gaze dropped to her chest. She wasn’t wearing a bra and he could see the outline of her nipples poking through the thin fabric of her shirt. Lust hit him hard and low as his mind chose exactly that moment to remember the kiss from earlier this evening and the one from last night.
“A-hem,” she said, crossing her arms.
“Sorry,” he replied, focusing all his attention back on the pots and pans.
Leona sighed. “Are you sure we should live together?”
He tensed. Damn it, this was going from bad to worse. “As opposed to what?”
“As opposed to a regular custody agreement where we each have Percy for a week or two and then trade, with child support and the like.” She paused. “It might be better that way.”
“Better for who? Not better for Percy—not when your father can take him. No way.”
She grabbed a towel and one of the few remaining pots. “Byron, I don’t want this to be hard.”
“Hard?” He snorted. “I hate to burst your bubble, but nothing about this is easy.”
“Fine,” she snapped. “All I’m saying is that you’re obviously still mad at me and I don’t want Percy to grow up in a household where his parents are constantly sniping at each other. That doesn’t make me the bad guy here.”
“I didn’t say you were the bad guy. And I’m not mad at you.” He was, however, getting pretty pissed at himself. He couldn’t be doing a worse job fighting for what he wanted if he tried. His father was probably rolling over in his grave.
If Hardwick Beaumont were still here, he’d slap Byron on the shoulder and say, “Stop screwing around. She’s just a woman, for God’s sake. You’re a Beaumont. Act like one.”
Except Byron didn’t want to be a Beaumont if it meant bending Leona and Percy to his will just because he could. He didn’t want to rule by force and fear.
She glared at him. “No, but you don’t have to say the words, Byron. Your actions speak quite loudly.”
“Oh, yeah? Then what does this say?” He grabbed her by the arms and hauled her to him. The kiss was not sweet or gentle—it was hard and unbending. He might not be able to get her to say yes to his proposal, but he was damned sure she wasn’t going to say no.
After a moment, she bent. Her head slanted sideways and she opened her mouth for him with a sigh. He deepened the kiss. Could he kiss her like this without getting lost in the soft sweetness of her body?
Because that’s what she was now, all soft and warm in his arms. His pulse beat out a faster rhythm. When she broke the kiss, he let her. “What are we going to do, Byron?”
“We’ll do a trial run. I’ll get us a place and you and Percy can come stay for a little while—say a week or two. You won’t have to pack up all your things here. And if it doesn’t work...” He paused and swallowed. He didn’t want to admit it might not work. He didn’t want to be wrong. But he had to give her something, a fallback to prove that he wouldn’t hold her hostage once he had her and Percy with him. “If it doesn’t work, then we’ll go to your plan.”
He could do that. He could trust her enough to bring her under his roof. And once he had her there, then he could figure out which part of her story was the truth—or if she was still lying to him.
For some reason that could only be described as self-destructive, he wanted to take her at her word.
She leaned back to look at him. “And if it does?”
Her eyes were wide—but not with fear. Instead, she looked hopeful. And hope looked good on her. He lifted his hand and stroked her cheek. “If it does, I’ll ask you to marry me again.”
She leaned into his touch and exhaled through slightly parted lips. He’d kissed her to end the argument and remind her that he was in control, but instead of it dampening his desire for her, it’d only ramped it up. He needed her—only her. No one, not even sensual European women, could satisfy him like this woman did.
“Two weeks?” she said softly, staring into his eyes.
He could get lost in her light brown eyes. As corny as the sentiment was, it was true. “Yeah,” he said, his head dipping to meet hers. “That sounds good.”
“Mmm,” was all she could say because by then, Byron was kissing her and she was kissing him back and there weren’t any more words, any more negotiations. There was just him and her, the way it had been. The way it should still be.
The kiss deepened when she touched his lips with her tongue. It was a hesitant touch, as though she wasn’t sure what would happen next.
Byron knew what he wanted to happen. He wanted to sweep her off her feet and carry her back to the bedroom and spend the rest of the night remembering what they’d once had. He didn’t want to think about betrayal and lies. He just wanted her.
He swept his tongue into her mouth and felt her body respond. Old memories—good ones of the first time he’d kissed her—came rushing back. She’d been hesitant then, too. Now he knew it was because he was a Beaumont but back then he’d thought it was because she was sweet and innocent and afraid he’d push her too far. So he’d just kissed her good-night against the side of her car before she drove home alone.
Which was what he should do now. He should kiss her long and hard and then remove himself from the apartment. He should go home and take care of business himself instead of burying his body into hers over and over again. He shouldn’t push his luck. Hell, he didn’t have much luck left to push.
But Leona ran her fingers through his hair and leaned back, exposing her neck as she moaned, “Oh, Byron,” and he was lost. He would always be lost to her.
He kissed her on the spot just under her ear and was rewarded with a shudder of pleasure. “Tell me what you want,” he whispered. “Do you want me?”
She didn’t answer right away, so he kissed her again. Their tongues tangled as heat built between them. Every moment he spent holding her made it that much harder to walk away and soon he would barely be able to walk at all. But he didn’t care. If she brought him to his knees, so be it.
“Tell me,” he demanded again. This time he took a step forward and pivoted, leaning her up against the counter. He slid his hands under her bottom and lifted her. Her body felt so good in his hands. “Tell me you want me.” As he said it, he tilted his knee forward and pushed her legs apart.
She hadn’t let go of him, hadn’t pushed him away. Instead, she trailed her lips over his jaw and down his neck.
He stepped into her and tilted his hips so his straining erection rubbed against her very center. Leona gasped at the contact. She jolted upright, her eyes even wider as she stared at him.
This was it—the absolute last moment he could walk away from her tonight.
He thrust against her a second time without taking his eyes off hers. Her mouth dropped open into a perfect O and he couldn’t help himself. He kissed her, unable to restrain the passion that was driving him forward over and over again.
She
