THE BRAVO BILLIONAIRE Page 9

He got through the sitting area and was reaching for the brass handle on the door to the hall when she spoke from behind him.

  "Jonas."

  He turned and faced her.

  At some point between his starting for the door and reaching it, she had kicked off her high-heeled sandals and jumped to her feet at the end of the bed. She stared at him, wide-eyed, her hand against her chest – which made her look doubly earnest and also appeared necessary in order to keep the purple dress from falling off.

  Relief washed through him. It seemed that he had won this round, after all.

  Jonas was right.

  Emma had changed her mind.

  She made herself confess, "I just admitted the truth to myself."

  He lifted one eyebrow at her. "And that is?"

  "I can't stand to see you go. We are married, after all, even if it is only a temporary thing. And, well, maybe we should. And maybe we shouldn't. I don't know anymore. I only know that I … well, I want my weddin' night."

  He didn't move. He didn't speak. He just stood there by the door, looking at her with an expression that, to Emma's mind, could have meant just about anything.

  Emma dropped her hand away from her chest. The top of the purple dress fell to her waist. She looked down at herself, at her lace and satin bra and the twin swells of her breasts. And then she looked back up at him, hopefully. She thought that maybe something happened in his eyes – something hot and hungry.

  But he still had not moved.

  Well, all right, then.

  The dress was too snug to fall off by itself. So she shimmied it down the rest of the way. Once it lay in a pile around her ankles, she stepped out of it.

  Then she stood tall and looked him square in the eye. "Jonas. Won't you please stay with me tonight?"

  He answered by coming toward her again, loosening his tie, dropping his beautiful jacket to the floor, working at one cuff link and then the other, shoving them into a pocket of his slacks once he had gotten them off. When he reached her, he was already starting on the buttons of his shirt.

  Emma bent and picked up her dress. She shook it out and turned to lay it over a chair.

  Jonas grabbed her hand.

  She stopped, turned, met his eyes – saw with a little surge of pleasure that he was worried she might have changed her mind again. "I'm not goin' anywhere."

  He released her.

  She laid out the dress and came back to him. He was naked to the waist by then, sitting on the end of the bed. He took off his finely made shoes, slid off his socks, rolled them up and stuck them inside the shoes.

  She stood over him, in her bra and matching bikini panties and nothing else. He set the shoes on the pale, soft carpet. And then, still bent low, he wrapped his hand around her right ankle.

  Emma had to lock her knees to keep from melting to the floor in a puddle of pure lust. She stared down at the curve of his powerful back, at the nape of his neck, at his dark, thick, close-cut hair.

  He looked up then, craning his head back until their eyes could meet.

  She wanted to bend down and put her mouth on his again, but then she caught herself. There was something important that hadn't been mentioned. "I don't have anything, for protection. I wasn't planning to—"

  His hand tightened on her ankle. "No problem. There's a drawer in the bed table. And condoms in the drawer."

  She couldn't help smiling. He was Jonas Bravo, after all. A man you didn't catch unprepared. "Well, okay then."

  His hand started to move. It slid upward, over her calf, behind her knee, along the back of her thigh. "Oh, my, my…" she whispered.

  And then she climbed into his lap.

  * * *

  "I think you should sit very still," he suggested in a pained whisper a few minutes later.

  She sat in his lap, her legs folded along either side of his big thighs. He was pressed up against the satin crotch of her bikini panties. They were getting pretty wet, those panties.

  And Emma was feeling very, very eager. "Oh, Jonas. I can't. I cannot sit still…" She rocked her hips against him, along the thick, tempting length of him. It felt real, real good.

  He groaned aloud. She found she liked that – to hear him groan.

  She put her mouth against his throat and moaned as she licked his skin. "You taste so good, Jonas."

  He made a growling sound. And then he unhooked her bra.

  "Oh!" she exclaimed as he peeled it away.

  He threw it across the room. It landed somewhere by the sitting area, she thought – not that she had any interest in turning around to check.

  He took her breasts in his hands and he said, "I'm sorry. Chances are, this will not be slow."

