The Billionaire's Claim_Redemption Page 8

  “Can you find anybody named Andy or some variation of that name in Elizabeth’s social circle?”

  “Why?”

  I tell him briefly about the strong, visceral way Elizabeth reacted to the name. “She may not remember, but her instincts aren’t dead.”

  “I agree.” He clears his throat, then again. “Is her memory coming back at all?”

  “No.” Frustration and relief take up space in my heart in equal proportion.

  “Are you sure you don’t need to take her to a specialist?”

  “Positive.”

  He sighs roughly. “All right. How’s the island getaway?”

  “Could be better.” If I can make it up to her… If she can forgive me… If we can find a way to move forward…

  Because at the end of the day, I know…

  My love for her has never died. It’s been in my heart all this time, even when I raged about how much I hated her.

  “Sorry,” Antoine says. “I was a dick on St. Cecilia. I didn’t want you to get screwed or suffer because of her. Whether she meant to or not, she caused you a lot of problems before. I don’t have any good feelings about her being back in your life.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not. I know you care about her, but I don’t trust her. She’s no open book. She has more secrets than the NSA.”

  “I’m not some poor, helpless kid, Antoine. I can take care of myself.”

  “She isn’t some helpless kid, either. She’s more powerful than you think. She not only knows everyone who matters, but people like her and want to do things for her whether she asks or not. That’s a powerful currency.”

  That brings up the memory of Nate Sterling kissing the back of her neck and whispering, “Marry me,” making my hackles rise.

  “I understand you’re worried, but you know what would be worse for me?” I ask.

  “What?”

  “Regretting that I never gave it a second shot.”

  Antoine curses, then huffs. “I’ll look into her social calendar and see if I can find anybody named Andy. I swear it’s like looking for a needle in a haystack.”

  “I hear they have metal detectors now.”

  He snorts a laugh. “Make me an Andy detector, then you can talk.” He hangs up.

  I shove the phone back into my pocket and exhale more easily. I hated having argued with my best friend. There aren’t many people I trust one hundred percent, and he is one of the few people who knows Elizabeth’s and my past. Having him watch my back feels good again, gives me a measure of security.

  I check the time. It’s a little after one. No matter how upset Elizabeth is, she needs to eat.

  I put together a couple of simple sandwiches. She used to love turkey, cheese, tomato and lettuce on rye with two pickle spears. So I make her that, while I make myself a roast beef with mustard.

  After setting the table outside, I go knock at the studio door. The only response is a soft “uh-huh,” so I take that as “come in” and walk inside.

  The studio smells like thinner, although the windows are open to let the sea breeze in. I had no idea what kind of supplies she needed, so I had my property manager handle everything. His wife apparently paints, so she got all the items needed for an art studio.

  Elizabeth’s in the same silvery-gray wrap dress. A few splatters of blue and white dot the bodice and sections of her hair, and yellow streaks her right cheek, but she doesn’t seem to notice. Her gaze is intent on the canvas in front of her. It’s the smallest of the three I set out, but still sizable. She dexterously moves her right hand, placing more brush strokes in black, but I’m not sure exactly what she’s trying for. All I see are a bunch of colors.

  “Making good progress?” I ask, keeping my voice low so as to not shatter her focus too much.

  “Uh-huh.” She makes another dot on the canvas, then puts her brush and palette down.

  “What’s it supposed to be?” I ask, doing my best to make sense of what I’m seeing.

  “A knight and a dragon.”

  I tilt my head to the side as far as I can bend my neck. Maybe the picture’s done sideways. Some modern artists do funky angles to add their own unique mark. Still, I don’t see anything resembling a knight or a dragon.

  “It isn’t finished yet, but I can visualize the entire thing.” She gestures, her fingers spread out as she moves her arms around on the left, slightly off-center. “Here…a knight. His face is hidden behind a helmet, but you can tell he’s something special from the bright blue of his fierce eyes, the brave stance of his big, strong body. Blood coats his armor, but he doesn’t notice as he holds a sword in competent hands and faces the monster.”

