For the first time in what felt like weeks, Leona took a day off. She did not think about supporting beams or color schemes. She did not have discussions that revolved around which toilet seats were more pleasing to the eye or which kind of leather made better chairs and couches. She didn’t even defend her relationship to anyone.
Instead she spent the day playing with Percy on the playground set and eating the delicious lunch of roasted broccoli, sweet apple sausage and macaroni and cheese—homemade, not from a box—that Byron had fixed for them.
The afternoon nap didn’t happen—Percy was far too excited by the new playground and the big house and Byron to even think about lying down for an hour and missing out on all the fun. Which meant that, by dinnertime, he was a tornado of unhappiness. Anything or anyone who touched him only made things worse.
“Is he sick?” Byron asked, the concern writ large on his face as Percy screamed and tried to twist out of his arms.
“No, just tired,” Leona said, dodging a handful of applesauce. “He skipped his nap. This is what happens with no nap.” She tried to grin at Byron, but the exhaustion and the screaming were wearing her down. “I’ve dealt with worse.”
Byron paled as he looked down at the raging ball of adorable fury in his arms. “It gets worse?”
A flash of fear hit her. Was this it? Would Byron change his mind? Up until this point, he’d only seen the mostly calm, totally cute side of Percy. He hadn’t been getting up at all hours of the night because Percy wouldn’t stop crying and he’d never seen an epic meltdown like this.
She tried to steel herself. If he was going to back out, better to do it now. She hadn’t even unpacked her bags. They could pick up and be gone inside of fifteen minutes.
The thought made her ache. Byron had made a promise and she couldn’t bear the thought of him breaking another one. Especially not this one.
“Okay, yeah,” Byron said, looking at her with wide eyes. She thought he might be on the verge of panic, but at least he was doing an admirable job of keeping it contained. “Naps. Every day. Got it.”
She felt a real smile taking hold of her lips. “If we can get some food into his tummy, I can nurse him and he’ll go to sleep early.”
Byron’s eyebrows lifted. “Will he sleep all night?”
“Probably not,” she admitted. “But hopefully for a couple of hours.”
Byron exhaled heavily, which momentarily distracted Percy from his howling. “And you’ve been doing this alone for how long?”
“Five months,” she replied. “But I had May with me.”
Despite the squalling baby, the flying baby food, the fact that she was exhausted—Byron gave her the kind of look that seared her with heat. “And now you have me.”
She was really too tired and coated in too much applesauce to feel this attractive. But that’s what Byron did to her. That was why she’d eventually agreed to go out with him, why she’d never been able to call it off despite knowing that it couldn’t end well. He made her want to melt into his arms and let the rest of the world fall away.
And he knew it, too. His gaze intensified and he leaned forward. “An early bedtime, you say?”
The warmth spread from her lower back all the way up to her face because she wanted to have him in every way possible. “Very early.”
“Come on, Percy,” Byron said, enthusiastically scooping up another spoonful of applesauce. “Yummy, yummy!”
* * *
An hour later, Percy had eaten enough applesauce to count, had a soothing bath with only minimal screaming, and was sleepily listening to Byron read him a story. Leona decided to try out the new shower—it was hard to feel sexy with sauce in her hair. The bathroom had a huge two-person whirlpool tub and a separate shower. Byron had gotten some thick white towels and the basics of toiletries. Good enough.
Leona shaved her legs and let the hot water run. Today had been much better than she had expected it to be, but still, a few hours of Percy screaming had taken its toll.
She knew she wasn’t going to fall into a deep slumber the moment her head hit a pillow. All day long Byron had been giving her that look—the same look he’d been giving her for weeks now, only a hundred times more potent. That look said he couldn’t wait to rip all her clothes off and do bad, bad things to her.
And truthfully? She wanted—needed—to have some bad things done to her. For a year, she’d locked down her sexuality. She’d been so danged busy—untangling her life and May’s life from her parents’ nose-to-the-grindstone rules, being pregnant, getting a job and being a mother. She hadn’t had time to even think about sex. And who would she have had sex with, anyway?
A year’s worth of sexual frustration threatened to swamp her. Being touched by Byron every two weeks or so was simply not enough.
But what was he going to do tonight? Somehow, she didn’t think it would be a quick and satisfying coupling before they both passed out. As tired as she was, the anticipation was more than enough to keep her awake. Before, he’d been patient with her, kind and loving and he’d never pushed her to do anything wild or kinky—all of which had made her feel very safe.
