The Bachelor's Promise (Bachelor Auction) (14 page)

“Stop moving, sweetheart. I need…” He broke off with a grunt, grinding his hips against hers. “Give me a minute to…” Again he trailed off, levering off of her and balancing on his arms. Tendons stood out in sharp relief, a testimony to the control he exerted. “You okay?” he growled.

She forced herself to relax, breathed deep, and took stock of her body. Already the sting blurred, but the weight of his invasion didn’t. With the panic fading, too, every sense and nerve seemed to focus on him embedded deep within her.

“Noelle.” He flexed his hips, eliciting a moan from her. “You. Okay?”

Unable to speak, she nodded. And tightened her grip on him. Maybe he took that as her acceptance, because he pulled back, and damn, every inch and ridge dragged over her sensitive flesh. And when he returned, slowly thrusting into her again, she lifted her hips, meeting him. Pleasure exploded within her, widening her eyes, strangling the breath from her.

“Again,” she breathed, already snapping her hips back to repeat the movement that had caused lightning to streak through her.

A low, wicked chuckle reverberated above her, then he submitted to her demand. He’d asked her to hold on to him. That’s all she could do as he introduced her to passion, lust, and clawing need. He rode her, gently at first, tenderly. Then, as she twisted under him, begging for a harder, deeper possession, his strokes lengthened, became fiercer, and maybe just a bit wilder.

The bed groaned under them, joining the smack of wet flesh against wet flesh, her short, keening cries, his hoarse moans, their harsh breathing.

“You’re so fucking tight, so wet for me, sweetheart.” He snapped his hips, his dick tunneling into her, plunging, shoving her forward, forward, closer to a release that a part of her reared back from. From the power of it. Maybe she inched backward, because he palmed her ass, held her in place for him, while the other hand cupped her nape. He crushed his mouth to hers, whispering, “So goddamn perfect.”

Desperate, hungry, she raked his back, hiking her legs higher around his waist, bucking, grinding, demanding. The almost-too-big column of flesh she’d been anxious about she now craved, would’ve begged for if she had any breath left. But that precipice loomed nearer, the crumbling edge beckoning a sweet seduction that with one final, hard thrust had her succumbing to it.

Jesus
.

She detonated. Exploded into dozens, hundreds of pieces.

And depended on him to gather them up.

What did I do?

The question crawled through her mind, jackrabbiting against the walls of her mind like a pogo stick gone wild.
What the hell did I do?

Aiden’s furnace-like heat reached out to her, reminded her he lay naked in the bed behind her. The heady, thick scent of sex still clung to the air, and in spite of the
What the fuck
s pounding in her head, her body lazily pulsed in response to the erotic perfume. Goddamn, not fifteen minutes had passed since her world had erupted in the orgasmic equivalent of Pompeii’s Mount Vesuvius, and already her core clenched around a phantom cock, bemoaning the emptiness. Craving to be filled again.

Somewhere a village was missing its idiot, and her face was featured on all the milk cartons.

Because of an apology from a hot man she’d become one of those women she’d vowed not to become. One who knew a man wasn’t good for her, wasn’t meant for her, but fell into bed with him anyway. A woman who substituted desire for common sense. A woman who believed the power of the pussy could change a man.

Well, no, that crime she couldn’t claim. The other two, yes, but she bore no illusions about how Aiden saw her. He might have apologized for his accusations, but the anger, pain, and…and hatred toward his father and brother hadn’t disappeared. Those emotions ran too deep, were rooted in childhood issues that had spilled over into adulthood. And Tony’s phone call had only ripped off whatever scab had managed to cover the wound. Though Tony had never confessed to her why Aiden hated him, she’d overheard him telling their father the truth. It further solidified her belief that Aiden was so blinded by the last name she shared with the two men he detested most, that their having sex tonight had been the dumbest move she could’ve made.

Second dumbest. The first would be falling in love with him. And she’d already fucked up once. Losing her heart to a man who could never love her back? A man who was the equivalent of an emotional free fall, who she couldn’t depend on not to abandon her? A man who would always resent her for her family? She wasn’t that idiotic or crazy.

“Why?” Aiden’s low, rasped question might as well have been a shout in the shrouded silence of the room. She flinched from the suddenness and the inquiry itself. Contrary to what her actions of the past hour would declare about her intelligence, she wasn’t dumb. She understood what he referred to.

She lifted a bare shoulder in a shrug, keeping her back to him. “It wasn’t on my list of priorities.” It was on her not-to-do list rather than her to-do list.

“Liar.” The soft word struck the air, reverberating like a quivering dart.

