Colton's Twin Secrets Page 19

  “I... Sure.”

  “Or,” she said, driven by a sudden need to prod him out of whatever this mood was, “I can keep them cooped up in the den all day. That should make for a restful night.”

  He looked pained and quickly went to pick up Zita. She cooed at him, again reaching out to pat his cheek. He dodged a tiny finger in his eye by grabbing her hand and kissing it, somewhat noisily. Lucia giggled again. His gaze shot to Gemma’s face, and she somehow knew he was thinking of the joke he’d made about girls he kissed giggling.

  “I didn’t giggle.” The words were out before she thought. But when she saw the sudden flare of heat in his eyes, the sudden intensity that came over him, she couldn’t regret them. Mr. Dante Mancuso wasn’t as immune as he was trying to show.

  And why that pleased her so was yet another thing she had to think about. When she could think again.

  Chapter 26

  “If you were any more stiffly polite, you’d shatter.”

  Dante looked up at Gemma, who, after spending the hour before putting them to bed getting both girls playing with some sort of big plastic toy—playing apparently consisting mostly of putting the thing up to their mouths—had come to a halt before his chair.

  He’d been sitting here for that hour, plus the time it had taken her to get the girls settled in the crib, trying to focus on work and failing utterly. He’d ended up surreptitiously watching her sitting on the floor with the girls, talking to them quietly in that way she had, as if they were old enough to understand, yet with that kind of singsong cadence that seemed to delight them, even when she took them in to bed.

  He’d been idly wondering how she knew to do that, if that kind of knowledge really did come built in in women, when she came back out of the den and confronted him.

  “In fact,” she went on, not waiting for him to answer, “you’re being a total—” she glanced back toward the den, and when she went on he was pretty sure it wasn’t with the word that had come to mind “—jerk.”

  “Working?” he suggested, gesturing at his laptop.

  “Right. You keep hiding behind that, then,” she said and started to turn away.

  Irritation flashed through him. “What do you want from me, Gemma?”

  She went still. And very slowly turned back to look at him. And then, bluntly, she said, “I want you to kiss me again.”

  He stared at her. “What?”

  “You heard me.” He let out a sour chuckle as he looked away from her. “Are you saying you don’t want to?”

  He closed his eyes, fighting the memory of that kiss she was saying she wanted a repeat of. Fighting the heat, the need and the way his mind was screaming at him not to question, just do.

  “What I don’t want,” he said carefully, gesturing toward the room where the twins were sleeping, “is to tangle this up. Besides, I don’t poach.”

  “Poach?”

  “Dev? The guy who’s the reason you’re here in the first place, the guy you’re in love with, remember?”

  He saw color rise in her cheeks. “He’s why I want you to kiss me again.”

  He would never, Dante thought, understand the female mind. The only thing he could think to say was “Why?”

  He realized suddenly how tense she was. And he didn’t understand that, either. And then a burst of words came from her, tight with confusion but ringing with honesty.

  “Because I haven’t even thought of Dev all day, even before the park. Because I can’t get you out of my head. Because you sang last night. And,” she went on with a gulp, “because I have to know if it really is...how I remember.”

  He wasn’t sure he understood any better now than he had before the flood of words. But the only words he could seem to say, rather thickly, were “I’ve wondered that, too. If it could have really been that...good.”

  “All right, then,” she said, moving even closer, as if his words had sealed the deal. And only then did he realize he’d stood up, his body apparently making the decision before his mind could tamp it down.

  All the reasons this was wrong, that it would be a mistake, jammed up in his mind. All the cliché ones, all the practical ones—along with the simple fact that she was a Colton, one of those Coltons, and way, way out of his league—couldn’t seem to get past the fact that this woman who had surprised him at every turn, who had already proven she was much more than the rich girl most people thought her, who had already nearly put him on his knees with one kiss, wanted another.

  He made a last-ditch effort, one that his body protested mightily. “Gemma, look, it’s just the adrenaline hangover from this morning. It’s normal, but...you don’t want to do this.”

  “I told you,” she said with an air of long-suffering patience, and he wondered inanely if she’d picked it up from Flash, “I was thinking about it long before that crazy guy came after us.” She smiled then, and the soft warmth in it oddly made him shiver. “And then you showed up, all brave and fearless.”

  “Fearless?” He nearly laughed. “I was scared to death you’d been hurt.” Something flashed in her eyes then, something that made him add hastily, “Or the girls.”

  “I would never let them be hurt.” There was a quiet determination in her voice, and he knew she meant it. “I think I understand now why women will do anything to protect their child.”

  “And you call me fearless?” he asked softly.

  Her gaze snapped back to his face. She whispered his name, and the warmth in her voice matched the heat in her eyes and he was lost.

  And then she was in his arms, her mouth was on his, and the feeling flipped crazily.

  He wasn’t lost, he was found.

  * * *

  She had truly only wanted this one kiss. Had had herself convinced she couldn’t possibly be remembering that first one right. In a way, that turned out to be true, because it was much, much more than she’d remembered.