But since he’d come back? Since he’d held her still on his lap and whispered into her ear that she couldn’t make a noise until he demanded she tell him she wanted him to let her come?
That was something new. Something bad. And, God help her, it excited her.
She hurried through the rest of her shower and threw her clothes back on. She didn’t even get her hair dried. When she got back to Percy’s room—which was across the hall and down one doorway from the master suite—Byron was just finishing up another story. Leona smiled at the small pile of books that had grown next to the chair. “Sorry,” she murmured. At the sound of her voice, Percy twisted and started to fuss.
“We’re fine,” Byron assured her as he stood. “Have a good shower?”
She nodded, feeling the water drip off the ends of her short hair. When she took her seat, Byron placed Percy back in her arms and whispered, “I’ll be right back.”
Which turned out not to be the entire truth. The minutes passed slowly as Percy nursed himself into an epic milk coma and she continued to think.
What was she doing with Byron? She’d made this big fuss—this promise to herself—that there would be separate bedrooms. That she would not fall into his arms again.
And yet, Byron had basically reduced her to a quivering mass of need in the middle of the driveway. There’d been a time when she’d coveted the overnights in Byron’s bed. It had felt like the ultimate act of rebellion—not going home to her father’s house at the end of a date, but curling up under the covers with Byron and knowing she would have to come up with some kind of believable lie to cover the fact that she was sleeping with a man—and a Beaumont at that.
Oh, the lies she’d told to be with Byron. She’d claimed she’d had to work late, that a friend of hers had asked her out to the bars and gotten too drunk to get home safely, that the roads were bad. Whatever she could make sound believable so her father wouldn’t start sniffing around.
Maybe she’d known it wouldn’t last. Byron would find out, or her father would—it was only a matter of time. She wanted to think that she’d been preparing for the confrontation, that she would have stood up for herself and for Byron and finally shaken her father off.
But then Percy had happened.
She looked down at her sweet baby boy, touching his face. She could marry Byron. It wouldn’t guarantee that they’d live happily ever after, necessarily, but it was an important step in cementing their status as a family. And it’d make it that much harder for her father to steamroller his way back into her life.
Yes, she could marry Byron. That wasn’t the question.
The question was, did she want to?
Would you have married me, if I’d asked a year ago?
That’s what Byron had wanted to know. And she hadn’t answered him.
But deep down, she knew. She knew that, had he asked—if she’d been carrying his child and he’d asked her to be his forever—she would have said yes.
When Byron appeared in the doorway, Leona startled and glanced at the clock. It’d been over twenty minutes since he’d left. She started to get up—Percy was pretty passed out—but Byron motioned for her to sit. Grinning, he stood and watched as Leona finished up and patted Percy on the back. What a change from the first time he’d seen her do this, when he’d fled to the kitchen to make applesauce.
She carefully put Percy into his new crib. The baby was so passed out he didn’t even stir. Sleep, sweetie, Leona prayed. Sleep for Mommy and Daddy.
Byron came in to stand next to her, his arm around her shoulders. There was an intimacy to the moment. For the first time since Byron had walked back into her life, she truly felt they were in this together. It was such a relief that she wrapped her arm around his waist and held him tight.
Byron checked to make sure the baby monitor was on and then whispered in her ear, “Come with me.”
Desire spiked through her. Only Byron could to that to her—turn her on with three little words.
He led her out of the bedroom and up the hall to their bedroom. How weird was that? Their bedroom. She’d slept over at his place, a small apartment in an exclusive downtown complex, back when they’d been dating. But that’d been his. She’d always had her own room, her own bed to go back to.
Then the room registered. Byron had been busy while she’d been with Percy. The drapes were closed and the room was alight with the soft glow of candles, easily fifteen or twenty. Where had he gotten so many candles? They were on the mantel over the fireplace, on the dressers, and contained in tall glass jars on the night tables. The whole room glowed. It was one of the more romantic things she’d ever seen.
“Wow,” she said. “This is beautiful.”
“I’m glad you like it. Turn around.”
She gave him a look, but it had no effect on him. Instead, he leaned in close enough to kiss her. But he didn’t. He waited, his gaze searching her face.
The anticipation sending spikes of need through her body ratcheted up another notch. She turned around.
“I wanted to do this the other night,” he said, pulling her shirt over her head and pushing her pants down so quickly that she barely had time to register that she was in nothing but her panties.
