The Perfect Gift: A Christmas Billionaire Sexy Romance (Three Wise Men Book 1) (15 page)

From that moment, it seemed to Brock that Erin relaxed and began to enjoy herself again. He showed her his bedroom, and he could tell by the way her gaze followed him around the room and the sultry look in her eyes that she was thinking about what might happen later that day, when they finally retired to the huge bed with its view over the harbor, and slipped beneath the covers together.

He was looking forward to getting her into bed again too, and it was only late afternoon, but Brock surprised himself by not being impatient for the hours to pass. He carried the Lego box out onto the table on the deck for Ryan, and after pouring himself and Erin a glass of wine, they joined the boy at the table to talk and watch the boats sailing through the harbor as the sun sank lower in the sky.

When Ryan tired of playing with the Lego, Brock turned the TV on in the living room, gave him some paper and a pack of colored pencils he’d bought, and settled him in front of it to watch cartoons.

Sitting Erin at the breakfast bar with her wine, Brock insisted he didn’t need help and proceeded to make dinner for them all. Erin assured him that Ryan liked pasta, so he made a basic tomato sauce, tossed it with cooked chopped sausage and some penne, and served it with a simple green salad back out on the deck, because it was a lovely warm evening, and Erin had said she adored the view.

After this, he stacked the dishwasher, and then the three of them went into the movie room and watched a Disney movie on the big screen while they munched on Smarties and Maltesers. Brock sat Ryan between him and Erin, enjoying the boy’s delight in the cinema experience, and seeing in Erin’s smile her appreciation of his care of her son.

When the movie finished, it was bath time. While Erin ran the bath and filled it with bubbles, Brock showed Ryan the pack of soap crayons he’d bought.

“See all these white tiles?” he told the boy. When Ryan nodded solemnly, expecting to be told he mustn’t draw on them, Brock said, “I want to see every one of them covered with pictures, okay?”

Ryan’s face lit up, and it was all Erin could do to get him undressed before he got in the bath, eager to get drawing.

By seven o’clock, Ryan was bathed, dried, dressed in pajamas, had been given his inhalers, and was sitting in bed with a sippy cup of warm milk. After making sure he knew where their room was in case he needed her in the night, Erin stretched out next to him with one of Matt’s Ward Seven books—which was very well-thumbed, Brock noticed.

Ryan took it out of her hand and gave it to Brock. “Will you wead it?”

“Sure.” Giving Erin an amused look, he opened the page. “Here we go. Dixon’s X-Ray Disaster.”

He proceeded to tell the story about the dog’s adventures in the X-Ray department, sending Ryan into squeals of laughter with the voices he gave the characters. As he read, he thought once again how clever his brother was, creating these stories. The writing was simple enough that younger children could understand it easily and older children could read along, but the stories also carried little jokes for the grown-ups reading them, Matt’s distinct wry humor shining through.

When he finished, Ryan begged for him to read it again, but Erin shook her head and told him to settle down and she’d sing him a song.

Brock excused himself, saying he’d wait for her in the living room, but he’d only walked a few steps away when Erin’s voice rang out, and he stopped, entranced, and leaned against the wall to listen.

She sang a lullaby he hadn’t heard since he was a child. The lyrics were a little different to those he remembered, but the tune was the same. “I see the moon, the moon sees me, under the shade of the old oak tree, please let the moon that shines on me, shine on the one I love… Over the ocean, over the sea, that’s where my heart is longing to be, please let the moon that shines on me, shine on the one I love.”

“Sing the knight one,” Ryan prompted when she’d done. So she started singing the hymn that Brock remembered from his youth.

“When a knight won his spurs, in the stories of old, he was gentle and brave, he was gallant and bold.”

“Like Bwock,” Ryan said.

Erin laughed. “Yes, like Bwock.” She continued to sing. “With a shield in his arm and a lance in his hand, for God and for valor he rode through the land.”

Brock shivered. Her beautiful voice captured the magic in the words, but that wasn’t the only reason a tingle had run down his spine. Oddly, it had been one of Fleur’s favorites. For a brief moment he felt light-headed, his throat tightening as an unexpected wave of emotion swept over him.

Then he blinked, took a deep breath, and blew it out. The intensity passed, but instead of leaving him unsettled, he felt a peculiar warmth spread through him. Suddenly, it became crystal clear that time was not linear but circular, and Fleur would always remain a part of his present and future, not just his past.

