Come and Get Me: The Magister Series, Book 2: A Billionaire Romance Page 7

  The innocent look reappeared on her face. “I’m not sure I need to. This looks like my size. I’m sure it’ll fit great.” Charles glared. She actually giggled. “That look doesn’t work on me anymore, sorry.”

  That look? He wasn’t giving her the full glare. Not even close. That would sure as hell ruin the mood. But before he could get really irritated, she rubbed her hand over his knee. “You know what would be super nice of you? If you left the room for a few minutes to get me a drink.”

  Oh. Well, that sounded promising. Charles said, “I’m very comfortable at the moment. What’s my reward for…” Sandra leaned forward and gave him an eyeful of cleavage. He lost his train of thought.

  “Gin and tonic?” she asked, offering him a light, swift kiss.

  Anything was better than a pineapple…whatever. He tried to focus on that while he made her drink at the wet bar in the study just down the hall from his bedroom suite. She probably thought he’d have to go all the way to the kitchen. He’d have to give her the full tour.

  Later.

  Charles mixed her drink, thought about making one for himself, and decided against it. It would only sedate him. He was pretty sure he wanted to stay awake for this.

  Like a lightning bolt, it then struck him that just down the hallway, the most beautiful woman in the world was putting on lacy lingerie and waiting for him to make love to her. His hand shook, and he had to put the glass down. That was the truth. Not a wish or a fantasy. It was an actual fact.

  He could buy any material thing he wanted, but not all the money in the world could have purchased this moment in time. Was he awake? Was this his life?

  Charles tried to check his watch before remembering that he’d already removed it. He guessed it had been about five minutes since he’d left her. Surely that would be enough time for her to put on a chemise. Or not? Women judged time differently than men in these matters. He’d learned to appreciate it, instead of chafe at it—the way a woman could prolong an evening of love, unhurried and graceful. Why shouldn’t Sandra change into something more comfortable and have a drink?

  It didn’t always have to be a race to the finish line. After that frantic encounter in the stairwell, he looked forward to taking things more slowly. Yes. He could wait.

  After another couple of minutes, he decided that waiting could go to hell, and strode back down the hallway with her drink in hand. There had definitely been enough time to put on a chemise. She prided herself on her efficiency, didn’t she? He’d seen how fast she could strip.

  Charles swallowed, and his skin prickled again as he reached the bedroom door. It stood slightly ajar. He knew he’d closed it behind him, so she must mean for him to go straight inside.

  She’d said she would tease him, make him work for it. Pretty big talk for a girl who’d thrown herself at him in a stairwell. It wouldn’t take long for her to break and beg him to tear off that dainty little thing. He pushed the door open and stepped into his bedroom.

  Sandra reclined on his bed, propped up against the pillows. She’d pulled her hair back into a ponytail. She’d put on black-patent-leather stilettos. And she was clad in the silver dress she’d worn on the night they met.

  She raised an imperious eyebrow at him. “Don’t you ever knock?”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Sandra made sure to keep a straight face, but her heart still raced with anxiety. She’d been planning this for days. Hopefully Charles wouldn’t mind that she’d bypassed his gift, at least for now, because she’d been dying to do this ever since the idea had occurred to her. He wouldn’t be mad, would he? He wouldn’t think it was stupid?

  He was watching her with an inscrutable look. She forced herself not to bite her lip or squirm. Instead, she drummed her fingers on the mattress and tried to sound cool when she told him, “You could at least say you’re sorry.”

  Charles never looked away from her as he kicked the door shut. Oh, please let this work. He stalked toward the bed with a glass in his hand, slowly at first—then he dropped the glass to the floor and gained the bed in the space of a heartbeat. Sandra gasped and heard the glass thump harmlessly against the carpet, the liquid sloshing out, before he was on her.

  She squeaked as he pushed her back into the pillows. He kissed her hard, again and again, and ran his hands over every bit of her he could reach. “I’m not sorry,” he snarled between kisses.

  Okay, it was working. Sandra’s head spun. He was already sliding his hands up beneath her skirt, seeking out the satin beneath. He breathed, “Tell me this is what I think it is.”