“What?” she asked, nervousness and excitement fighting for control over her stomach. The fact of the matter was, she didn’t know what he was going to do to her. But she was pretty sure she was going to like it.
Then the piece of black silk slipped over her eyes.
Fear flashed through her, temporarily pushing the anticipation into panic. “Byron?”
The tips of his fingers traced the contours of her back, soft and gentle. “I just want you to feel this,” he said, his voice right against her ear. His breath warmed her skin. “I won’t do anything you don’t want me to,” he promised as he brushed her damp hair away from her neck. His fingers moved over her shoulder—the lightest of touches that held so much promise. Her skin broke out in goose bumps. “If you want me to stop, I will.”
She felt exposed. She couldn’t see what Byron was doing and she wasn’t sure what, exactly, he wanted to do. Essentially, she was at his mercy.
He seemed to know what she was thinking. “Do you trust me?” She heard rustling.
Did she?
Before, when they’d become lovers, he’d taken his time with her. She’d been the kind of inexperienced that only virgins could pull off, but Byron had never rushed her. Once, they’d been making out hot and heavy on his couch. He’d gotten her top off and his shirt, too and Leona had finally decided to go through with it—right until he’d unbuttoned her pants. Then she’d had this moment of terror that he was a Beaumont and she was a Harper and what the hell was she thinking?
So she’d put the brakes on. Byron had hovered over her, his eyes closed and his chest heaving with effort and she’d panicked because she’d never allowed herself to get into this kind of situation, never before been this vulnerable with a man, especially not a Beaumont. Beaumonts were known for their womanizing ways—would that include forcing the issue?
And then he’d sat back and put on his shirt. And when she’d gotten dressed again, he’d pulled her into his arms and kissed her sweetly and asked what she wanted to do tomorrow night. There’d been no guilt, no pressure. She’d felt warm and safe and loved then.
Just like she felt now.
“Yes,” she told him. “I trust you.”
“Good,” he said. He led her over to the massive king-size bed and said, “Lie down on your stomach.”
Even though she couldn’t see him behind her blindfold, Leona cocked an eyebrow at him. “Please,” he added. She did as he requested. “Scoot a little more toward the middle,” he instructed. But he didn’t get on the bed, either.
“When do I get to know what it is you’ve got planned with all these candles and this blindfold?”
He chuckled. Then she felt the mattress shift as Byron kneed onto the bed. She could feel him getting closer, feel the warmth of his breath against her ear. “Very soon, babe. Don’t tell me the anticipation isn’t driving you crazy.”
She shifted her hips, trying to take the pressure off the one place in particular where the anticipation was, in fact, driving her completely nuts. “All right, I won’t tell you then. I will tell you, however, that you’re being a tease.”
She felt the bed shift under him as he moved. She couldn’t help it—she tensed. “I consider it turnabout for fair play. Do you know what it did to me to watch you for the past two weeks?” He straddled her legs and said, “Lotion,” which her brain hadn’t quite made sense of when suddenly there was warm liquid being slicked onto her bare back.
She tensed. “Just massage lotion,” Byron repeated. There was a pause, then his strong hands began to work over her body.
“This is what you wanted to do the other night?” she murmured into the pillows as he found a knot in her shoulders and began to rub. “Oh, that feels good.”
“I did,” he said, his voice thick. “You’ve been pulling some long days and long nights and a three-minute shoulder rub didn’t seem enough. I wanted to take care of you.
“You’ve changed,” he went on. “You were always so quiet, back when you started at the restaurant. For a hostess, you always seemed almost...afraid of people. Like you had to force yourself to smile at them. It was like you didn’t want to be noticed.”
Leona relaxed under his touch. “I didn’t, at first. But you noticed me anyway.”
“I did,” he agreed, attacking a particularly tight knot in her shoulders. She heard the click of the cap, then he applied more lotion. “I could see then that there was something else going on with you, under the surface. And these past few weeks? Watching you manage the construction and juggle everything? It’s been like...” Unexpectedly, he leaned forward and kissed her in the middle of the back. “It’s been like watching the woman I always knew was there finally emerging. You’re strong and confident and decisive. And I like it.”
Oh, my. Even though she still had the silk tied around her eyes, she turned her head to look back at him. “You do?”
