Stay (Dunham series #2) (28 page)

It never went away completely.

Regardless of how famous and successful she was,
regardless that her past wasn’t littered with one-night stands and
illegitimate children and addictions of one sort or another,
regardless that her education was impeccable—

“Stop it,” Eric whispered in her ear, his hand
around her arm and tugging her around to him. “You’re not Simone,
you’re not LaVon. You’re better than that. Remember, you took the
trailer park out of the girl.”

Really, she didn’t want to cry in front of her
staff. They had never seen that, never seen her lose it, but—

“How did you know?” she whispered.

“I’m very observant. The tip of your nose turns red
when you’re feeling insecure.”

She looked up at him. “Really?”

His smile flashed. “I have no idea. I’m teasing you
because I know I can make you smile.”

“You’ve always been able to make me smile.”

“Well, look at that,” Alain crowed from the door.
“She does have a libido and a taste for men. Go get a room, Boss,
and let me have my kitchen. It’s Friday.”

“Oh, Alain,” Justice called. “Apple dumplings. Could
you have someone put them in the oven for me, please? I’m going to
go get dressed for dinner.”

“No problem.”

Vanessa leaned into Eric and his arm snaked around
her waist to pull her to him. She murmured, “I’m afraid there are
no vacancies, sir. Would you care to share a cottage with the
owner?”

“That’d be an acceptable arrangement,” he
purred.

Vanessa smiled. “Did you bring suits?”

“That’s what you told me to do.”

“You can eat with Knox and Justice. I seat the
guests myself and then schmooze during dinner. Part of the
Whittaker House gimmick is me seating, possibly serving,
personally.”

“Why doesn’t Vachel live in the cottage with
you?”

She pulled away from him a bit and took his hand.
She drew him outside and down the stairs, headed for her
cottage.

“He’s very claustrophobic. He refuses to go into any
of the cottages for any reason whatsoever. His room is above the
kitchen, across from my office, which used to be the conference
room. He needs a lot of space, a lot of light. Windows. He won’t
even sleep in a twin bed. Apparently Simone—probably at the
suggestion of my mother—decided that a closet in a single-wide was
the perfect place for a crying toddler. That’s why he can’t sleep
when it’s dark. He will, but he has to be really tired or I have to
be close by.”

Eric scowled. “You’re kidding me.”

“No, I’m not. The first thing I did when I got him
here was take him to a doctor and a shrink. He was more
malnourished and screwed up than I expected. He was very clingy for
a while, but that wore off as he started to get some good food in
him and feel more secure. Curtis tells him about being in a
concentration camp, how he survived. The missionaries help because
they’re always so cheerful. The highland games definitely helped.
He needed to be surrounded by confident, happy, strong men. I’ll
tell you what, though. If I thought I could get blood out of a
turnip, I’d sue my mother for the cost of his therapy.”

“Is that why you can feel good about letting him
have his freedom?”

“Oh, no. That would have never happened without the
highland games. The men all love him, but they won’t tolerate
dishonorable behavior. I can ask any one of them to knock some
sense into his head. He’s only gotten really out of line once or
twice and even then, I only had to say the two magic words.”

“Knox Hilliard.”

“That’s it. He didn’t believe Knox would actually
get on a plane just to crack his head open.”

“Oh, he should’ve known better than that.”

“He does now.”

It only took a moment to get to her cottage and Eric
actually looked at it this time as Vanessa made a beeline to her
bedroom. It was maybe five hundred square feet of open area heated
in the winter by the relatively big fireplace opposite the corner
kitchenette. On the other side of the fireplace was the narrow
staircase going up to her bedroom. He had to duck the ceiling when
he climbed it to get to her bedroom, where he saw Vanessa’s
beautiful ass sticking out of one closet. She muttered the
occasional curse word as she sorted through the mess of clothes,
shoes, and accessories.

Still bent over, she looked at him through her legs
and gave him a cheeky grin. “I’ll let you clean out my closet for
me while you’re here.”

