The Wilde Side (28 page)

Still sitting astride her waist, he reached over to the nightstand, picked up the bottle of champagne, and grinned down at her with lascivious intent. "I'm suddenly very thirsty, how about you?"

She nodded eagerly. "Very thirsty."

He swallowed a drink of the champagne for himself, then filled his mouth with the sparkling wine and leaned down and kissed Ashley, quenching her thirst in a completely erotic way. Long after she'd consumed that small portion of champagne, he could still taste the sweet flavor on her lips, her tongue. Now he wanted to see how good the expensive drink tasted on her breasts, her belly, between her thighs...

He let her mouth go and sat up so he could dribble the bubbly liquid over the twin mounds of her breasts. She gasped as the cold drink spilled down the sides and the valley in between.

A shiver wracked her body. "You're going to get everything wet!"

"You included?" he asked hopefully.

Incredulous laughter escaped her. "Yes, me included!"

"Ummm, good." He tongued her nipples – rolling, circling, flicking those luscious crowns before suckling her deep inside his mouth. Once he was certain there wasn't a trace of champagne left on her chest, he scooted lower still.

He gave her stomach the same treatment, splashing a generous amount over her quivering belly. She sucked in a sharp breath as some of the liquid flowed down along the curve of her waist to soak the sheet beneath her.

He dipped his head and sipped champagne from her navel. "Do you care that this might get a bit ... wet and messy?"

She was panting now, tugging on the bonds securing her hands above her head and writhing beneath his marauding mouth and the dip and swirl of his tongue. "No, I don't care."

"Good answer." Grinning, he lapped up the rest of the moisture from her skin, making sure he didn't miss a single drop.

Then he moved between her legs, toward his final destination, except she was still wearing her panties and he wanted that barrier gone. It took him less than a minute to take off her shoes and remove that flimsy scrap of fabric keeping him from his ultimate goal. And then he was back, using his thighs to force her legs wide apart for him.

With the magnum of champagne set aside for the moment, he skimmed his fingertips along the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, his gaze drawn to the glistening folds of her sex. He dragged his thumbs along that moist heat, reveled in her trembling response, and experienced a jolt of primal male satisfaction when he found what he sought.

Oh, she was plenty wet, and about to get wetter.

He retrieved the sparkling wine once again, and this time he glided the cool, smooth mouth of the bottle along the pulse point between her legs and down through that sweet, narrowing channel. He found the opening to her body, slid the tip in a slight inch, and lifted his gaze to hers.

Her eyes widened in shock, and she instinctively tried to close her legs, but his strong thighs kept them spread wide apart. He waited for a protest, any sign at all that she didn't like what he was doing to her, but other than that initial resistance, she showed no signs of objecting.

He tilted the neck of the bottle, just enough to allow some of the bubbly liquid to caress her inner walls. She moaned softly, and pure, scorching heat shot straight to his lower abdomen.

"Did you know that the opening of a bottle of champagne is symbolic of a sexual act?" he asked huskily.

"I had no idea," she said between uneven gulps of breath mingled with breathy laughter. "But I'll never be able to look at a bottle of champagne the same way ever again.

"Me either." He brought the bottle to his lips and tongued the rim, much in the same way he wanted to use his tongue on her. Then he laid the bottle gently on her stomach, so that the long neck was poised right above her mons.

He slid lower, positioning himself right where he wanted to be when the champagne poured from the tip. "Would you like me to make you come, sweetheart?"

"Do you really have to ask?" she questioned wryly. "I promise, it won't take much."

He chuckled, enjoying her candidness and her attempt at humor when she was no doubt strung tight from all his foreplay. "I'll give you what you want, but you need to help me out. Take a deep breath."

She did, and her belly rose with the action, causing the opening of the champagne bottle to tip downward and a generous amount of sparkling wine to pour out – drenching her sex with cool liquid and effervescent fizz. As promised, he was right there to lap it all up, catching every drop of champagne with his lips and tongue, and devouring her at the same time.

"Oh, God," she moaned, and inhaled again, repeating the tipping, tilting motion of the bottle, gasping as the champagne continued to stream along her flesh and Scott continued his sensual torment – lapping, licking, suckling – over and over again.