  “Fearless?” I add teasingly.

  “No. Not fearless. He isn’t stupid. Of course he’s afraid of the dragon’s power, but he’s making a stand, and he won’t run away. True bravery.” She moves her right hand over the other side. “This is where a golden dragon is, glaring at the knight. Its pale blue eyes are full of evil hunger. It only cares about consuming the world, destroying everything in its path. It crouches before the courageous, unwavering knight, its haunches coiled tight for a final strike to bring him down. But the knight’s legs are steady, his feet wide apart. And he’s ready.”

  That’s an intense scene, but I still can’t see it, not with the splatters of color on the canvas. At the same time, I don’t want to admit I don’t see it.

  “It isn’t complete yet,” she adds. “So only I can see it all, but it’s crystal clear to me.”

  I look at her. Her eyes are shining like polished silver, and excitement sizzles in her voice. I stare, in awe and adoration. This…this bright, amazing Elizabeth is someone I haven’t seen in a decade, and I realize I’ve been waiting for this part of her to emerge for a long time.

  Her pleasure is raw and unrestrained, but it’s so genuine, so contagious, I can’t help but share it. “I can’t wait to see it.”

  “I can’t wait either. So you can see what I’m seeing.” She spins around and faces me. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “This! The studio. You gave me an outlet to center myself, help me express what’s in my heart.”

  I search her face for any signs of restraint or that polite society veneer. Nothing. Her cheeks are flushed, and her smile is as natural as the water around us.

  “My pleasure, Liza. I’m glad you like it.”

  “Anyway, why did you come up? Did something happen?”

  “No. It’s past time for lunch. I made some sandwiches. We can sit outside and eat ’em.”

  “Okay. Let me wash my hands first.” She goes to the en suite and washes her hands thoroughly.

  Her step light, she starts to come forward, her freshly dried hands free of paint, then reaches for me.

  Just as her fingertips are about to brush my arm, she hesitates, retreating.

  Enough of this. I take her hand and pull until she has an arm wrapped around my back, then I put mine around her shoulders. My issues are my own. I don’t want them dimming the brilliant light inside her.

  At first she’s a bit stiff, but she relaxes as we walk down the steps together and go outside. The table’s under a huge parasol, and we face the ocean. “Sit down and make yourself comfortable,” I say. “I’m going to grab our drinks.”

  I bring out the tropical fruit smoothies from the fridge, both spiked with a shot of vodka after some deliberation. This is a vacation. Why not enjoy ourselves?

  She looks at the sandwiches on the platter, then waits for me to sit before asking, “Which one’s mine?”

  “The turkey. I’m a roast beef guy.”

  She gives me a smile. “Thanks.”

  “Let me know if you don’t like anything.”

  “Everything’s perfect.” She takes a small bite and nibbles. “I’m sorry I ruined our morning.”

  I shake my head. “You didn’t ruin anything.”

  “But—”

  I take her hand,
stopping her. “No. Don’t. I’d rather have an honest response from you than something fake because you’re worried about not ruining it for other people. Nobody matters more than you.”

  Her eyes grow wide, then she blinks a few times as though she’s having a hard time processing.

  “I want you to scream and throw things when you’re angry. I want you to laugh so loud I can see the back of your mouth when you’re amused or happy. I want you to ugly-cry when you’re sad or upset. All of that makes you human…and infinitely special.”

  She looks at me like I’m speaking Martian. God. What did her grandmother do to her that she can’t just take words at face value? She’s got that deer-in-the-headlights expression, like I’m asking her to climb Mt. Everest naked.

  Slowly, I cradle her left cheek, brush my thumb over the paint streaked there. She places a hand over mine, then leans into my palm, her eyelids fluttering and lowering. Tension leaves her slowly, and my heart thuds with such aching emotion that my throat closes.

  Unable to help myself, I press a kiss on her forehead, her eyes, then her bare cheek and jaw. She tilts her head, seeking my mouth with hers.

  I know we can’t go beyond a kiss, but I’m a man and desperately want her, so I let her catch my mouth.

