through the office and back to the elevators.  He presses the ‘down’ arrow, and leans in so his whispered words can bloom moist and hot against her ear.

              “This is going to be fun.” 

              Christina does her best to ignore the rush of heat that blossoms from between her legs and crawls its way up into her stomach.  Before she can respond, the elevator arrives, and she moves into the car before the doors are fully opened.  She hurries back into the far corner of the small space, and positions her bag in front of her in a not-so-subtle defensive position.  Pierce steps in behind her, offers her a playful wink, then turns his back and presses the ‘L’ button on the panel.  They descend to the lobby in silence.

              Fun isn’t the word I’d use to describe this
,
she thinks, sighing as she watches his back and considers what all that lean muscle and tempting strength would look like with bite marks from her teeth and scratches from her sensibly manicured nails.  Christina smiles a little bit to herself.
 
Maybe it will be fun.

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              In daylight, the Van Doren mansion is at once less intimidating and more amazing.  Christina is taken aback by the impressive facade of the home, and cranes her neck to look up at the distant roofline when she departs the low Maserati.  Instead of leading her to the front doors, Pierce lightly takes hold of her hand and directs her to the right, guiding her under what must have once been a carriageway and into a smaller, less ornate side entrance.  She finds herself in a vast, restaurant-equipped kitchen, complete with stainless steel appliances, what must be hand-built cabinets, deep gray marble countertops, and the scent of fresh bread and fruit.  She breathes deeply, filling her lungs with the delightful aroma.  Pierce lets her go as they cross the threshold, leaving her to her own devices as he moves to the huge double-doored refrigerator and swings the right door wide, revealing a well-stocked, immaculately clean interior.  

              “Hmmm...” he muses rummaging around for a few moments before backing up with an armful of food.  She spots a carton of eggs, a block of cheese, and what appears to be a hunk of meat.  Pierce tumbles his findings onto the countertop, then returns to the fridge and selects a bowl of assorted berries and a carafe of orange juice.  These items join the others on the counter. He nudges the door closed with his hip and heads for the stove, where he scans the overhead pot-rack and selects a large iron skillet.

“I gotta tell you, Christina...” Pierce says amiably, placing the pan on one still-cold eye of the eight-burner stove.  “I'm an amazing cook.  I missed my calling, really.  Should have gone to culinary school instead of becoming a billionaire playboy.”

              “Yeah,” Christina says, nodding sarcastically. “Being a billionaire playboy must be really tough.  Full-time job, huh?”  She slips around the center island of the kitchen and up next to Pierce, who is preparing to break some eggs into a glass bowl.   Her shoulder nudges his bicep.  Looking over at her, he grins a little, then takes a step back from the counter and aligns himself so she’s between him and the cabinetry.  A couple of small steps press her rump against the marble, and she bites her lip as his big, powerful body emanates warmth into her smaller form.  Reaching back, she grips the edge of the counter with both hands, and her chin lifts towards Pierce. 

              His hand comes up, his fingers grazing the line of her jaw before slipping lower so his thumb can caress the curve of her chin.  She takes a deep breath, fighting to maintain her composure.  The expansion of her chest against him prompts Pierce to take another small step forward, and she can feel his arousal pressing hot and hard into her stomach.  For a few seconds, the silence is thick.  The room feels small despite its nearly cavernous size, and Christina and Pierce are locked in a moment of palpable tension.  Christina’s lips part to speak, but then she feels Pierce’s hands wrapping around her waist.  Her own hands lift to grip the firm bulge of his shoulders just in time for him to lift her up, and she finds her bottom greeting the cool marble of the counter, her body pushed back and her knees pushed apart by Pierce’s impatient hands.

              “Wait,” she breathes, squirming a little and reaching up to seize his face with both of her hands.  She pulls at him, guiding his attention to her own features, and he looks at her with lust-hazed, dilated eyes.  His jaw is set, his nostrils flared – his need heavy and fierce on his handsome features.  His hands once again wrap around her waist, but his touch is lighter – his attention focused on what she has to say, at least for now.  “What are we doing?” she murmurs.

              Pierce takes a moment to consider his response.  His hands fall away from her waist.  He stays close, his body pressed between her parted knees.  He gazes steadily into her eyes, then shakes his head and leans in and buries his face into the crook of her neck.  His words bloom hot against her throat, sending shivers through her stomach and heat deep into her groin.  “I don’t know. Anything.  Everything.”  She feels his fingers, feather-light, tracing up the lengths of her arms.  His touches are almost hesitant.  Christina is momentarily taken aback by his sudden shift in demeanor, and she leans back a bit, lifting his head so she can look into his eyes once more.  Pierce only maintains eye contact for a brief moment, and then she feels an abrupt yank, the pop of her blouse’s buttons being torn free.  They clatter almost silently on the stone tiles beneath Pierce’s feet, and Christina gasps as her body is partially bared.

              Pierce darts in, pressing his face into the warm, sweetly scented cleft between Christina’s breasts.  She arches her back, hands coming up to grip his head, and for a moment she simply basks in the feel of his breath, his whiskers, his lips, his tongue – all eager and hungry and nearly desperate against her sensitive flesh.  She whimpers softly, eyes closing.  Pierce’s hands slip up to cup her breasts, fingers squeezing the pliant mounds, and then he lifts his head, claiming her mouth in a kiss that melts into a low, hungry moan. 

              Their mouths meld, their breaths mingle.  Their noses bump clumsily into one another, but in their passion the couple only finds new angles, new approaches to exploring one another more fully.  Christina finds herself wrapping her legs around Pierce, and she feels his hands gripping her skirt and shoving it up until it’s bunched around her hips.  Her panties are soaked – their thin material sticking to her puffy, anxious folds.  She squirms against him, grinding herself into him blindly – and then she feels him pull away. His hands leaving her body, and his strength breaking free of her legs’ grasp.

              “Wha…?” she pants, reaching up to shove a clump of damp blonde curls from her eyes.  She is already disheveled, her mostly naked chest ruddy and blotched from his aggressive affections.  Her breasts heave, her ruined shirt draped over one shoulder and shoved back and down to partially trap her left arm to her side.  Christina impatiently tugs her arm free, then discards the top altogether, throwing it to land in a rumpled heap on top of the forgotten breakfast ingredients at her side.

              Pierce takes a few more steps back, broadening the space between them.  He is also breathing erratically, panting and gnawing at his lip as he studies her as she perches there on the counter.  In a flash Christina sees something behind his eyes. He looks almost confused – like a lost little boy.  Christina feels concern welling up in her chest, and she is about to hop down from the marble when he begins unbuttoning his shirt.  She settles back down, content to watch him bare his undoubtedly perfect body to her, finally. 

              She is not disappointed.  His chest is broad and strong, pecs defined and abdominal muscles a washboard of hard-earned strength.  He is lightly dusted with dark chest hair, giving him a roguish appearance, and his waist narrows into a sleek ‘V’. His navel is positively kissable.  Pierce keeps his eyes averted as he strips, and when he starts to unfasten his belt, Christina slips off the counter and moves towards him, reaching out to take hold of his wrists and pull his hands away from his waist.

              It’s Pierce’s turn to look concerned. He meets her eyes with his, and the startling blue is nearly swallowed by the anxious, lust-dilated pupils.  He leans in to kiss her, but Christina grins and puts one hand over his face, gently pushing it away before reaching down to take hold of his belt buckle, herself.