  She felt as if every bit of who else she was had been seared away. She wasn’t Gemma Colton, of the wealthy Red Ridge Coltons, she wasn’t the effective fund-raiser who practically kept the K9 unit going, she wasn’t even the nanny to the twins she had just put to bed. Right now she was only one thing—the woman who wanted this man more than she had ever wanted anything or anyone.

  She tasted him, savored him, savored even more the low groan that came from him as their tongues brushed, touched, danced. She slipped her arms around him, wanting him even closer. A little recklessly, she slid her hands down his back to cup that taut, muscled backside she’d so admired. It felt even better than it looked.

  And the other pleasing discovery she made in the process—that he was completely aroused—made her feel a new sort of heat, a kind that pooled low and deep inside her. And this time she did think of Dev, but only to realize he had never, ever made her feel this way. And she and Dante had only just begun.

  Or at least, she thought they had.

  He broke the kiss. But it was only to say, rather breathlessly, “Gemma...if you don’t want to take this all the way, you’d better stop.”

  “Stop? Oh, no.”

  The very idea was chilling. She emphasized her answer by pulling him harder against her and stretching up to kiss him again. She felt his hands move, sliding up her rib cage. Then he was cupping her breasts, and the heat of his touch arrowed through her. Her nipples were achingly tight long before he ever shifted his thumbs to rub over them. She heard a tiny cry, realized it was her, at the fierce, hot sensation of it.

  She tugged at his shirt, freed it enough to slide her own hands under it, to actually touch, caress that ridged abdomen. She felt as much as heard him suck in a breath then let it out in another low groan as she fumbled with the button of his jeans.

  His hand was suddenly over hers, halting her movement. “Gemma, wait. I’m not sure I...have anything.”

  “Have...?” Belatedl
y it hit her what he meant, that he didn’t have protection. That he wasn’t sure he had a condom immediately handy for any opportunity warmed her somehow. He didn’t make a habit of this. That he didn’t find a small package until the third place he looked warmed her even more.

  She spent the time he was searching looking at his bedroom with interest. She’d thought it would be masculine, maybe all neutral colors, dark ones, but instead it reminded her of the library in her father’s mansion, walls a dark hunter green, the bed covered with a thick comforter in a matching tone with tan stripes, and a wingback chair and footstool in the window bay. Beside it was a small table with several books stacked on it. So the man read at night, perhaps. She could picture it. But only one chair, although there was room for two. He must—

  And then he was there again. “Door number three,” he muttered. Then, as if he was afraid the interim had given her too much time to think, he cupped her cheek with one hand and asked, “Change your mind?”

  It was significant, she supposed, that she had not. But she would think of all the ramifications of her own certainty later. Right now all she cared about was relighting that fire they’d begun.

  “No way,” she said, reaching up to touch his mouth, those lips she’d had dreams about.

  His mouth came down on hers fiercely, and within ten seconds he’d done just that, rekindled that fire. It was as if they’d never stopped. Then he was pulling free of his clothes and ridding her of her own. She shivered, not from cold but at the sight of him naked before her. He was even more beautiful than she remembered. And the heat in his eyes as he looked at her stoked the flames even higher.

  “You are so beautiful,” he said, sounding as if he could barely get the words out.

  “You’re pretty hot yourself,” she murmured and stroked a hand down his belly. She wanted to savor the feel of sleek skin over muscle, but it seemed Dante had run out of patience. And she was glad, in fact gloried in it when he swept her up and took them both down to the bed, as if he couldn’t wait any longer.

  “Gemma?”

  He was, she realized through the sweet, luscious haze that had enveloped her at the feel of his naked weight atop her, giving her one last chance to change her mind. She nearly laughed at the very idea.

  “If you don’t hurry, I’m going to scream.”

  His voice went rough, low as he said, “Hang on to that scream. You’re going to need it later.”

  “Promise? I—”

  Her words turned into a gasp as he drove into her. She marveled at her own readiness, proven by the slickness of her body’s welcoming of his. He went deep in one stroke, filling her, stretching her, and she cried out his name at the sheer pleasure of it.

  He braced her shoulders with his hands and began to move, faster, deeper. She shuddered under the impact of sensations she’d never experienced. He slammed into her, she gasped again, and he stilled.

  “Too hard?” She felt a tremor go through him, as if it were taking every bit of his strength to stop. And yet he had. To be sure she was all right.

  “No. More.”

  It was all she could coherently manage, which was another new shock for her. She’d never been so driven out of her mind that she could barely speak. Nor had she ever been so moved by that sign of tender care amid the heat and power and glorious rush of pleasure.

  He began to move again, long, powerful strokes that drove her near to madness. And then he reached between them to swirl a finger over that taut button of flesh at the same time.

  He’d been right. She needed that scream.

  Chapter 27

  In a million years, Dante never would have pictured a Monday morning like this one. The absurdity of it warred with an odd sense of rightness, and even though he knew it was foolish, he let the rightness win.

  Him, in bed with Gemma Colton, after a night spent discovering just how incredible what had unexpectedly flared to life between them was. She was wearing his T-shirt—and it had never looked better—and he had pulled on his boxers after a brief hunt through the discarded clothes on the floor, because to complete the rightness, she had brought in the twins when they’d begun to fuss upon waking.