She breathed faster and faster, spilling the champagne everywhere in her frantic attempt to come. Knowing she was so, so close, he slid two fingers inside her and thrust his tongue high and hard along her cleft. At long last she cried out, arching her body from the bed as her climax crested.

The near empty bottle rolled off her belly, the bed, and fell to the floor with a muted thump. Scott let it go, and before Ashley had a chance to recover from her release he moved up the length of her body and thrust into her, burying himself to the hilt. She was tight from her orgasm, her inner muscles still clenching, pulling, urging him to drive deeper and take his own pleasure.

He grit his teeth but didn't move. Their fun and games were over. So was the fantasy. Now it was time for reality to intrude, for him to lay himself bare and hope to God he touched her emotions, as much as she'd touched his.

When he remained still, she blinked up at him, the passion in her eyes clouding over with confusion. "Scott?"

"There's something I need to say to you," he said as he reached up and released the ties on one wrist, then the other, freeing her. Then he framed her face in his hands so she couldn't look away from him. "I love you, Ashley. I want a real relationship with you, and a future that includes you in my life on a daily basis. And just like tonight's fantasy, the choice is yours to make."

With that said, and before she could say anything at all, he lowered his head and kissed her. He began to move within her, and at the moment of his own climax he gave her everything he had: his heart, his body, and his soul.

Chapter 16

A
shley instinctively knew the moment she opened her eyes the following morning and saw the empty space next to her on the bed that Scott was gone and she was completely alone in the hotel suite they'd shared the evening before. This time he'd been the one to walk away, and she hated the huge, empty sense of loss weighing heavily on her heart.

His leaving sometime in the early morning hours without saying good-bye was nothing less than she deserved considering her own penchant for running out on him in the past. And after his emotional admission last night and her lack of a definitive reply, she was certain he was trying to save them both from an awkward morning-after scene.

In her mind, she replayed the words he'd spoken to her while he'd been buried deep within her body, the beat of his heart so strong and steady against her breast, the longing in his eyes so honest and true as he professed his feelings for her:
I love you, Ashley. I want a real relationship with you, and a future that includes you in my life on a daily basis. And just like tonight's fantasy, the choice is yours to make.

A huge lump formed in her throat, and she hugged the pillow Scott had slept on to her chest, feeling so conflicted and confused and torn in many different directions. His masculine scent still lingered on the linen coverslip, invading her senses, her soul – a jarring reminder of all she stood to lose ... a solid, secure future with Scott Wilde.

A man she'd fallen deeply, irrevocably, in love with.

A light tapping on the door in the outer room startled Ashley out of her thoughts and had her jumping out of bed and slipping into the plush terry robe the hotel supplied for its guests. Securing the sash, she made her way through the small living and dining room, wondering,
hoping
that Scott had returned.

One quick glance out the peephole gave her a glimpse of the maid, making Ashley realize just how late in the morning it actually was. Another knock, and Ashley knew if she didn't reply, the woman would be unlocking her door and entering the suite – and end up being shocked by who she discovered on the other side.

"Yes?" Ashley asked, before the maid could do just that.

"This is housekeeping," the woman replied pleasantly. "Would you like your room made up?"

Ashley swallowed back a groan, trying to figure out a graceful way to get herself out of the predicament in which she'd found herself. "I'll be out in a few minutes, and you can make up the room then."

"Very well. I'll come back later."

Through the peephole, Ashley watched as the maid moved on to the next room. Then she rested her forehead on the cool door and let out a deep, unraveling breath. She needed to get out of there and back up to the privacy of her own penthouse, but she wasn't sure how to accomplish the task without hotel employees wondering what she'd been doing up on the fourteenth floor, in a suite no less.

Deciding to take one crisis at a time, she turned around and headed back to the bedroom to change, taking in the evidence of her night with Scott. As she slipped back into her panties, dress, and shoes, she caught sight of the black silken ties on the rumpled bed and knew she wouldn't be able to leave such a telltale item behind.