He walked away, through to the living room, but stood by the windows, watching the last rays of the sun turning the water to gold as Erin’s voice continued to ring through the apartment, high and pure as a choirboy’s.

Although he’d been brought up a Christian, he wasn’t particularly religious and hadn’t gone to church in years, but at that moment he had no doubt he was experiencing a spiritual moment. He’d spent many hours in the dark thinking about where Fleur was now, trying to convince himself he’d see her again one day, looking for signs that she was still with him, and struggling to find them. But at that moment, he felt her presence with him, and he knew then that it wasn’t about forgetting one woman and moving on to another. His heart was big enough to love them both at the same time, and there was no need to feel guilt that he’d had to leave Fleur behind, because she would always remain with him.

A pair of warm arms slid around his waist, and it was only then he realized that Erin had stopped singing. To his surprise, his cheeks were wet with tears.

“Hey.” Her eyes widened when he turned toward her. “What’s the matter? Are you okay?”

He passed a hand over his face. “I’m fine. Sorry. You got to me.” He laughed and ran a hand through his hair. “You have the voice of an angel.”

Erin cupped his face in her hands, her blue eyes studying him with concern. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Seriously, I’m fine.” He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the touch of her hands ground him, the brush of her fingers across his lips reawaken his senses. He could smell her light, flowery perfume, along with the baby shampoo and talc she’d used on Ryan in the bath, and the reassuring smell of warm milk.

She rested her hands on his chest, and he slid his arms around her, pulling her close. It was like having had nothing to eat for two years except dry bread and water, and suddenly he’d been given marshmallows and chocolate brownie and ice cream. She was soft to touch, sweet to smell, a piece of summer in his hands, and he never wanted to let her go.

Lowering his head, he brushed his lips against hers. Her fingers splayed on his chest, then her hands crept up his neck and into his hair as he kissed her, moving his lips across hers slowly, savoring every touch as if taking tiny bites of a favorite meal. He felt her tongue on his lip, tentative and soft, and he opened his mouth and let her slide inside, murmuring his approval. She tasted of Smarties and white wine, and he sighed and tightened his arms around her, deepening the kiss. He adored the way she reacted to him, rising on her tiptoes, pressing her breasts to his chest and her hips to his so she could feel his rising erection.

All too soon, she pulled back, and he gave a long, shivery sigh.

She smiled and took his hand. “We need to give Ryan a little time to get to sleep. Go and sit on the sofa. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

He watched her walk back to the bedrooms, presumably to check on her son. Picking up their glasses, he refilled them with wine, went over to the suite, and sat on the sofa to wait for her.

She was gone a few minutes, and he rested his head on the back of the sofa and daydreamed for a while, thinking about how it had felt to kiss her, and how much he was looking forward to making love to her. Part of him wanted to take her hard and fast, up against a wall or on the table, to plunge into her soft body until they were covered in sweat and crying out each other’s names.

Equally, though, the notion of taking his time also appealed. Of undressing her slowly, removing each piece of clothing one by one and kissing her exposed skin, of trailing his lips down her body and enjoying the touch and taste of her. Yes, he thought, slowly this time, making it last, drawing out the pleasure until neither of them could bear it any longer and pleasure washed over them and carried them away.

A light kiss on his lips brought his eyes open with surprise—he hadn’t heard her walk back. Looking at her as she sat beside him on the sofa, he realized why. She was barefoot, and she’d changed out of her T-shirt and shorts into an extremely sexy nightdress. Made of coffee-colored satin, it reached to her shins but was split up the sides to her hips. Quite clearly, she wore nothing beneath it except for a pair of lace-topped flesh-colored thigh-highs.

She retrieved her wine glass and cuddled up to him. “Do you like it?” She’d also removed the band from her hair, which now curled over one shoulder. She didn’t wear much makeup, but her lips glistened with lipgloss and she’d obviously topped up her perfume.

“It’s gorgeous.” He stroked down her curves, his fingers tingling at the sensation of her so soft and slippery in his hands.

“I’m glad. I bought it for you.”

He sipped his wine, enjoying the silky cool liquid in his mouth that seemed to complement the touch of the fabric. “It feels expensive.”

“It was. Ryan and I will be eating beans on toast for Christmas dinner.” She winked at him.