“It wasn’t anything Victorian. I wasn’t saving myself for marriage or ‘the right man’ to come along,” she scoffed. Heart tripping in her chest, she sat, clutching the covers to her chest—just like that Victorian miss she’d claimed not to be. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to start envisioning picket fences or two-point-five kids.”
Shut
.
Up
.

“Noelle,” he growled. The bed shifted behind her, and panic flared inside her like an SOS.

Bounding off the bed, she dragged the sheet with her, twisting around so the material covered her front even as she mooned the window. Damn it. She searched the floor for her clothes, desperation raking her throat, knotting her stomach. Where the hell…
There
. On the other side of the bed, where he sat, glaring at her. A faintly hysterical gurgle of laughter bubbled up inside her. Screw it. Dropping the sheet, she darted to the dresser and snatched a T-shirt. She swore she could feel his gaze on her breasts, belly, sex, and thighs as she tugged on the top, and the visual caress only hastened her actions. The modesty—and humiliation—that had been missing when he’d stripped her of her clothes returned with a vengeance and a vendetta.

The sibilant hush of material over flesh sent a jagged spear of dread straight to her chest. She turned, and Aiden—naked, so gloriously naked—stood beside the bed, his pants in his fist. That steady, incisive stare cut through her, and she whipped back around on the pretense of grabbing a band for her hair, which probably screamed “freshly fucked.”

“Noelle—”

“Look, according to
The Maury Povich Show
, women fall on men’s dicks all the time, so this one”—she paused, squeezed her eyes shut—“indiscretion is no big deal. It happened; now we move on.” Pasting a patently false smile on her face, she turned and faced him. The smile slipped at the sight of his wide, taut shoulders and bare chest. Jesus Christ, sex one time, and she was turning into a nympho. “I’m going to shower. Uh…thanks.”

Thanks? She strode to the bathroom and shut the door behind her before leaning on it and staring up at the ceiling in abject horror. Freaking
thanks
?

Goddamn. Sex had turned her into a nympho and an idiot.

Chapter Eleven

Aiden slipped the end of his tie through the loop at his neck, pulling the end through and tightening the knot. Since his own father had always been MIA, his eleventh-grade English teacher had taught him and Lucas how to put on a tie. Then, the process had been awkward, but now it was almost muscle memory. Good thing, because other matters besides the perfect, straight knot occupied his mind. Matters like Noelle. And the sex two nights earlier that had damn near left him blind, deaf, and dumb.

Damn
. He smoothed a palm down the light blue-and-black silk and turned to grab his jacket off his bed.

A virgin. Noelle had been a virgin. He would’ve never guessed the exotic, independent, slightly wild pixie with the mural inked into her skin would be untouched. When she’d confessed the truth to him, he’d been taken aback by the lust and…
possessiveness
that had roared through him. Had it rendered him a caveman in that moment? Probably. But he owned it, couldn’t deny it. Knowing no man had ever given her pleasure—had been inside her—had caused a primal urge to rise up in him. An urge to take, to brand her with his mouth, his hands, his body. Imprint himself on her so thoroughly that she would never forget who introduced her to hunger, to ecstasy. That’s when he’d discovered that underneath the elegant, sophisticated suit existed a man who only pretended to be civilized.

She’d done that to him. And making her come on his fingers and with his mouth, pushing into a pussy that had been two sizes too small and utterly perfect, had sealed his fate. Stolen his mind. So now all he could think about was returning to that smooth, wet, tight haven.

“I wasn’t saving myself for marriage or ‘the right man’ to come along. Don’t worry. I’m not going to start envisioning picket fences or two-point-five kids.”

At first, lying there with the sweat barely dry on his skin, the scent of her sweet flesh still clinging to him, her flippant words had angered him. But under the anger, anxiety had lurked. The kind of anxiety that raked at the skin and heralded a panicked bout of claustrophobia. Like the sheet tangled around his hips and legs bound him tight, restricted him.

In the past, sex had been fun, not a prelude to a commitment. But he couldn’t indulge in a no-strings affair with Noelle. Their…history wouldn’t allow it. Too much tied them together—their past, their families, the promise that had brought her here to Boston. The overwhelming guilt he couldn’t separate from her. Not to mention her attachment and involvement with a man who had decimated his life and stolen the future he’d once held within his grasp. Hell yes. Complicating an already complicated relationship was madness.

And then there was him… He wasn’t any woman’s idea of a happily ever after.

He was incapable of having and maintaining a relationship. Because a commitment required trust; it required unconditional belief in a person. It required risk. And he couldn’t give that to a woman. Not after Peyton. His willingness to blame Noelle for her father’s theft was evidence enough of that.