  It was. She’d put on the midnight-blue bra and panties she’d been wearing when he’d stumbled on her in the middle of changing her clothes. Whatever else happened, she sure as hell would never forget the way they’d met.

  She needed to slow this down before he got completely unmanageable. She’d said she would tease him, and now that he was into it, she was going to make good on her word. No quick fuck for him tonight. This was going to last.

  Sandra pushed his hands out from beneath her skirt and whispered, “I don’t know. What do you think you have to do to find out?”

  He went still. Then he pulled back and looked down at her with hungry, glittering eyes. She got goose bumps everywhere.

  “Work for it?” he murmured.

  “Oh yeah,” Sandra said. She dared to slide her fingertips down the side of his throat, and then toyed with his collar. “I want you to be good to me.” He hissed. “Do you think you can be good?”

  “Define good.” He sounded mild, but she wasn’t fooled. His body was still tense against hers, ready to reclaim her and finish what he’d started the instant she let her guard down.

  Her heart pounded. There might be one way to disarm him. She took a deep breath and relaxed, softening her body as if she was yielding. Melting against him. His breath caught.

  Sandra dragged her fingernails through Charles’s hair and gave him a small, trusting smile. “Be gentle with me,” she whispered, brushing her thumb over his lips. “Take care of me. Isn’t that what you want?” His eyes glazed over. She craned her head forward so she could kiss the corner of his mouth. “You said I was yours…”

  At that, he kissed her again, as hard and hungry as if he couldn’t help it. She didn’t give in but kept her own kisses slow and tender, and kept combing her fingers through his hair as if she were petting a big, dangerous cat.

  “If I’m yours…” she whispered. He returned to her throat with a low groan, kissing her gently. Good. Oh, very good. She shivered at the brush of his beard on her skin. “Y-you have to look after me.”

  “God, Sandra,” he said hoarsely.

  He wasn’t a sure thing yet. She had to make certain. She nuzzled at the place where his jaw met his throat. In spite of her resolve, her voice broke a little when she said, “Nobody does for me what you do. Can…can you give me what I need?”

  She hadn’t meant to sound like that, so honest and bare, but the hitch in her voice made him rasp, “Yes, darling. Oh yes, I can.”

  Yes, he could. He absolutely could. Sandra shivered. That seemed to have done the trick. She touched his chin, and when he looked at her, she relaxed. The wildness had left his eyes. Now he looked almost content, ready for whatever pleasures lay ahead.

  “I wondered if you’d like the dress,” she said. Now that the pressure was off for a second, she felt oddly shy. “It’s not exactly, um, revealing.”

  “Context is everything,” he said. He touched her thigh again but this time kept his hand on top of the fabric.

  “I thought about asking you to meet me in that other bedroom.” She blushed. “It might have given away the surprise, though.”

  “Plenty of time for that.” He kissed her very softly. He sure was taking her request to heart. “Well, then.” He kissed her again. “How can I be good to you, Miss Dane?”

  Electricity seemed to crackle through her. Charles calling her that, seeing her in this dress, just like the night they’d met…


  “I’m your guest, Mr. Magister,” she said. He sucked in a breath through his teeth. For a moment, she wondered if all her work was about to unravel, but he kept himself under control. “Mind if I make myself comfortable?”

  His eyes gleamed. “Oh, by all means.”

  She pushed at his chest. “Let me get up.”

  Charles made a soft noise of protest but rolled off her so she could sit up. She smoothed down her ponytail, which was held in place by a simple elastic band. She hadn’t wanted to risk putting on the emerald barrette for a night that would probably end with her clothes all over the floor.

  “It’s not as fancy as that hair clip you lost,” she said, trying for a joke. She’d worn a jeweled hair clip last time—well, fake jewels—and had left it behind in the apartment. It went missing afterward, and Charles compensated her with a replacement made of gold and real gems—the very barrette he’d sent to her office a few days ago. She couldn’t exactly complain, but it did mean her costume lacked a piece.

