The CEO Daddy Next Door (5 page)

“So you do better one-on-one.”

Was that flirtation she heard in this voice? No matter his intention, his words made her knees wobble. “I definitely prefer being the center of one person's attention.”

“Like now.”

“Exactly like now.”

The song changed, but Marcus kept her close as if he had no intention of letting go. “People are staring at us, you know.”

What was it about his voice that made her so weak in the knees? “I noticed.”

“I wonder what they're all thinking.”

She swallowed hard but couldn't stop the words coming next. “They're all wondering if we're in love.”

“Ah, right. Love.” He shook his head. “Your public will become that much more fascinated by you if they think the matchmaker is in love.”

“So I'm told.”

“And you believe all of that business about there being a true love for everyone? Or is it just for the show?”

Funny, but no one else had ever asked her that question. “I do believe it.”

Marcus took a look around the dance floor. All eyes were indeed trained on them. “I'm tempted to give them a show, you know. If nothing else, we could shut up that horrible Maryann woman.”

Again, his rich, buttery accent was working its way into her. He could have read her the side of a cereal box and she would've been mesmerized. “What did you have in mind?”

“If we do it, I think we start slowly, give them a taste of what's to come.”

Her mind raced at the mention of “do it,” especially since she was reasonably certain he didn't mean “it.” She had to stay focused if she was going to remain composed. “Of course. We wouldn't want to go too fast.” Except that she was thinking about nothing but going very fast, away from this party, away with him.

“I could start by kissing your cheek, whispering in your ear that you look beautiful tonight.” He did exactly that as he said it, his warm lips on her face, his hot breath against her ear, skimming the slope of her neck.

Her head was swimming, but a compulsion rose up in her, a need to use this as an excuse to push boundaries just as he had. She reached up and dug her hand into the thick hair at his nape, grazed his ear with her thumb. That one brush of skin on skin was enough to send her into blissful oblivion especially when his mouth parted ever so slightly. “Beautiful, huh? You told me I looked fine.”

His eyes were intense, darkening as he focused on her in the soft light of the ballroom. All sound receded. Movement around them slowed. “I lied. You look spectacular.”

Heat bloomed in her cheeks. “And you might be the most handsome man I've ever seen. Damn you.”

He cupped the side of her face, looking at her as if he'd been planning this all along. There was no hesitation in his eyes, just sheer will and determination. Her heart thumped wildly. His gaze stripped away every defense she had. It felt as if she was stark naked on that dance floor. His face drew closer. His eyes drifted shut. She followed suit. Before she could take a breath, he claimed his kiss.

A frantic flutter started in her chest. The sensation of his giving lips on hers, the wonder of his warmth, spread to her stomach, blanketed her shoulders and legs, heated her cheeks. She rose to her tiptoes and arched into him.
Finally. A kiss.
His approach was commanding and entirely self-assured, his grasp on her so firm. She wasn't sure she'd ever been kissed so masterfully. Then came his tongue, soft and sensual. Gentle. Dizzying.

When they came up for air, her head was in the clouds. Flashes of light surrounded them. So this was what it was like to see fireworks. She'd never been kissed like that. No other man had been in the same league of Marcus's intensity—not even James, who'd been a damn good kisser.

“I hope we gave them what they wanted,” he whispered, his eyelids heavy.

She nodded, not knowing what to say, hypnotized by the vision of his lips, wondering what her mouth had to do to invite his to be all over her—her neck, her chest, her everything. If she felt naked and he had the nerve to kiss her, he might as well do it for real. She turned, squinting. Photographers. Cameras. A barrage of flashing lights.

“Because I know I got what I wanted,” he muttered.

Six

“W
e should go.” Ashley gazed up at Marcus, his physical presence making it damn near impossible to think. So instead, she relied on what her body told her to do. Her only honest desire at that moment was to be alone with him. Either he'd act as if the kiss had been a mistake, in which case she definitely didn't want anyone within earshot. Or he'd want more. In that case, she wanted a clear, horizontal landing spot. She might never catch him in this mood again.

“You don't have to stay?” he asked.

She shook her head. She knew she'd catch flack for leaving early, but she didn't care—he'd rendered her unable to think through the ramifications of anything. “No. I don't want to answer questions about the kiss. It's my party and I've had enough.” Her arm hooked in his, punctuating her declaration.

“Right, then.”

They made their exit, Ashley feeling as antsy as she'd felt in a long time, but also loving the feeling of stealing away with Marcus. As guest of honor, Ashley had earned the right to have her limo waiting outside the hotel. They were whisked away into the New York City night, where true dark did not exist—too many lights, too much commotion.

Sitting this close to him, the tingle of his lips still on hers, it was all she could do to remain a lady and wait for a sign, some indication of what he was thinking. Her breaths were shallow as if she couldn't get enough oxygen no matter how much of it she sucked in. She glanced over at him, and he acknowledged her with half a smile.

“Some night, huh?” he asked.

She scoured her brain for something impossibly sexy to say but couldn't come up with much. “It ended better than I thought it would.”