And yet…all he could think about was sucking on Noelle’s pink nipples and watching them darken from his mouth and tongue. Eating his fill from her pussy and teasing the delicate button of her clit. Burying his cock inside her and having her flutter around his flesh, milking him dry.

That need—the ravenous hunger—had incited the flash of panic in her bedroom. Because even as his mind acknowledged they couldn’t do this again, his dick twitched and jerked in anticipation of the next time. Hoping “the next time” was less than two minutes away.

Clenching his teeth, he snatched up his suit jacket and shrugged into it. In the past couple of days, he’d kept his johnson in his pants and his hands off, and they were back to avoiding one another like before. Unlike before, though, now he knew the mind-numbing pleasure to be found in her bed. Smelled her unique scent on his skin no matter how many times he showered…

“Fucking ridiculous,” he muttered and glanced down at his watch. Seven o’clock. He had thirty minutes to arrive at Jocelyn’s Beacon Hill townhouse to pick her up for their date. After he’d called her as promised, they planned to meet and discuss the trip to Los Angeles that she’d won in the auction.

Almost three weeks ago, he would’ve been excited to spend two days and a night in California with a beautiful woman. Now, his body rebelled at the thought of touching another woman whose skin wasn’t covered in flowers, birds, and bows. After tracing the artistic beauty with his fingers and lips, all other women seemed bland, boring in comparison.

He shook his head, hard, as if he could jog that last observation free.
Get it together, damn it
. Sneering at himself, he exited the penthouse. Now he had twenty-eight minutes to make it across town.

Seventeen minutes later, he stood on a South End sidewalk outside King Gallery.

Idiot. He was a goddamn idiot.

He should be nearing Jocelyn’s home, not staring into the front window of Noelle’s workplace. What was he doing here? What was his endgame? To walk in there, demand she look at him, talk to him. Let him part those lush, pink lips and thrust his tongue in?

Exhaling a long, hard breath, he ran his fingers through his hair. Not twenty minutes ago, he’d acknowledged nothing could come of them having sex. That maintaining space and distance during the remainder of the time she spent in his home was the best idea. The right thing to do. For her and for him. Yet, here he waited to do…to do what? Convince her to come back to the penthouse so he could get lost in her again?

Again, he berated himself, calling himself about ten kinds of asshole, but he still pulled open the gallery door and entered.

And drew to a halt.

Noelle stood beside a white, freestanding wall where a photograph of a woman standing on the ledge of a roof offered a dramatic backdrop. An appropriate backdrop. Because as he stared at Noelle smiling and laughing up at a tall, suited man, her hand resting on his arm, Aiden identified with that woman on the ledge.

Part of him demanded he turn around and exit the gallery. The other half snarled and snapped, demanding he cross the gleaming hardwood floor and snatch her hand off the other man. He wanted to claim her smiles and the laughter she so sparsely gave him. The need to stalk over there and place his lips on the sweetly scented crook of her neck so the asshole she talked with would know she was his rode him like a horse jockey. The longing to then usher her to one of the back rooms, push her black skirt up around her waist and her panties down her legs, and plunge into her tight, hot, welcoming heat made him fist his hands, his palm itching to shape her soft but firm flesh… His ears ringing to hear that telltale catch in her breath as he tunneled deeper, and deeper still…

The.
Fuck
.

The dark, roiling desire to surrender to the possessive urge whipped through him, across him. With barely leashed control, he sharply pivoted and shoved out of the gallery. The brisk November-evening wind lashed at him, tugging on his hair and the lapels of his coat as if imploring him to turn around and return to the gallery. Return to claim Noelle.

Damn that. He’d been a fool to come down here. His asshole quota for the night had been met. Pressing the key fob, he unlocked the doors to his car with a muted beep and flash of the lights. He rounded the trunk of his car and grabbed the handle of the driver’s-side door.

“Aiden.” A hand appeared on the sleeve of his coat, and the image of that hand on another man flashed in front of him. As did that unwanted, resented possessiveness. He didn’t do possessive.

Not until now.

Spinning, he encircled Noelle’s wrist and pulled her out of the road and back onto the sidewalk, where the traffic whizzing by had no chance of hurting her.

Go back inside. I don’t want you. Forget I was here
.

The words streamed up his throat and hovered on the edge of his tongue. But when he parted his lips, he crushed them over hers, immediately taking advantage of her surprise. He backed her up against the side of his car, swallowing her gasp and tangling his tongue around hers, demanding—pleading—that she spar with him. The relief that poured through him when she tilted her head back and opened wider to him shouldn’t have been as strong…as important. Pushing it to the back of his mind, he groaned and fucked her mouth. Sucked it, thrust inside it, worshipped it. Christ, he couldn’t get enough. Cupping her face, he angled her head how he wanted, needed, for a greedier, wilder exploration.