  She’d half-expected Charles to ask her why she wasn’t wearing the emerald one. She wasn’t expecting at all that his cheeks would go a little pink, or that he’d suddenly look away from her eyes. He cleared his throat and said, “Oh, well.”

  Realization hit her. Before she could stop it, a huge grin split her face. “Charles!” she said in delight.

  He glared at her, his face still pink. “What?”

  She couldn’t stop smiling, though she tried to keep the laughter out of her voice. “Did your staff ever find that clip?” He narrowed his eyes. “I’ve really missed it. It matches a ton of my earrings.”

  He cleared his throat again. “Nobody’s mentioned it to me.”

  Oh, please. Sandra said, “Don’t you want to see the whole outfit again?”

  “I remember the whole outfit very well, thank you.”

  “Come on,” she wheedled. “If I could have snatched something off of you, I would have.” Well, no she wouldn’t, but she’d have been tempted. “Where is it?”

  She watched as Charles decided to stop being embarrassed. He lay back among the pillows and folded his hands over his chest. “What will you give me for it?”

  Her jaw dropped. Wow, the chutzpah. “Give you? For my own stuff that you stole?”

  He looked unrepentant. “I didn’t steal it. You left it. Very careless.”

  “I left it because—” Heat suffused her body at the memory. She’d left it because he’d taken it. He’d wanted to see her hair falling over her shoulders, so he’d just removed her hair clip without a by-your-leave. And all the while, they’d pretended that nothing was ever going to happen.

  “What do you want for it?” she whispered as she saw the same realization flash in his eyes.

  “Everything.” His voice sounded a little unsteady. “There’s nothing else worth wanting.” He traced his fingertips over her shoulder and then down the line of her bare arm. Her skin tingled. “It’s in the middle drawer of the nightstand.”

  “Can I—?”

  He nodded. Sandra tried to rally and clambered off the mattress. She opened the nightstand’s middle drawer, and sure enough, there it was—her hairclip with its glass and plastic jewels, lying between a Tibaldi fountain pen case and a Patek Philippe watch box.

  She slid the elastic band out of her hair and put it on his nightstand, because who knew? He might want to keep it. Then again, she couldn’t point fingers. She was the one who’d kept a pebble from his private beach.

  She bit her lip to suppress a grin, turned to face him, and clipped her hair back. “There.”

  He kept watching her from the bed, appearing perfectly calm, even disinterested. She might have been fooled but for the way his hands gripped each other on his chest. “Not bad,” he said.

  Sandra put her hands on her hips and cocked her head. Anticipation was curling through her again, sharper than ever. “So, you want ‘everything’?” she said.

  “Oh yes.” But he didn’t move. She remembered their first night together, before he’d pounced on her in front of the fireplace—how absolutely still he’d held. Waiting.

  She swallowed. “You told me you would have had me in the library the night we met.”

  His hands clenched again. He sounded hoarse when he said, “I know what you’re doing.”

  Did he? She wasn’t all that sure herself. She only knew that this moment intoxicated her, balancing on the knife edge of possibility. “And what’s that?” she asked, trying to sound cool. Her voice wavered instead. Damn it.

  At that, he had the gall to look amused. “Break my control, of course. I’ve promised to be good to you, and now you’re seeing if I’ll go back on my word.”

  “I…I am?” She didn’t mean that to be rhetorical. Was that what she was trying to do? She hadn’t come here with a plan, other than to put on the dress and have some fun.

  Was she in way over her head here?

  No. If she was in over her head, then it wasn’t because of anything they were doing in the bedroom. It was because she’d fallen so hard in love with him that she felt bruised all over from the impact.

  She was playing with a handicap, and she couldn’t let him see.

  “You are,” Charles confirmed. “But I said I’d be good to you, and you’re just going to have to put up with it, Miss Fuck-Me-On-the-Stairs.”

  Her face must be as red as a tomato. He actually chuckled. The nerve of him! She lifted her chin defiantly. “You’re the one who didn’t know how to use a keycard. I wanted you to bend me over your desk and give it to me in your office.”

  The smirk dropped off his face. His eyes glazed again. It was Sandra’s turn to preen. Maybe this game wasn’t all bad.