He laughed quietly, but she wasn't in the mood for him taking her answer as comedy. Silently but deliberately, she planted her left hand on the seat between them, palm up, asking for his touch without a single word. She wanted him to look at her, but his sights were set on her hand. Was this the right thing to do? It felt as if it was, but maybe that was the influence of his kiss. Her heart, having no clue as to how he'd respond, chose to canter with all the grace of a newborn filly.

After several agonizing moments, he reached for her hand, but he didn't actually take it. Instead, his fingers caressed the cup of her palm, back and forth.

“This is the life line,” he said, tracing the one that started near her thumb and curved down to the heel of her hand.

Her normally restless self was as enthralled as could be by his touch, which sent excitement bubbling up inside her. She turned to him. Wherever any of this led, she wanted it, but they had blocks to go until they'd be back to their building. The thought of waiting was an excruciating one, but she also knew better than to start things in the limousine.
Keep your clothes on, Ash.

“If I remember correctly, yours says that you're someone people count on in difficult times,” he said.

She liked that. She wanted people to be able to rely on her, especially her parents, even when she felt as though she couldn't keep her own life together. But were these words really coming out of Marcus's mouth? “You know palm reading?”

“It's called palmistry, and it's been popular in the UK for ages. My great-great-grandmother was a member of the Chirological Society of Great Britain.” His brow furrowed with feigned seriousness. “They were very concerned with preserving the art of palmistry and keeping charlatans from abusing it.”

“This is literally the last thing I ever expected from you, Marcus Chambers.”

He smiled, his eyes connecting with hers, exposing her vulnerabilities. “Maybe you aren't as perceptive as you think you are.”

“I'm incredibly perceptive, and I perceive that you're just very good at keeping things to yourself.”

He looked down again and softly traced another line on her hand. “This is the head line. Yours says that you pick up on other people's feelings. You sympathize with them.”

“See? Perceptive. I told you so.”

“It also means that you change your mind a lot. I'm not sure that's the best quality. It can make things difficult for the people in your life.”

“It depends on how you see it. Some people might say that means I'm flexible.”

“Your heart line is split in two.” He shifted to the deep crease closest to her fingers.

“So you can tell that my heart has been broken before?” Her breaths came quicker. Could he see that she was hurting? That she was lonely? That she needed love?

“Actually, that means you have a habit of putting other people's feelings first. You should concentrate on what you want, Ash.”

That was the first time he'd called her by her nickname, and God, she loved the familiarity of it. He deviated from the lines and swirled gentle circles in her palm. She sucked in a breath.
He's killing me.
How a man could command anything he wanted with the simple brush of his fingers was beyond her. She knew only that Marcus could.

“Your skin is so soft,” he muttered with a sexy undertone of gravel in his voice. “I could touch it forever.”

“I could let you forever.” That was the truth. It felt so perfect.

He shifted in his seat and his jacket fell open—just enough for her to see that he was as turned on by this situation as she was. For the first moment of the entire night, she felt as though she could relax. No man changed his mind in that particular state. Or at least, not that she'd ever experienced.

Mercifully, the car turned in to the parking garage of their building. It was if she'd been wrenched from a fabulous dream, only to wake up and realize that real life was even better. She cleared her throat, smoothed her hair, thanked the driver. She hadn't scrambled out of a car so fast in her entire life. They hurried inside. She was so relieved the elevator was empty.

Now that things were going the way she'd hoped, she wanted it to be perfect. “Did you, um, want to come over to my place?” she asked.

“I thought you'd never ask,” he replied, taking her hand, looking at her with a smile that said he wanted to consume her. She was more than ready to be breakfast, lunch and dinner.

“Do you need to check in with the babysitter or something?”

“My sister is watching Lila. She's fine.”

The elevator dinged and she took his hand, rushing to her door. Once inside, she dropped her handbag on the foyer table, and he very quickly removed his jacket and left it there, as well.

She took his hand and placed it on her shoulder, using his thumb to push off the strap, eager for more than his suit coat to end up on the table.

“Well, then,” he said, smirking, wrapping his arm around her waist and coaxing the second strap off with his other hand.

“You told me in the limo to concentrate on what I want. I'm following orders.” The light of the city filtered in through the windows behind him, outlining his broad frame, casting shadows on his strong jaw and down the contours of his neck.

“You are so beautiful,” he said, caressing her cheek. “I can't wait to see the rest of you.”

“Me, too. I want to find out if that calendar was false advertising or if you really do look that good without a shirt.”

He laughed. “So you really did look?”

“Yes, Marcus. I did.”

* * *

Ashley popped up onto her tiptoes and raised her arms up onto his shoulders. She kissed him with surprising force. He loved that about her—it was like kissing a firecracker dressed up in dynamite. She was a bundle of pure excitement and enthusiasm. She reminded him that he was alive. He couldn't have stopped drinking in her life force if he'd wanted to. He'd asked himself in the limo if this was a good idea, but he was tired of that question. She wanted him. He wanted her. They were two grown people, capable of making their own decisions. Thinking was for later.