Eric smirked and rolled his eyes, then turned and
left to get his things, finally deciding to just drive his car back
there and park in her private garage, since he wasn’t going any
place for the week if he could possibly help it.

He brought in his clothes and hung them on a hook
near the bathroom door. She’d gotten back in the shower in the time
it had taken him to bring his car around and park. Then, without a
trace of hesitation, Eric stripped and once again got into the
shower with Vanessa.

“We have a little bit of time,” she whispered.

“I don’t do quickies, Vanessa,” he murmured as his
lips brushed her shoulders and neck. “I told you that— I take my
time and since we got interrupted this afternoon, I want all night.
What I’ll do right now, though, is soap you down, then help you
back into that corset I know you had on at your father’s wake.”

* * * * *

24: May I See You Home?

He was serious! Vanessa held her breath while
Eric—wet, cut—poured shampoo into his hands and washed her hair.
This wasn’t arousing so much as feeling taken care of, cherished.
He washed her head to toe, taking his time between her legs.

Then he rinsed her off and let her return the
favor.

She loved feeling his body under her hands and,
because he was a head taller than she was, he knelt in front of her
so she could wash his hair. He wrapped his hands around her hips,
his thumbs in her pubic hair, and pressed his lips to her
belly.

“Breathe, Vanessa,” he murmured. “We only have so
much time and soap in my ass makes me itch.”

She burst out laughing then, and she finished,
making sure to rinse his ass well. He caught her hands and wrapped
them around his cock while he kissed her, long and deeply.

Then he hustled her out of the shower, dried her
off, then himself. He discarded the towel on the way out of the
bathroom, sat on the bed, and drew her to stand between his thighs.
He kissed her between her breasts and breathed deeply. Vanessa
thought her legs would give out on her right then. He seemed to
have remembered where she laid each piece of her clothes out
because he grabbed her lacy pink tanga shorts from behind him
without moving his mouth away from her skin.

She stepped back when he leaned down, holding her
panties open for her to step into. He pulled them up her legs
slowly, his hands caressing her softly, carefully, teasingly. He
cupped her buttocks in his big hands and drew her back toward him
so that he could nuzzle under her breasts.

“Mmmm, yes, I’ll make love to you all night,
Vanessa, even when I’m not touching you. You’ll go do what you do
and while you work—while I watch you work—you’ll remember me
washing you, dressing you, touching you, kissing you.”

Vanessa’s eyes had closed long ago, her fingers
buried in Eric’s wet black hair.

“You’re getting wet,” he murmured, his nose and
mouth between her breasts now. “I can smell you. Every man in your
dining room tonight’ll want a piece of you and won’t even know
why.”

“Eric,” she sighed as her hands left his hair to
stroke down his neck to his shoulders and back, not caressing so
much as kneading the muscles there.

“Vanessa,” he sighed in return.

She missed the feel of his mouth when he turned to
get her white merrywidow. He stood and wrapped it around her,
hooking it up the back for her, slowly, carefully, his knuckles
grazing her back and his lips brushing her nape. When she raised
her hands to adjust her breasts in the demi cups, he brushed them
away. He dug his hands into the cups and adjusted her breasts
himself to his satisfaction, and it satisfied him to make sure her
nipples, now hard as pebbles, were not covered by the lace.

“Eric, I can’t work the dining room like that,” she
whispered.

“I know,” he whispered back. “But it was a nice
thought while it lasted.” And then he adjusted them properly, which
was even more tantalizing when lace brushed up against her stiff
nipples, his thumbs adding to the sensation.

Stockings. Barely-there white shimmer stockings with
French seams. He knelt behind her and drew one up her leg, keeping
the seam perfectly straight. She caught her breath when he pressed
his lips into the crease between her thigh and buttock.

“Eric, I can’t do this much longer. I’m dying.”

“Mmmm, so am I,” he muttered against the back of her
thigh. “It’s the good kind of dying.”

Vanessa didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t
breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but feel what Eric
was doing while he dressed her; she couldn’t imagine what he’d do
while
un
dressing her.