  “Fox,” he said roughly, “we’re not going to the library, we’re not doing it over a desk, we’re doing it right here in my bed with your legs in the air. That’s the price of your hair clip.” Sandra gulped. That didn’t sound like such a bad price. “That, and I want to see your underwear.”

  Now he tapped his fingertips on his chest and suddenly looked as eager as a teenage boy who’d just discovered Internet porn. Sandra covered her mouth with her hand too late to stop a giggle.

  Okay, if he wanted a show, she’d give him one. She popped open the hair clip again and shook her head so that her hair fell back down around her shoulders. Just like he’d done to her. “You like my hair down,” she told him.

  “I do,” he said, his voice hoarse again. “It’s fucking glorious.”

  “Oh, that’s sweet of you to say.” She stepped back away from the bed. A few paces to her left, the glass he’d dropped lay on the floor. She could see the wet spot where her gin and tonic was soaking into the carpet. Yeah, he could lose control, all right.

  Sandra reached behind herself, trying not to fumble. She slid the zipper down her back and shimmied the dress down over her hips.

  She kept the shoes on. A girl couldn’t tease her lover with lingerie and not keep the shoes on for a few minutes.

  “Now—” Charles began.

  Sandra clutched the dress to her front, shielding her breasts and hips from his gaze. She’d done that before, too. Then, it hadn’t been sexy at all; it had been about trying to hide herself from the eyes of a stranger. But tonight…

  His jaw clenched when he realized what she was doing. “Christ,” he rasped. “You sadist.”

  Sandra said, “I think you like it.”

  “I think you’re right.” He sat up, his eyes gleaming.

  “Yeah. So return the favor for me.” He blinked. “Why do I have to be the only one getting naked? I want to see you, too.” Her lips were dry. She pressed them together to moisten them. “You’re gorgeous.”

  “You’re wrong.” His hands went to his shirt buttons. “But it seems fair.”

  “Great,” Sandra said, and dropped her dress to the floor so he could see the whole picture. His hands froze on his buttons, and his eyes widened.

  He probably hadn’t gotten a good look
last time. The lingerie set really was pretty hot, at least by her standards. Sandra had never owned any black latex or red peek-a-boo anything, but the midnight-blue satin cups of the bra ended just beneath her nipples. Only black lace covered those. A black satin bow hung between her breasts.

  The matching panty left even less to the imagination—a bare wisp of satin covered her in front and back, held together by a strip of black lace around the hips.

  She’d felt so daring when she bought it, wondering if this might be the thing that would finally kick her lackluster sex life with Bradley into gear. Thank God he’d never seen it. Now it was for her and Charles alone.

  “As nice as you remember?” she whispered.

  Charles bit his bottom lip. He was breathing quickly. “Nicer. Turn around.” She did. “Holy God.”

  Now that he couldn’t see her face, Sandra grinned. Then something on the wall caught her eye. “Wow,” she said. “Where’d you get that?”

  “What?” He cleared his throat. “Oh. The Gottlieb. Go have a look.”

  She heard the rustling of fabric. He probably didn’t want her to watch him taking off his clothes. It figured; she’d seen him undress before, but it had never been for show. It was just fine for her to put on a show for him, of course. Still with her back turned to him, Sandra rolled her eyes.

  She sauntered toward the painting, pretty sure that he was watching her ass the whole time. Adolph Gottlieb’s trademark red circle hovered on a white canvas over a black splotch and dark-blue squiggles. A perfect, controlled shape contrasted with a big ugly mess.

  “What do you like about this?” she asked, excitement momentarily displaced by curiosity.

  “I like abstract art in general,” he grunted. She heard the shuffle of more clothing. “You told me you do as well.”

  Yes, at the North Shore house. She didn’t turn around. “When I met you, I would have thought it annoyed you. Art that pretends not to look like anything.”

  “I look at it, and it becomes whatever I want it to be,” Charles said quietly. “Most things do.”

  Sandra got goose bumps. She almost wrapped her arms around herself, her usual gesture of self-comfort, before she remembered that he could see through that too.