Their lips mashed together eagerly, tongues wound around each other in an endless spiral. He held her flat against him, letting her feel exactly how hard he was, how much he wanted her. He reached for the zipper at the back of her dress and dragged it down. Her breath caught as his hand explored her silky back, his fingers drawing up and down her spine, dipping lower on each pass until he reached the lacy fabric of what felt like incredibly skimpy panties. He had to see for himself what that was all about.

“Can we go into your bedroom?” he asked, nearly breathless.

“Yes.” She grabbed his hand, holding up her dress with the other, and leading him down the hall she'd traipsed through in a towel at the beginning of their night.
The towel.
Could he convince her a shower was in order at some point? His mind churned with possibilities—all of the things he wanted to do to her, the things he wanted her to do to him.

They arrived at her room, and although it was difficult to see much in the dim light, there was a massive bed and that was enough.

She turned to him and let the dress fall to the floor. His eyes couldn't take in the landscape of her beautiful body fast enough. Her slender legs. The generous curve of her hips. Her gorgeous, pert—and naked—breasts.

“No bra?” He cupped her velvety skin gently with his hands, watching her reaction as he dragged his thumbs across her nipples, the skin tightening beneath his touch. Everything below his waist responded in kind.

“Not in that dress, no. I don't really need it.” She moaned quietly as he continued to roam with his hands, caressing her velvety skin. “We need to get you out of these clothes.”

He'd been so lost in the wonder of her naked body that he hadn't even realized he was still mostly dressed. He yanked off his tie and unbuttoned his shirt, watching as Ashley's nimble fingers unlatched his belt and she dropped his pants to the floor. Now all there was between them was her panties, his boxers and the willingness to set aside disagreements for a much more enjoyable neighborly meeting.

He watched as she flattened her hands against his chest and began moving down his torso with delicate kisses, but the clock on the bedside table caught his eye. He'd promised he would be home before midnight, and the time had nearly arrived. Joanna had told him to stay out, but guilt began to eat at him.

Ashley climbed onto the bed and curled a finger with a sly grin on her face. “Get over here, Chambers.”

Her spark was enough to make him do hundreds of things he'd told himself he wouldn't do. He stretched out next to her, and his hands roved over her smooth stomach. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her breast, then sucked her nipple softly. Ashley arched her back and practically purred. “That feels so good,” she muttered, as if that “so” had fifty
o
's. He flicked his tongue while he inched his hand to the waistband of those tiny panties and began tugging them past her hips.

Ashley lifted her bottom off the bed. “Touch me, Marcus. Please. I'm dying.” She squirmed beneath his touch as he slipped his fingers between her legs and found her warm apex. “Yes. There.”

She rolled toward him and kissed him recklessly as he caressed that tight bundle of nerves. He sensed the tension in her body quickly, punctuated by short, raspy breaths. He'd forgotten what it was like to have a woman at his mercy, to be able to give her pleasure that made it feel as though he was invincible. “Is that what you like, Ash? Is that how you like it?”

“Yes,” she nearly growled. “And talk to me, Marcus. I like a man who talks to me in bed.”

It was not a request. It was a demand, and it made him that much more determined to make her come like she never had before. He lightened his touch—teasing, toying. “I'll talk as long as you play along.”

“Is everything a negotiation with you?” She shifted, resting her upper thigh between his legs, creating sublime friction between them. “Because I'd be willing to concede a lot right now.”

Her quick wit only turned him on more. He had to focus on her pleasure or he'd go sailing off the cliff in no time. “No bargaining. Just tell me what you want.”

“Circles. With your hand. And don't be gentle.”

Her words made everything in his body tighten, and he obliged her, upping the pressure, moving in steady rotations with his fingers.

She tilted her head back, pulling away from his kiss while pressing her pelvis hard into his hand. “Yes. Just like that,” she gasped. Every breath she took ended in a whimper, growing louder, stronger, more insistent. Then she arched her back and froze, calling out, grabbing his hand and insistently stilling it against her body.

As soon as she caught her breath, she sought his lips, kissing him deeply. She pushed him to his back and climbed on top of him, straddling his hips. It was a good thing he still had his boxers on. This much touching was too much to take. “Tell me you have a condom,” she said.

“You don't?”

“I don't. I was taking a break from men, remember? I told you that on our first date.”

“I assumed that was a metaphorical break. Not a real one.”

She shook her head and kissed him again. “Oh, trust me. It was a real break. I haven't been with another man in months. So please tell me you have a condom or else one of us is going to have to run to the drug store on the corner and buy some.”

“No. I have some...” His voice trailed off. He had indeed purchased a box after they arrived in New York, after Joanna had given him the speech about taking chances and opening his heart. “It's just that they're across the hall.” Across the hall. Just like his entire life was across the hall. His conscience told him that's where he belonged at that moment, not having sex with a woman he knew wasn't the one.

Stop it.
He forced himself to take a deep breath. He had to collect his thoughts. He had a gorgeous woman in his arms, one he'd wanted for months. A deeply passionate woman who was making him feel like the man he used to be. Except the man he used to be had made a lot of mistakes. That man had gone through five years with blinders on, ignoring what was wrong in his failing marriage and forging ahead, pushing, trying to will what he wanted into being.