She debated on taking the empty champagne bottle, too, a souvenir that prompted arousing memories of the erotic fantasy Scott had fulfilled the night before. But she didn't want to draw attention to herself as she walked across the lobby to the private access area to her penthouse.

After running her fingers through her disheveled hair, she checked to make sure the hallway was clear, then stepped out of the suite just as the maid exited the room across from hers. The other woman's eyes widened in surprise at seeing her, and Ashley experienced a moment of pure panic before forcing herself to regain her composure. She was determined to handle the situation calmly and casually, as if she belonged there on the fourteenth floor of the hotel on a weekend morning.

Ashley glanced at the name tag on the woman's uniform, then smiled as if she didn't have a care in the world. "Good morning, Nancy."

The maid inclined her head in greeting, her expression cautious as she glanced from the silk ties dangling in Ashley's hand, then back up to her face. "Good morning, Ms. St. Claire."

There was nothing Ashley could do about the warm flush sweeping across her cheeks, so she didn't even try. "Have a nice day."

"You too, ma'am."

Ashley headed down the long corridor to the bank of elevators at the end, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Getting caught wasn't as mortifying as Ashley imagined it would be. In fact, it had been very liberating dealing with the issue head-on, without stressing about consequences or any resulting damages to her reputation or the St. Claire name. She was a grown adult, for goodness sake, and it was time she quit worrying about what others thought of her actions.

She silently repeated her new mantra when she stepped onto the main elevator with a longtime bellman at the hotel, who looked taken aback to find her getting on the lift on a Sunday morning. Her dress was wrinkled from lying in a heap on the floor, her makeup no doubt smudged, and her hair was still a bit tousled from her night with Scott.

She received more curious stares as she crossed the lobby, from the counter clerks and the hotel manager, and she didn't care.
She didn't care!
God, that felt so good to admit, and it made her feel so free, in a way she hadn't experienced in too many years to recall – if ever.

She took the private elevator up to her penthouse, walked through the entryway, and came to an abrupt stop as reality, and the future she'd chosen, rose up and smacked her in the face. She draped the silk ties in her hand over the back of the couch as she took in the boxes of personal items she'd packed up during the course of the past few weeks, all stacked neatly against the wall in the living room, waiting for the movers to come and transport her belongings to San Francisco the following week.

Was that what she really wanted? The question drifted through her mind, demanding to be answered. Before Scott, she'd coveted a new life, along with the freedom and independence of living and working in San Francisco. Now she wasn't so sure that's what she wanted at all.

The doubts she'd been battling made their way to the surface of her mind and this time refused to be ignored. Neither would that nagging voice in her subconscious remain quiet, the one that had been telling her she was using San Francisco as an excuse to run from her problems, instead of facing her issues and fears and insecurities straight on. She'd thought and believed that moving away would give her a new beginning, would somehow erase the past that haunted her. There would be no more familial expectations to live up to, no one to influence her decisions, because she'd be far away and on her own.

But when was the last time her parents had truly interfered in her life? All at once, she was struck with a staggering realization that made her heart beat hard and fast in her chest. God, she'd been so wrapped up in pleasing her parents, being the dutiful daughter, and doing everything she could to make up for the incident with Greg that she'd unconsciously put those demands and expectations upon
herself
, because it was what she believed her parents expected of her.

Like any caring parents, her mother and father wanted only the best for her, but when had they ever asked her to sacrifice her happiness for what they might want? Never. While they didn't always like or agree with her decisions, especially her move to San Francisco, they'd always supported her choices, always loved her no matter what.

And now she had to trust that they'd understand the new direction she wanted to take with her life and future. Ultimately, she wanted
love
, the real thing, complete with romance and intimacy and a heart full of emotion; the forever kind of love that transcended money, stature, or social status; a solid, devoted relationship that wasn't based on her last name and all that came with marrying a St. Claire.

And she knew, without question, that she'd found all that and more with Scott.

The incident with Greg had made her cautious and guarded and afraid to trust in her emotions when it came to men and relationships. As a result, she'd held everything back from Scott out of fear, while he'd opened up and shared everything with her ... his feelings, his family, and even his hopes and dreams for the future. She'd been so focused on her insecurities, on what
she
wanted and needed, that she'd lost sight of what he might need from her in return.