Not that Noelle let herself be conquered. Hell no. She might have been a virgin up until two nights ago, but she kissed like a seductress. With every lick, stroke, and moan she locked another chain of lust around him, fettering him to her.

“I’m not going to lie,” he growled against her mouth. “I had no intention of showing up here tonight. I still don’t know what the hell I’m doing here. Nothing can come of it. But here I am. And when I saw you smiling up at that asshole…” He paused, nipped at the slightly fuller bottom lip. “I wanted to break him in two for receiving what I want from you for myself.”

“Aiden, he’s a buyer. Nothing else,” she murmured, cuffing his wrists. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

He shook his head, pressed a hard kiss to the corner of her mouth. “You don’t think I know that? But it doesn’t matter. Because even if he was the damn pope or you were shaking his hand with gloves and a fucking hazmat suit on… I hated it. I hated that it wasn’t me when all I can think about is having you under me, over me, bent over in front of me. I go to bed and have to force myself to stay there instead of going down the hall to your room and climbing in next to you.”

Slowly, she lowered his hands from her face and shifted back a step. “And you can’t stand that, can you? Can’t stand that you want me?”

“No,” he admitted, his voice low and fierce. “Part of me wishes you were nameless, faceless. That after being inside you I could walk away and forget you. It would be easier, simpler. But then there’s the part that can still feel you squeezing my cock. That can’t forget how you look as you come. That can still smell your scent on my skin no matter how hard I try to scrub it off. That part doesn’t give a damn about anything but getting inside you again.”

“How romantic,” she murmured, a half smile curving one half of her lush mouth. But her eyes remained dark, shuttered. “No wonder women fall all over themselves to be with you.”

“The truth. And here’s more of it.” Moving forward, he eliminated the space she’d placed between them. He burrowed his fingers through her hair and pressed his forehead to hers, briefly closing his eyes. Relief, regret, disgust, and desire—that ever-present, never-satisfied desire—swirled inside him like a cyclone bent on destruction. His. Hers. None of it was black and white. Not anymore. Hell, it hadn’t been since that November night he’d shown up at that party. “Romance requires thinking, planning, control. I’m not capable of that when I’m around you.”

He shouldn’t have her. As long as he stayed away from her, she was his penance, his act of contrition… But he was tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of being alone. Tired of aching. He wanted her…needed her. The only defense he had left was the truth, acknowledging that this—whatever this was between them—was temporary. Because an expiration date loomed over their heads like Damocles’s sword. Her apartment would be ready in another week or so, and they would go their separate ways and return to the lives they’d had before a promise and a leak in an old woman’s apartment had brought them together.

That phone call from Tony on Monday… Fury streaked through Aiden before he could stifle it. Hearing her brother’s smug, arrogant voice had brought all the pain, grief, and helplessness back on a tidal wave that had damn near submerged him. The urge to rip Tony apart with his bare hands had strangled Aiden. That easily, the riptide of emotion had taken him under.

That had been a phone call. If he and Noelle were together, what would happen when she insisted on her brother visiting or on her returning to Chicago to see him? The bitterness and resentment would turn to hate—for her. Aiden had moved thousands of miles to Boston, but Noelle’s presence and the echoes of the past that had come with her were proof positive he hadn’t let go. He hadn’t let bygones be bygones. He hadn’t forgiven. And he doubted he would ever be able to.

Still…that knowledge did nothing for the ravenous arousal that knotted his gut, swelled his cock. He could have right now—they could have each other for right now. And the greedy bastard that he was, he intended to take it.

“Come home with me,” he said, tangling his fingers in her thick, raven hair and tilting her head back. He stared down into her bright eyes. “I can’t…” His grip tightened on the dark strands. “I’ll never lie to you, Noelle. I’m not a good bet. You deserve more than I’m offering. But I want you. For one night. Two. Three. And I’m enough of a selfish bastard to ask you to say yes. Do you understand what I’m telling you?” Silently, he willed her to understand, to agree. Because if she didn’t, he would walk away from her, but goddamn, it would hurt like hell.

Noelle studied him, her expression sober, revealing nothing. He waited, determined not to pressure her, needing her to come to him of her own free will.

After a long moment, she slowly nodded. “Okay,” she whispered.

The satisfaction that crashed through him should have seemed disproportionate to the one word.

But not when that one word meant he could taste her again, touch her again, have her again. For however long they had.

No, that one word was everything.