  "It's all right." She hitched in a hungry breath. "Fast is good. Fast is just fine…"

  His lifted her breasts. She took his signal and raised up to her knees. His mouth closed around her left nipple.

  Emma found she was beginning to understand the kind of women who yelled and screamed during lovemaking. She could do a little yelling and screaming right now, oh she certainly could.

  She moaned way too loudly and let her head fall back, spearing her fingers into his hair, pulling his big head in closer, harder, as he drew on her nipple and swirled his tongue around it and rolled it, grazing it oh so lightly, with his teeth.

  He lowered himself back on the bed, pulling her down on top of him, letting go of her left nipple and then immediately latching right on to the other one. Emma crouched on her knees above him, holding his head to her breast, moaning so loudly by that time that anyone who heard would probably have called it a yell.

  His hands moved along her rib cage, rubbing hard and hungrily. They grasped her panties and shoved them over her hips and down her thighs. She took it from there, holding his head to her breast with one hand, while she pushed the panties off with the other, managing by some miracle of eager and squirming dexterity, to get her left leg free of the hindering lace, until it slid down around her right ankle. She put her weight to the left and kicked the panties off at last with a triumphant little cry.

  A cry that turned to a pleasured groan as he laid his hand against her belly, and then slid it lower, until he was cupping her sex. His fingers moved, parting, seeking – and sliding inside.

  Ohmigoodness, Emma thought, moving like some wild thing, riding his hand. Already, she could feel herself, rising toward a high, hard climax as Jonas did incredible things with those fingers of his and his mouth slid upward, to capture her lips.

  Oh, he was kissing her. Kissing her so hard and deep, she could swallow his tongue if he wasn't careful. His hand kept moving, tormenting and wonderful. And he caught her chin with his other hand as he sucked at her mouth.

  Emma tried to speak, to tell him she was going over, but it was pretty hard to do, with his mouth devouring hers and his left hand holding her chin and his right hand…

  Oh, his right hand…

  She just kept riding that big hand, and kissing him back.

  And she yelled. She did. She yelled the house down. Or she would have yelled, if he hadn't had his mouth so tight against hers.

  Too late. Too wonderful. Too perfect. Too much…

  The world started shimmering and her body started quivering and everything flew away but the hot, pulsing, electric sensation of coming.

  It went on forever. It was way, way too short.

  In the end, her legs could not hold her. She crumpled against his chest and then slid off, to lie on her back, her body limp as a rag doll, her eyes at first shut, then slowly drifting open. She sighed in blissful satisfaction and she stared at the chandelier overhead. Now, more than ever, the crystal drops on it seemed to be winking at her. Emma smiled to herself and laid her arm across her eyes.

  Beside her, Jonas sat up. She glanced over. He was pushing off his slacks and his dark-colored briefs along with them.

  She saw him. She saw all of him. "Oh, my, my…" she said.

  He said nothing. He tossed the slacks an
d briefs away and he reached for the drawer in the stand by the bed. He took out a condom, removed the foil covering and rolled it down over himself.

  She felt … so tenderly toward him right then. His every movement was so purposeful, so sure and so determined. His body was so strong and hard and big. Everything he did, he did better than anyone else.

  He had a law degree from Stanford and some kind of business degree from one of those snooty eastern colleges – Blythe had told her, but now she couldn't recall which one. He had shot a charging rhino, wrestled alligators – or so the tabloids claimed. He'd made love to the most beautiful women in the world, taken his father's millions and turned them into billions.

  And once, long, long ago, he had been six years old. A little boy. A boy who woke in the middle of the night and went into his baby brother's room.

  No one ever knew why he went to the baby's room, or exactly what had happened there. The nanny had found him the next morning, out cold on the floor, a large bloody bruise on the left side of his head, near the crown.

  And the baby? The baby had vanished – forever, as it turned out.

  Jonas remained unconscious for three days. And when he finally woke up, he could recall nothing of what had happened that night. His father, Harry, had died of a heart attack six months after the kidnapping. Blythe had descended into a lengthy depression. And when she came out of it, she found she'd not only lost her baby and her husband. She'd lost her surviving son, as well. The sweet and open boy Jonas had once been was no more…

  The grown-up Jonas had finished with the business of insuring safe sex. He was looking at Emma. Emma gazed back at him, thinking of the little boy he'd been, the damage done, the losses suffered.