Before she could be honest with Scott about her feelings, she had to be honest with herself. And that meant settling unresolved issues that were keeping her from giving him everything he deserved – a woman without burdens or secrets that could come between them. She needed to confront James and put his blackmail attempt to rest, and she needed to talk to Evan and let him know she'd changed her mind about San Francisco, and why.

Because she was in love, and she was choosing Scott.

*

The home address James had supplied on his employee application when he'd been initially hired at the boutique led Ashley to an apartment building in a low income area of the city. She was surprised, mainly because James had been paid a decent salary that had been supplemented with a nice monthly commission check that should have given him more than enough money to afford a nicer neighborhood in which to live. Then again, if he was having financial problems, which had prompted him to steal from the boutique, then that would explain his choice of living arrangements.

She found his apartment number and knocked on the door. Her stomach was churning, and she'd be lying if she said she wasn't a little bit nervous about today's visit and the confrontation that lay ahead. But it was a long time in coming, and it was something she
had
to do, for herself and the future she wanted with Scott.

It took another brisk knock before the door opened and James stood in front of her. Surprise registered in his eyes upon seeing her before he quickly recovered. His dark brows snapped together, and he glared at her. "What do you want?"

His tone was belligerent, so unlike the friendly, likeable man who'd worked at the boutique and had such a great rapport with the customers. As for his appearance, he looked nothing like the sharply dressed man she'd hired months ago. Instead, his clothes were disheveled, and it looked as though he hadn't shaved in days. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, and he seemed much thinner than the last time she'd seen him. She couldn't help but wonder what had prompted such a drastic change in him.

Not that it mattered to the reason why she was there. "I think you already know what I want," she said, proud of the determination in her voice. "Can I come in?"

He crossed his arms over his chest. "No."

Since being pleasant wasn't working for her, she decided to assert a bit more authority. "Would you prefer we have this conversation out in the hallway, where your neighbors might overhear?"

"I'd rather not have this conversation at all." He stepped back and started to shut the door on her.

Instinctively, she put her hand out to stop the door from closing and shoved the toe of her ankle boot against the frame. Thankfully, her shoe was sturdy enough to keep him from crushing her foot.

Through the three-inch crack, she met his gaze unflinchingly. "Well, that's too bad, James, because you're either going to have to deal with me or the police. And if the police arrive, I can assure you it's going to be to arrest you for grand theft. Last I remember, you stole from the boutique and you owe us money."

His jaw clenched tight, and a furious flush of red swept over his cheekbones. She could tell he was wavering, and she pushed her advantage.

"You've ignored my phone calls, and I'm not going away," she told him firmly. "All I want to do is talk, James."

A long, tense silence stretched between them as he debated his choices, and finally he opened the door to let her in. Exhaling a deep breath, she stepped inside his apartment, which was sparsely furnished with what looked like secondhand furniture.

He followed her into the living room, and when she turned around to face him again, his expression was cold and unfeeling. "If you're here to collect the money, I don't have it."

"Then you have a week to get it," she said.

"Or
what?
"

"Or we're pressing charges."

"You press charges, and I go public with some very interesting information I have on you."

God, she'd known this was coming, since he'd already issued her the ultimatum, but it still made her feel like someone had punched her in the chest. But this was what she'd come here for, she reminded herself, to confront James and let him know that she wasn't going to be bullied, and she wasn't about to cave to his threat, no matter what kind of information he claimed to have on her.

She absolutely
refused
to allow another person to use her that way again. "What do you think you have on me that's worth the thousands of dollars you owe?"

"How about your secret affair with Scott Wilde?" he sneered.

She jerked back in stunned disbelief. "What would you know about that?"

"More than you realize. It all started the night you went to Nick's Sports Bar and blatantly picked up Scott Wilde and left the place with him," he said, blowing her away with that fact. "You see, I was there that evening with a friend who also works at the St. Claire Hotel, and I have to admit, even I was shocked that you'd take off with a guy who was a virtual stranger."