  She moves her lips over mine, relearning the fit, texture. My heart accelerates, but I let her set the pace—this is her kiss, her honest response. She breathes softly over my sensitive lips, then glides her tongue over them, the motion slow, sexy and rich with promise and need.

  When I don’t let her in, she tries again, not much different from how she did it before. Her third time isn’t any more forceful, but the longing in the gesture slays what resistance I have left.

  Her tongue slips between my teeth, sweeps inside my mouth. A throaty purr from her ends in sweet humming.

  She lifts her free hand and cradles my face like I am hers. I raise my hand to cover it, my thumb resting over the pulse in her wrist. The delicate skin there flutters madly. Her breathing shallows, growing rougher and faster, as she coaxes me, inviting me in with playful, sensual flicks of her tongue over the roof of my mouth, inside of my cheeks and the tip of my tongue.

  “I’m baring it all. Be honest with me,” she whispers, and the desperate hold I have over my raging need slips a notch.

  I kiss her back, pulling her onto my lap. Her dress bunches around her hips, and I realize she doesn’t have anything on underneath except that barely-there bikini.

  Lust surges inside me, but it’s her unrestrained wild kiss that makes my head spin. I thrust my tongue into her mouth over and over again—taste the sweetest heaven, smell the scent of the most desirable woman in my life.

  She moves against me, leaving shiny, wet streaks on my thin cotton shorts. More blood pools in my dick, causing it to swell and stiffen like a desperate, horny monster that’ll do anything to slide into her and rock her world.

  And how I want to rock her world…to watch a climax break over her and rob her of everything except toe-curling, mind-shattering pleasure.

  Don’t even think about it, a small voice warns, but it vanishes when she whispers, “Dominic, please.”

  She thinks I’m her fiancé. What kind of hot-blooded man could say no to her? Pushing her away now would be cruel—the most messed-up mind game I could play.

  I can give her what she’s asking for—get the edge off. I don’t have to take anything for myself—this is all about her.

  Self-justification filed away, I cup her ass, palming it exactly the way she likes. She moans, pushes against my hand.

  “Dominic, please…”

  “Shh… I’m going to take care of you.”

  A sound that’s between strangled sob and anticipation reverberates in her chest. I move my hand until it’s nestled between our bodies. Her hot, slick juices coat it. Because I can’t help myself, I bring it to my face, inhale the lush musk of her arousal and lick it clean.

  She watches me, eyes burning bright. Suddenly she dips forward and steals a taste of her own, giving me a naughty grin.

  Holy fuck. That’s so damn hot, I almost come in my pants.

  I place the hand back between her legs, run my fingers along her swollen folds, all my senses hyperaware of even the smallest reaction from her.

  She inhales sharply when I drag my fingers back up, bumping them against her clit one after another. Her eyes glitter like mirrors. I rub her clit, varying the pressure and speed until I find what she likes the most. Her back arches, her teeth clenched.

  “Scream as loudly as you want. Nobody can hear you but me.”

  She still has her jaw muscles bunched tight.

  I slow the pace. “Come on. Let me hear you.”

  “Don’t…stop…!”

  The moment she begs, I intensify my pace. The pad of my thumb rubs against her, my fingers teasing the opening of her slick, quivering pussy.

  She pants, rocking against my hand. “God, that feels so good, but…”

  “But what?” I kiss the side of her sweat-misted neck. “Tell me.”

  “I’m so empty.”

  My cock swells even bigger, twitching with urgency.

  Quit it. This isn’t about me. This is about her.

  I push two fingers inside her. They glide in easily into her wet vagina. She cries out.

  “Dominic!”

  “Do you want more?”

  She nods. “Yes.”

  I glide one more finger inside her. She’s so damn snug and hot. Her inner muscles clench around my fingers, and it’s all I can do to hold on to control.

  I drive my fingers in and out, while stimulating her clit. The start of a climax twists her face, leaving it so vulnerable and open. Her muscles tighten around me, then I feel the spasm as the impossibly coiled tension inside her breaks.