  So here Dante was, with the woman who lit a fire in him unlike anything he’d ever felt, and the two babies who had so quickly become so important to him, and he felt so connected to all three of them that it was stunning. He’d never felt that before, either, that kind of connection.

  She looked up, caught him staring at her. “Regrets?” she asked softly.

  “No,” he said instantly. “God, no. I just was afraid...you might have them.”

  “I thought about that when I woke up this morning. Couldn’t find a single one.”

  He could suddenly breathe again. He had no idea what would happen now, but at least they didn’t have that to deal with. Because he had no regrets, either, the only worry the pressure of wondering what would happen, where they would go now.

  “Ah ooh da ee,” said Zita, grabbing at his hand and pulling herself toward him.

  “I believe she just said, ‘I love you, Dante,’” Gemma said with a laugh.

  Dante didn’t dare look at her, afraid the tumble his gut had taken at the words I love you, Dante coming from her mouth, even if she was just teasingly interpreting a baby’s babbling, would show.

  With an effort he reined in his crazed imagination. He’d known this woman exactly a week. And he needed her to do what she’d proven surprisingly good at—help take care of the twins.

  If she was anyone but Gemma Colton...

  And if she didn’t fry his circuits when they touched, if every move she made didn’t remind him of the night they’d just spent together, he might be able to think more clearly.

  He had to look away. Saw that apparently Flash had, at some point, decided it was safe to come in and was sprawled lazily on his own bed in the corner.

  Get used to it, partner.

  He caught himself, realized he wasn’t just thinking of now—he was thinking of a long, long string of nights like last night.

  Zita had worked her way up to him now, looking rather pleased with herself. Instinctively he reached out for her, lifting her just under her arms. She got her feet under her quickly and started to bounce.

  Gemma, sitting on the bed with Lucia in her lap, who was tugging at a lock of her hair—that hair that had slid so deliciously over his skin last night—laughed. “She may skip crawling and go straight to walking.”

  “Not any time soon, I hope,” he said, rather grimly thinking of the chaos there would be once these two were more rapidly mobile. Then Zita began to coo happily. And rather melodically, he thought.

  “Not only that,” Gemma said with a smile, “she might have inherited your beautiful singing voice.”

  For an instant he was embarrassed at the compliment, but the feeling was quickly pushed out by the way she’d said it. Inherited. And again it hit him, that sense of connection. And the panic started to rise in him again.

  “I don’t know anything about this,” he said, feeling helpless. “I’m just their uncle—I’ve barely seen them before now. I can’t raise them the way my brother would have.”

  “I should hope not,” Gemma said acerbically.

  He blinked, for an instant startled at her adamancy. But then he realized how what he’d said sounded. He’d been thinking of the twins not having their parents; Gemma was thinking of them being raised by petty criminals. And in the larger scheme of things, he couldn’t argue the point.

  “You’re right,” he said, looking once more at the delighted, bouncing Zita, who was smiling at him joyfully. “If I were to stay true to the family heritage, I’d start them off now on a life of crime. They could be diversions while I rip somebody off, or devices to gain somebody’s confidence for the same purpose.”

  She was staring at him now. “That’s
absurd. Who would do such a thing?”

  He shrugged. “My parents did.”

  Her eyes widened in obvious shock. But then she smiled. “Boy, you’re a whole different kind of rebel, aren’t you?”

  He laughed in spite of himself.

  “You’ll do right by them, Dante. I can already see that.”

  “Even though I said let them cry last night?”

  “It worked,” Gemma pointed out. And it had—when the twins had started to fuss in the wee hours and Gemma had stirred, he’d held her close and whispered to let it go, see if they’d settle on their own. And after a while, the girls had, and quiet reigned anew.

  And they had once more, like two explorers who had discovered a land of untold beauty, turned to each other and found new ways to touch, to learn and to fly.

  “You know,” he said casually over Zita’s head, “for as little sleep as we got last night, I feel pretty da—” He caught himself and finished with, “darn good.”

  Gemma gave him a smile that threatened to kindle that blaze all over again. “So do I.”

  He fought down his response to that look. With effort regathered his thoughts. “Look, I know this complicates things,” he began. Zita squirmed to be let down, as if she didn’t like what he’d said.

  But Gemma merely looked at him innocently. “Does it? I thought it clarified things. It certainly did for me.”

  He blinked. Let Zita go. “It did? Like what?”

  She held his gaze steadily then. “That I was a fool for ever thinking I loved Dev.” He drew back then, a little stunned. “Oh, don’t panic, I’m not saying I expect you to...to propose or anything.”

  Since that was rather a moot point with the Groom Killer on the loose, he focused on the other part of what she’d said. Or hadn’t said. Had implied? Had she really? Just because she’d said she’d been wrong about loving Dev Harrington didn’t mean she was saying she loved...him.

  His pulse slammed into high gear at the mere thought. This was insane. Beyond insane. He’d known her a week. And this was still Fenwick Colton’s baby girl he’d just spent the night ravishing.