The other stocking, and Vanessa was about to
faint.

“Hand me your shoes, Vanessa.”

She leaned over the bed to get to them and then
gasped when she felt Eric’s mouth high on the inside of her thigh,
then his finger slowly drawing her panties aside.

Stretching farther and putting her hands flat on the
bed, Vanessa spread her legs wider apart. He accepted the
invitation, wrapping his hands around her hips and drew himself
closer into her.

His tongue dipped up inside her, tasting, drinking.
His fingers slid around her, between her legs from the front, and
he teased her clitoris.

Her eyes closed. Her breath stopped. Her head
dropped forward.

Vanessa moaned low in her throat, whimpered, when
she came, soft, gentle, at Eric’s touch. Eric, the man she’d always
wanted—

—the one she’d pined for.

He didn’t say a word when she had finished with a
gasp; he just drew away from her to put her shoes on her feet,
still slow. Still careful. Surrounding her ankles with his big
hands and caressing her feet and calves. He stood up tall and
strong behind her then, and drew her up and back against him,
against his strong chest, his cock between them, hard, throbbing,
and wrapped his arms around her.

“Remember that, Vanessa,” he whispered in her ear
between nibbles. “Remember, while you work, while people eat and
laugh and don’t know that I dressed you, while men want you and
won’t know why. I’ll watch you and I’ll remember. Every time you
look at me, you’ll know I’m thinking about what I just did to
you.”

She sighed, then his warmth was gone as he grabbed
her skirt off the bed. Linen. Pale pink. With a long slit up the
back. He bent to hold it for her to step into, as he had her
panties. Once it was settled on her hips, he zipped it up the back,
his knuckles again caressing her as he pulled the zipper slowly and
buttoned the two small buttons at the waistband.

Then her blouse of fine white cotton with
three-quarter length sleeves of exquisite Battenberg lace cutwork,
and matching cutwork along the hem that barely brushed the
waistband of her skirt. He turned her toward him to button her up
the front.

She dare not look up at him because she felt shy and
embarrassed at her complete loss of control, her willingness to
take whatever he would give her. It was different when she’d
invited him into her shower earlier: She’d been prepared.

This? No, really. Who made love while
dressing
? It was beyond her comprehension and absolutely the
most wonderful thing a man had ever done to her.

And he was still naked. Dark, stealthy.

Aroused.

As he wound his arm around her and pressed her body
to his, she saw something . . . different . . . in his eyes she
didn’t understand.

Then he kissed her, deep yet lazy, as if he could do
this all day long, aroused yet not apparently interested in taking
care of his needs.

And she tasted her own juices on his tongue. She
found that as arousing as she ever did, but so much more so now
because it was
Eric
and she could taste him commingled with
her and he had bound her desire for him up with emotion she had
never experienced . . .

“But, Eric, you didn’t—” she protested against his
mouth.

“Don’t worry about it,” he murmured in a tone she
couldn’t decipher.

“But I want to—”

“Later,” he whispered. “In bed. Right now it’s time
to go to work.” He stepped away from her, releasing her slowly. His
fingers still entwined with hers, he spread her arms wide and
stepped back to look at her, inspecting her closely. A
self-satisfied smile spread across his face. “I do good work.”

Vanessa would have laughed had she been halfway
sentient, but she was still too drugged. She took a step past him
toward the stairs, past her sudden and unexpected shyness.

She took two steps down, then looked over her
shoulder. He stood nude and fully aroused, his hands on his hips as
he watched her.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she whispered after a
moment.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

* * * * *

25: Aphrodisiac of the Soul

He strode in the front door like everyone else
because he wanted to see what she did, how she did it, how she’d
become a millionaire in the heart of the Ozarks at the ripe old age
of twenty-eight.

There was a bit of a wait as she seated every guest
herself, but since this was her “gimmick” and people really liked
her gimmick, no guest would begrudge the time she spent with
another guest. Each person knew he’d get his turn.