  She screams, rocking mindlessly against me, chasing her orgasm. Her hands clutch my shoulders, and tears bead in the corners of her squeezed-shut eyes.

  She’s glorious in climax. My dick’s so hard, I feel like I could build a whole damn house with it. Even then, I realize this wasn’t all about her.

  I got to watch her lose herself in pleasure I gave her. And that high was better than the one I got from making my first million.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Elizabeth

  We finish our lunch. Dominic didn’t try to take his pleasure in any way. I want to say something, but I’m not sure exactly what. There’s no manual for stuff like this, and I don’t want to blurt something out that could make things worse.

  Is the stuff he said about the injury true? I don’t know what could possibly make a man unable to do it even when he’s hard, but I’m not that knowledgeable about how guy stuff works.

  Suddenly guilt knots my belly. Maybe all I did by kissing him was frustrate him. I know it isn’t pleasant to have a hard-on with no relief. Can you die from blue balls? I wish I could Google it, but I don’t know if I can trust what’s on the Internet.

  “What are you thinking?” he asks, then sucks down the last of the smoothie.

  “Just…” I pull my lips in, giving myself a moment to think. This isn’t the kind of topic I can broach without some delicacy. “Um. Nothing, really. You have a magic hand.” I scowl. Not the greatest line. Of course he has magical hands. But bringing them up will only remind him he didn’t get any.

  Instead of looking peeved he didn’t get an orgasm, he gives me a cocky grin. “Golden hands.” He waggles his eyebrows. “Want some more golden magic?”

  “No, thank you,” I say primly. “I… I don’t know if I want to, if you aren’t going to enjoy it.”

  He tilts his head. “What made you think that?”

  “You didn’t get to…you know.” I gesture in the general direction of his pants.

  “So?”

  “Um. Don’t you want to?”

  “Don’t get me wrong. Having an orgasm’s great, but making you come is even better.”

  I look down at my empty plate, unsure what to
say. He squeezes my hand. “I mean it, Liza. Don’t worry about me. Just focus on what makes you feel good.”

  I give him a small smile. I don’t think he understands I want him to feel good. I don’t want to come alone, but with him. But I don’t say that. If he’s really…incapable until his injury heals, I don’t want to harp on it and upset him. Men can be sensitive about sexual stuff.

  Until he’s ready, I guess I’ll just do as he says and try not to worry about it. I’m sure I’ll be the first person to know when his injury’s fully healed.

  We watch a movie together after dinner, then go to bed. Unlike last night, he joins me instead of working. He cradles my body with his, and I let the sense of security and warmth ripple over me, a nice counterpoint to the lulling sound of waves outside.

  For the next two weeks, we have a routine. Every other day, a drone comes over early in the morning to drop off fresh food. We share a leisurely breakfast, sit out on the beach and have fun until lunch. I’m now nicely tanned, and so is he, his skin deliciously bronzed.

  After lunch, he goes to the office to catch up on work that can’t be delegated, and I go to the studio to work on my painting. The piece is coming along nicely, more and more details emerging to complete the knight and the dragon. My brush strokes aren’t too bad—I try not to be impatient, even though I want to finish it before leaving the island. The knight and the dragon both deserve my full attention—no rushing, no sloppiness. It’ll make a great gift to Dominic for bringing me to this paradise.

  I don’t initiate a kiss or any kind of sexual contact, but Dominic touches me every night, fingering me to a climax like he can sense I’m aching for him.

  But as much as I find pleasure in it, guilt and worry gnaw in my belly. How long will it take before the injury heals? How long is he going to be getting hard but unable to do anything about it? He wouldn’t even let me grip his shaft, saying I shouldn’t bother.

  The more pleasure I get, the more desperately I need to share in the bliss. I’m feeling more and more like a woman at a buffet, stuffing herself yet unable to find true satisfaction.

  And Dominic seems to sense that in me too. But instead of either forgoing the half-measures or taking me fully, he kisses my nude body all over, from forehead, to eyes to cheeks to chin, then all the way down my torso, paying special attention to my breasts, sucking the nipples.