He smiled and slid a finger beneath her chin to lift her gaze to his. “I’d have been just as happy with the shorts and T-shirt.”

“Now he tells me.” She laughed. “Actually, it was lovely to treat myself to something special. I can’t remember the last time I bought a piece of clothing that wasn’t practical.”

“Well, as I said, I’d have been happy whatever you were wearing, but it is extremely becoming.”

Keeping his gaze fixed on hers, he traced his finger up her jawbone to her ear and tucked her hair behind it. He stroked down her neck and arm to where her hand rested on her knee, then up her thigh, into the dip of her waist, and up over her breast, taking care to include her nipple in the journey.

She shivered, and the nipple peaked, showing through the satin like a tiny button.

“Mmm,” he murmured, sipping his wine again, enjoying the power he had over her body.

Erin sighed and raised her lips to his, and they exchanged a long, lingering kiss that soon had his body hardening, ready to take her. When he’d finished his wine, he placed the glass on the coffee table, slid down a little on the sofa so she was almost lying on him, and let both his hands skim over her silky curves while he kissed her.

The setting sun had bathed the room in a warm, pinky light, and the sounds of early evening in the harbor filtered through the open doors—boats heading home, and people calling out to each other as they headed to bars and clubs, joyful it was the weekend and they still had a whole day to relax.

He gave a long sigh. “This is nice.” He slid his hands to her bottom and tightened his fingers on the plump muscles, pulling her against him so his erection nestled in her soft mound. “I could lie here forever with you.”

“That’s a nice thing to say.” She brushed her nose against his, then kissed him again. Their tongues entwined, slick and sensual, and her hips gave a slow rock, stroking against him and making them both groan.

She lifted her head again, and he opened his mouth to say something, then hesitated.

“What?” she asked.

He studied her face and raised his hands to slip into her silky hair. “Not now. I’ll tell you later, afterward.”

“After what?” She gave him a sexy smile.

He touched his lips to hers. “After I’ve kissed you all over. After I’ve tasted you. After I’ve slid inside you and made you come again and again until you beg me to stop.”

Her eyelids drifted shut momentarily, her lips parting, and then she lifted up off him and rose to her feet. Holding out a hand, she said, “Come on. Let’s see if Ryan’s asleep.”

Erin led Brock through the quiet living room, past the kitchen, and along to the bedrooms. Her hand tingled where his skin warmed hers, the tingle progressing up her arm and through her body at the notion of his fingers moving to other areas. Lying on the sofa in the last rays of the setting sun had been bliss, and she agreed with him that she could have stayed there forever, drinking in the warmth, kissing and touching him, and being kissed and touched in return.

Still, the idea of getting him naked proved too strong a draw. She paused outside Ryan’s room first, smiling at the sight of him spread-eagled and tangled in the duvet, his cheeks bearing a healthy flush.

“He looks well,” Brock murmured, sliding his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. “How has his chest been?”

“Good.”

“It must have been terrifying for you when he had the attack.”

“It was.” She thought about the afternoon his breathing had suddenly grown worse, the panic that had flooded her when the Ventolin inhaler hadn’t worked. Brock would know how she’d felt, of course, because he’d been through it with his sister. “It’s funny,” she said, “But I thought of you then. I knew if you’d been there, you’d have been able to help him.” She swallowed at the sight of Ryan’s body, so tiny and fragile. “I feel so useless sometimes. I’m such a terrible mother.”

Brock chuckled and kissed her shoulder. “You keep saying that, and you’re really not.”

She was making a joke out of it, but the truth lay beneath it like bedrock beneath soil, solid and unmovable. Her emotion was real, tears pricking her lids. “I feel it. I know it sounds pathetic, like I’m begging for compliments, but I watch some of the other mothers and I just feel so crap at it. All they talk about is wholegrains and five portions of fruit and veg, and there are all these things you’re supposed to do like make your kid listen to classical music and read War and Peace from the age of three. It’s all I can do to get him to sit still so I can stuff a sausage down him.”

“Being a single parent must be incredibly hard. I can only imagine.”

She sniffed and rubbed her nose. “I shouldn’t complain. I have my parents, which is a lot more than other people have.”