  Jonas bent close to her. And then closer still. His mouth covered hers.

  It was heaven, his kiss. He did it the way he did everything else, so thoroughly. So very, very well.

  The tenderness inside her was a live thing, suddenly. It was warm and it was growing.

  Emma thought, well, what is this? What is this that is happening here?

  The kiss spun out for the longest, loveliest time. When it ended, Emma said what she had said before.

  "Oh, my, my…"

  Jonas didn't say anything. He loomed over her. She moved her legs apart, to make room for him, and she reached up her arms to pull him close against her heart.

  * * *

  Chapter 10

  «^»

  Several hours later, Emma fell asleep in her new husband's arms. She felt just wonderful. Just about the best she'd ever felt in her whole life, in fact.

  Surely it had to be more than just good sex going on here. The whole world seemed brighter. Everything was magical and shining and … right.

  Could it be love?

  Was it possible that Blythe had had it figured out all along – that Emma and Jonas were meant for each other? Emma couldn't help but start to think that her dearest friend had been a very wise woman, after all.

  Emma cuddled close to Jonas. He kissed her brow, whispered, "Go to sleep." So she did.

  She woke the next morning as she always did – nice and early, at a quarter after six – to find herself alone in the bed.

  She sat up and pushed back the white sheet that covered her. "Jonas?"

  There was no answer.

  She got up and stood by the edge of the bed. "Jonas?"

  Silence. She looked around, at the unmade bed she'd just jumped out of, at her shoes and panties on the floor. Her bra was over there – a little swatch of lace and satin near the sitting area. And her dress was where she'd left it, by the bureau, laid over a chair. Jonas's clothes were nowhere to be seen. They had vanished – along with the man himself.

  "Jonas?" She called his name one more time, though by then she had realized there would be no answer.

  He had definitely gone.

  Well, he had a busy day today, didn't he? That important meeting he'd mentioned, that must be it. It was probably an early meeting. He had needed to get ready.

  And she had a lot to do herself today. It was moving day. She needed to bring her things here, to get Festus and the dogs settled in. And she had to spend at least a few hours at PetRitz. If she remembered right, there were two animals due in today who wouldn't sit still for anyone but Emma: a nervous toy poodle named Cleveland who belonged to a certain aging movie star, and a gorgeous white Persian cat with very sharp claws. The owners of both animals expected her to take care of them personally. And she would.

  She looked down at herself: not a stitch on.

  She smiled. Yes, it had been one beautiful wedding night. She turned and headed for the bathroom and a nice, hot shower.

  * * *

  "You are not leaving this office until I hear a few details."

  Emma looked up from the stack of purchase orders on her desk. Deirdre stood at the door, leaning back against it, apparently blocking the way should Emma try to flee.

  "Deirdre…" Emma sighed. The phone beeped twice. Emma picked it up. "What?"

  "There's another reporter out here." It was Pixie, at the front desk.

  Emma sighed again. In the past few hours, she had sighed a whole lot. She had picked up the dogs and Festus from Deirdre's at eight that morning, thanking her friend profusely and promising to tell her all about the wedding later – when she had some time.

  By ten, the animals had been moved into their new home. Emma then returned to her house, where she picked up enough of her wardrobe to tide her over for the next few days, along with a few photographs and knickknacks she especially treasured. She also talked to her neighbor, Mrs. Cowley, who owned the other half of her duplex. Mrs. Cowley promised to keep an eye on things while Emma was away.

  Emma returned to the mansion, unpacked her clothes and then spent an hour with Mandy. Finally, at a little before one in the afternoon, she'd returned to PetRitz where she'd been ever since.

  According to Pixie, the reporters had started dropping in around noon. Apparently, the two paparazzi from Vegas had been talking. Somehow, Emma's identity had been determined. And someone had leaked the information that Emma and the Bravo Billionaire were more than an item; they were husband and wife.

