yeah, I understand,” Rand said. “It’s no problem. I’ll, uh... Tell them I’ll be in the ballroom in fifteen minutes.”
After he disconnected the call, she gaped at him. “What?”
He wrapped his arms around her and brushed his lips across hers. “I have to go downstairs.” He released her and got out of bed, reaching for his shirt and pulling it on. “One of the silent auction items was a photo with me and my autograph. The winners are leaving soon and they want to collect their prize. They paid a lot of money for it.”
“And it’s for a good cause,” she mumbled, knowing it was true, but already missing him.
“I’ll be back soon. Half hour tops. Keep the bed warm for me.” He headed toward the door, but stopped before going through it. His tall figure was silhouetted by a light they’d left on out in the living room, and she smiled as she looked at him, so unbelievably handsome, especially now that he wore the expression of a well-satisfied man. “Don’t start without me. Or, hell, go ahead and start without me...I’d love to find you touching all the places on your body that you want me to taste.”
She quivered, immediately thinking of several such places, then blew him a kiss as he walked away.
Once she was alone, she yawned widely, not surprised that she’d drifted off to sleep so quickly after their amazing lovemaking. She’d been working long hours and had enjoyed quite a physical workout tonight. Rand was an exciting, demanding lover, and she couldn’t imagine why she’d ever believed quiet sex was any fun. Wild, erotic, untamed sex was now her number one favorite thing in the world. Well, she had to amend that statement a little bit—any kind of sex with Rand would be her favorite thing in the world, for as long as she had it. And him.
That might not be long, she understood. Yes, he’d admitted he had once been crazy about her. Yes, the attraction was still intense, more powerful than anything she’d ever experienced. But they hadn’t talked about tomorrow or any kind of future. There’d been no promises made, no hearts bared.
He could walk away tomorrow and she would have gotten exactly what she’d decided she wanted: a wild, erotic night with the man of her dreams, a night she would never regret.
Suddenly, though, she began to second-guess herself. In fact, she began to wonder if she’d made a terrible mistake. Because one night with Rand couldn’t possibly be enough for any woman. Especially not one who’d once been so madly in love with him. And, she greatly feared, still was.
“In love?” She whispered the words, trying to chase them away but they wouldn’t be beaten back. She’d loved him as a passionate, angst-filled teenager. She was a grown woman now...but the truth was, she’d never felt anything for any man that could come close to what she still felt for Rand. Was that love? Had she given him her heart at seventeen, not realizing she was giving it to him for life?
Oh, God, you fool. What have you done?
Set herself up for potential heartache, that was for sure. Because if he only wanted one night, if he had indeed just sought her out to “finish what they’d started” and he intended to cruise out of her life again in the morning, she wasn’t sure she could stand it.
She only wondered if there was any way she could save herself from the fate she feared more than anything—acknowledging that she still loved Rand McConnell...and that, once again, she would have to say goodbye to him.
As the minutes ticked by, Emily tried to stay awake, but, when a half hour had passed and Rand still hadn’t reappeared, she began to feel the lull of sleep tugging her down. Soon, she was losing herself in a wonderful dream about the wonderful reality she’d just enjoyed in this bed.
She didn’t realize she’d fallen asleep until she woke up to the sounds of Rand returning. He was moving around in the living room of the penthouse. She heard glasses clink, saw the light flip off, and figured he was bringing them a drink. Champagne maybe?
She yawned and smiled, tucking herself deeper under the covers and closing her eyes as she waited for him. When the bed sank a little as he sat on the opposite site of it, she rolled onto her side and murmured, “I thought you’d never come back.”
He jerked so hard he almost fell off the bed. “Wha...”
“Get your clothes off and get in here,” she ordered, barely opening her eyes to watch him as he got up and stood beside the bed. He’d turned out the light in the other room and it was dark and shadowy in this one, so she could only make out the vague outline of his body. “I’ve waited forever and I want you to make love to me for the rest of the night.”
“Are you serious?” he asked, his voice low, surprised.
“Of course I am,” she said. She stretched again, enjoying the sensation of the silky sheets against her naked-but-for-the-stockings body. Still trapped somewhere between dreamy sleepiness and fully awake, she ran a hand down her body, smoothing her fingertips over her breast, doing as he’d asked—touching herself where she wanted him to touch and kiss her.
“Are you going to make me beg?” she said, her voice a purr of feminine need.
He moved back onto the bed, kneeling beside her, reaching over to brush her hair off her face. Emily opened her eyes and looked up at him, in the darkness distinguishing nothing more than the outline of his clothed body and his dark hair.
She reached up and tangled her fingers in that hair, tugging him down on top of her. “Don’t make me wait any longer.”
Catching his mouth with hers, she thrust her tongue against his, tilting her head so she could invite him deeper. He groaned, stiffened and then gave up any pretenses, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and pulling her up against his broad chest, the kiss getting hotter, wetter.
He tasted of alcohol—scotch maybe—and the taste was an unfamiliar one. She couldn’t imagine why he’d stopped for a stiff drink before coming back to bed, and figured the wealthy auction bidder had insisted on buying him one.
“Touch me,” she insisted against his lips, wondering why those big, perfect hands weren’t working their magic on her. “Please.”
He ran a hand down her side, cupping her waist, stroking his fingertips over her hipbone, then higher until he was cupping her bare breast. Emily arched up toward him, pushing at his clothes, trying to get the leather jacket off his shoulders so she could get at all that warm, wonderful skin.
Leather jacket?
Wait. Rand had been wearing his tux. She’d watched him yank the shirt and jacket on before he’d left the room forty-five minutes before.
What the hell?
“Rand?” she asked, sleepiness beginning to fade as the mixed signals finally got through to her brain. Something was wrong. Something was seriously wrong.
“Sorry, gorgeous,” said that warm, deep, masculine voice—an unfamiliar voice, she finally realized. “But my name’s not Rand, it’s Damien. Now, what should I call you...other than Goldilocks?”
* * *
IT WAS FORTY-FIVE minutes before Rand could get away from the auction winners—an elderly couple who were in Chicago for a holiday visit with their family. Their grandson was a big fan, and he also was dealing with a serious case of juvenile diabetes. Rand was just as much a sucker for sick kids as he was for animals, and he hadn’t been able to tear himself away until he’d not only posed for the picture and signed his autograph, but also recorded a message for the boy on the grandfather’s cell phone.
Returning to the penthouse, he let himself in and blinked as the darkness swallowed him up. Emily must have gotten up and shut off the light after he’d left.
Smiling at the thought of climbing into bed and waking her up from a sound sleep, as she’d once done to him on the night that was burned into his memory, he stripped off his clothes as he crossed the dark room. He dropped them on the floor one piece after another and by the time he reached the bedroom, he was unzipping his