“I suppose, but that’s not the point. There’s nothing wrong with being a single parent, but I can see how having a partner has its advantages. You can play good cop, bad cop, for a start. I see that often enough—mum being tough while dad tries the soft approach, and vice versa. But it’s also about having someone to confide in and discuss things with. When your parents are there, I’m sure you feel as if you have to put a brave face on and act as if you’re coping, even if you’re having a tough day. But with a partner you can voice your worries and talk about options. I think you’ve done amazingly well on your own.”

She swallowed, tore her gaze away from her son, and turned to look into Brock’s eyes. “You say such nice things.”

“You deserve nice things.” He kissed her nose.

She looked into his deep brown eyes, overcome by a wave of… what? Affection? Lust?

Even though she sometimes hid things from her parents, she’d always been honest with herself.
Be honest, Erin
.

She loved him.

There was no fighting the fact. She could make excuses—it’s too soon, it must be lust, love takes time to grow… But the truth was that she’d fallen in love with him a while ago. It felt odd to admit it, and no doubt others would laugh and say it was impossible, but she’d fallen for his sense of humor, his kind words, his gentle manner, even before they’d spoken on the phone.

She couldn’t say it, though. The relationship was too new and fragile for her to open her heart. This was supposed to be about sex, pure and raw. He liked her—she knew that, and there was definitely the possibility of what they had developing into something more permanent. Maybe. But she couldn’t bet on it. She had a kid, and she couldn’t just presume a young, single guy would take on another man’s child. He’d been really good with Ryan, and she couldn’t believe it was just to get into her knickers, but that didn’t mean he wanted to take on the responsibility of looking after him for life.

God, it was complicated. Her mother’s words echoed through her brain.
He’ll think you’re after his money. It’ll eat at him, the same way it will eat at you every time you wonder whether you’re only with him because of it.
Erin wanted to shake her head so the words fell out of her ears like marbles out of a tin. But she couldn’t, and they remained in there, rolling around and around until they almost drowned out everything else. People were animals, she thought, and their survival instinct is incredibly strong. Looking after and providing for Ryan was the most important thing in her life—it went deeper than thought or desire—it went deep as the bone. How could she be certain that what she felt for Brock had nothing to do with his money?

“What?” He cupped her face, his expression showing concern. His brown eyes had flecks of orange around the edges. She hadn’t noticed that before.
See? You hardly know the guy.

“I…” She bit her lip. She was overthinking this and it was making her head hurt.

I love you, but I don’t just love you because you’re rich.
She wanted to say the words, but it was the last thing she could possibly say.

The only thing she could do was show him how she felt.

Lifting onto her tiptoes, she pressed her lips to his.

She felt them curve beneath hers, surprised at her movement, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her and gave her a big hug as she kissed him, as if he was aware of her inner turmoil and wanted to comfort her.

Still holding her, apparently reluctant to remove his lips from hers, Brock took slow steps backward toward their room. Erin opened her mouth to his searching tongue, hungry for him, wanting to devour and be devoured, wanting to lose herself in the bliss of their lovemaking until she didn’t have to think anymore, until desire and passion took over and melted her brain.

Brock seemed happy to help with this. Once they were inside the room, he closed the door behind them, but continued walking her across the room to the glass wall overlooking the harbor. There he broke contact with her briefly to open the large sliding doors and allow the warm evening air into the room. It carried with it the sounds of a Kiwi summer Christmas—refrains of a festive pop song spiraling up from a bar further along the wharf, and distant sounds of conversation and laughter from a firm’s Christmas party. Someone had placed a string of fairy lights along the balcony surrounding the room, and they glittered against the backdrop of the mauve evening sky and the darker blue sea.

She had no more time to look at the view, though, because Brock turned her so her back was against the window and pushed her up against it. Erin groaned as he captured her hands in his, linked their fingers, and pinned her hands above her head. He pressed his body against hers, all hard muscle against her soft flesh, and she moaned as he kissed her deeply, the moan turning into a long sigh of pleasure when his tongue stroked into her mouth.

He was already turned on, already hard pressing into her mound, but he kissed her leisurely, as if he wanted to prolong the moment. Erin was half-frustrated, half-relieved. Part of her wanted him to rip off his clothes, then tear off hers, throw her on the bed, and thrust her into oblivion. She knew she’d come in seconds.

Equally, she was desperate to make the most of their time together, and felt a surge of happiness that he appeared to feel the same. He hadn’t brought her here for a quick shag just to relieve a physical urge. He’d asked her to stay because he wanted this—a languid worship of her body, and she was more than happy to comply.