  Emma said to Pixie, "Just tell him I don't have anything to say right now."

  "But he says that he wants to give you a chance to tell him about the wedding in your own words."

  "Pixie. Tell him no comment."

  "Em," Pixie chided. "I gotta say. This one's kinda nice and you might want to—"

  "According to you, they're all kinda nice. It's their job to be kinda nice, so that you will talk me into talking to them."

  "No. No, this one really is nice and I think that you should—"

  "Pixie. No comment."

  "Oh, all right. Be that way." The line went dead.

  Deirdre spoke up then from her position in front of the door. "You probably will have to talk to one reporter or another eventually, you know? They'll never leave you alone until you make some kind of statement."

  Emma set the phone back in its cradle. "I know. But I want to discuss it with Jonas first, before I talk to anyone."

  "Why?"

  "He knows a lot more about handlin' the press than I do."

  "Wait. Stop. Hold on. You just gave Jonas Bravo credit for something. You just, like, deferred to his judgment."

  "So?"

  "It's not like you. It's not like you at all. You've always said you didn't trust him. That you didn't even like him." Deirdre leaned forward and squinted suspiciously. Her spiky red hair seemed to stick out even farther. "Something's different about you." She looked up at the ceiling. She took two deep yoga-type breaths through her nose and let each one out slowly. Then she squinted at Emma again. "You're falling for him."

  Emma coughed into her fist and signed another P.O.

  "You are," said Deirdre. "You've got it and you've got it bad. For the Bravo Billionaire."

  Emma looked up again. Her newly discovered love must have been
shining in her eyes.

  Deirdre groaned. "You spent the night in the same bed with him, didn't you?"

  "Is that some kind of an accusation?"

  "Didn't you?"

  Emma was tempted to say that no, she had not. Technically, it might even have been true, since he had been gone when she woke and had very likely left before dawn.

  Deirdre repeated, "Well? Didn't you?"

  The truth went and found its way out her mouth. "And so what if I did? We are married, after all."

  "Not that kind of married, you said so yourself."

  "Deirdre. It … happened. And I'm glad that it happened."

  "You're not up for a guy like that. Nobody's up for a guy like that. Think of all the women he's been with and not one of them has lasted."

  "That was a long time ago, when he dated all those women. In the past few years, there's been hardly anyone."

  "Em. We are talking the original heart of stone here. It is a known fact. And you. You are such a sucker sometimes."

  "Well, and thank you very much."

  "You are. What about Ridley, huh? What about Ridley Mays?"

  "What do you mean?" Emma was offended – for Ridley's sake, mostly. "There was nothing wrong with Ridley. He was a sweetheart."

  Emma didn't date a lot. And she rarely made the L.A. club scene, where the young and ambitious hooked up with the opposite sex. But she had met Ridley on a night out with her friends at a certain very popular club. A talented actor who just never seemed to get a break, Ridley had been Emma's steady guy for two years. They'd drifted apart when he finally got a job – on an east coast soap, which had made it necessary for him to move to Manhattan.

  Deirdre grunted. "Ridley was a loser. He still hasn't paid you back all the money he borrowed from you."

  "So? I'm not worried about it."

  "Em, I'm just saying, face facts. You are a good person with a big heart and men tend to take advantage of you."

  "I beg your pardon. The only 'men' you are talkin' about is Ridley. And what I gave him, I gave him of my own free will."

  Deirdre rolled her eyes and shook her spiky head. "Okay, okay. Let's forget about Ridley. Let's talk about Jonas Bravo, who is a control freak. We all know the type. He can run a multibillion-dollar corporation with one hand tied behind his back. He has to be the best. He has to win. And he has to be on top. If you fall for a guy like that, you're in trouble. You've given him all the power, and he'll just use it against you." Deirdre left the door and plunked herself down in one of the pink chairs on the far side of Emma's desk. "Look, I thought this whole idea of Blythe's was crazy when you told me about it the other night. Now, I'm starting to think it's plain impossible. How are you going to help Jonas Bravo become a better person if you're so gone on him, you can't see straight?"