“Mmm,” she murmured when he finally lifted his head.

He smiled and brushed his nose against hers. “This is nice.”

“It’s wonderful. It feels magical, as if we’ve stolen a little bit of Christmas early for ourselves.”

She stopped then, embarrassed that she sounded overly romantic, but he just whispered, “I know what you mean,” before kissing her again.

The coolness of the glass sank into her skin through the silky nightie, and Erin suddenly realized anyone out in the bay would be able to see Brock pinning her up against the window. Heat flooded her cheeks, but she couldn’t protest because his mouth was on hers again, his tongue delving inside, and soon she forgot everything but the way her body was reacting to his, the pure deliciousness of being made love to by such a gorgeous guy.

When he eventually lifted his head, her chest was heaving and her eyelids felt as if they were made of lead. “Now I know what it means to be kissed senseless,” she said, panting.

He laughed and lowered their hands, but kept hold of one to draw her with him to the bed. She bent to grasp a handful of the nightie at the knee with the intention of removing it, but he shook his head and instructed, “Leave it on.”

Heart thumping, Erin moved onto the huge bed and lay back on the white pillows, watching Brock undress for her. It didn’t take long—no slow strip this time. Instead, he grabbed a handful of his T-shirt behind the back of his head and yanked it off, then popped the button of his shorts and thrust those down his legs before kicking them off too.

Clad only in his tight black boxer-briefs, he climbed onto the mattress and crawled on his hands and knees until he leaned over her. Once again, he held her hands and linked their fingers, then pinned them above her head.

Erin looked up at his broad chest with its sprinkling of curly brown hairs, at the muscular arms braced either side of her, and at his handsome face looking down at her with barely-concealed desire, and shivered.

He raised an eyebrow. “You cold?”

“No.”

He met her eyes, then slowly slid his gaze all the way down her satin-clad body. By the time it returned to hers, it held so much heat that she was sure every inch of her skin held a healthy blush.

“I want you,” he said.

“Take me, then,” she said, breathless with desire.

“Oh, I will.” His lazy certainty made her heart miss a beat. “All in good time.”

She flexed her fingers in his, feeling naked beneath his hot stare, even though she still wore her nightie. Nudging the hem of the silky item up with one knee to her thighs, he moved to kneel between her legs and lowered his hips to hers. He gave a slow thrust, stroking the length of his erection against her clit, separated only by the silk of her nightdress and his cotton briefs.

“Oh.” She drew up her knees on either side, trying to push against him, but he lifted his hips, denying her the precious contact her body yearned for.

“Brock…” She shifted beneath him, tortured by the brush of the material across her nipples.

“Slowly,” he instructed. Dipping his head, he began to place kisses up her jaw to her ear. “A well-prepared meal should be savored with tiny bites, letting the flavors form on the taste buds.” He touched the tip of his tongue to the sensitive spot below her earlobe as if illustrating the fact.

“Ooh,” she said, trembling.

“We’re going to take our time and make this last.” His deep voice in her ear brought goose bumps rising across her skin. Her neck burned from his hot breath as he trailed his lips down it. “I want to take you to that place at the edge of desire. You know the one I mean?”

“No,” she said faintly, her nipples tightening so much they almost hurt. In the background, she could hear the song had changed to Bing Crosby’s
White Christmas
. She’d not considered it a sexy song before, but suddenly it felt full of sensuality, as if she were being coated with honey or melted chocolate.

Brock kissed where her neck met her shoulder, then tilted his head to kiss under her chin and touched his tongue to the dip at the base of her throat. “There’s a moment where your muscles start to tighten, where you can feel your orgasm in the distance like thunder, and it’s nearly there, just seconds away. It’s almost better than when you actually come, because it’s like Christmas Eve, full of the promise of pleasure. That’s where I want to take you, and I want to keep you there as long as I can, until you’re aching and crying out my name, until you’re begging me to let you come because you can’t bear it any longer.”

“I’m there already,” Erin said with a groan, a dull ache throbbing between her thighs.

He chuckled and kissed up the sensitive skin under her arms, taking tiny nibbles with his teeth before following the movement with his tongue. “You’re nowhere near it. Trust me.”

“I do,” she whispered, meaning it.

He lifted his head and looked into her eyes for a long moment. Then he gave a satisfied nod, and lowered his lips.