This time, when he leaned down, his whole chest pressed against her back. He’d taken off his shirt, she realized when his bare skin came into full contact with hers. “I do. You were always different with me—you relaxed and you were sharp and snarky and I liked it. I liked you.” His hands moved over her arms, stretching them out against the bed. “But after a while, it hurt me to watch the woman I loved retreat behind that wall of willing invisibility. I wanted...” He sighed and pushed himself into a sitting position. This time, instead of kneading her shoulders, he trailed his fingers up and down her back in long, sure strokes. “I wanted you to be free enough to be yourself in the daylight, not just at night with me.”
She had no reply for that. None at all. Was that how he’d seen her? Someone trapped behind a wall of subservience, someone dying to break free? She’d never thought of herself in those explicit terms—but had Byron been wrong? He’d been her first love, her first rebellion—and the reason she’d left behind a toxic home life when she couldn’t bear the thought of her father treating her baby like he treated everyone else.
“I didn’t have to be anyone else when I was with you,” she said in a quiet voice. “That’s why I couldn’t stay away from you.”
Byron’s strong hands were suddenly stroking down until he found the waistband of her panties. He traced the edge for a moment before his hands moved to her thighs. Then he pushed his fingers under the thin cotton fabric. “I’m glad you couldn’t,” he said as he gripped her bottom.
Leona sucked in air as he massaged her. There was something else in his touch, something that bordered on possessive. “Oh,” she moaned as he dug the pads of his fingers into her skin.
She wasn’t sure she could relax, not with him working on her like this. The more he loosened up the muscles in her back, the more tense other things seemed to get. The tension inside of her coiled down, tighter and tighter, until she was having trouble keeping her hips still.
Just when she was sure she couldn’t take much more, he scooted up. She could feel his erection now, pressing into her bottom, hot and hard and for her. She thought he’d do something else, but instead he went back to work on her shoulders.
All she could do was moan when he hit a particularly tense spot. She let go of the stress of the past few weeks. Her body felt warm and limp under his touch.
He moved again and she expected more oil, but instead he leaned down and kissed her in the middle of her upper back. “How are you doing?”
“Better,” she whispered as his mouth moved lower and he trailed kisses down her spine.
She didn’t know what he would do next and he was clearly in no hurry to do it. By the time he sat back up and his hands left her body again, she was on the verge of begging for release. Anything he wanted—loud, quiet—anything, as long as he made her come.
When the oil dripped onto the backs of her legs, she jumped. “Easy,” he murmured, spreading the oil up her legs and under the edge of her panties. “I’m taking care of you.”
“Byron,” she moaned, but she didn’t know if she was begging or not.
His slick fingers moved in, stroking her sex until this time, she couldn’t lie still. She writhed against the bed, the release she needed so close but not there yet. “Please,” she moaned.
“You like that?” he asked, his voice ragged as he stroked in and out.
“Yes,” she whispered. He slipped a second finger inside of her and her hips bucked from the pressure. “Oh, Byron.”
He pulled her panties to one side and kissed the skin he’d exposed. She couldn’t help the low moan that escaped her lips as he stroked and kissed her. She fisted her hands in the covers, desperate to hold herself down. “I can’t—I can’t,” she gasped out when he hit just the right spot. A sensation of light and heat shivered through her. The pressure was so good, so intense—she couldn’t take it. “Please, Byron. Please.”
“Yeah,” he said gruffly. “You tell me what you want and let me do everything else. Let me take care of you.” Then he bit down on her bottom—not hard, but more than enough to send spikes of pleasure and pain crashing through her body. She moaned as her body writhed under his touch.
“Tell me,” he said in a sterner voice.
“I need you.” It came out almost as a squeak.
She felt his teeth on her again, pushing those spikes of desire higher into her stomach. “Be specific.”
If she hadn’t been so turned on, she would have laughed. Who could be specific at a time like this? But as it was, she could barely speak enough to say, “I need you inside of me.”
Even though she couldn’t see him, she could feel his grin against her skin. “Wait a second—don’t move.”
Then he pulled away from her—his body, his fingers, his hands. She didn’t want to lose his touch. But he’d told her not to move, so she didn’t.
Then she heard a crinkle that she guessed went with the opening of a condom. “That’s a new one, right?”
“Bought them yesterday. The massage lotion is compatible.”
That made her smile. “You planned ahead.”
“I can’t help it if I can’t stop thinking about you. Here.” The pillows around her head were pulled away. Then he guided her hips up and shoved the pillows underneath. His hands lingered on her skin. “Okay?”
She couldn’t speak—she could only nod. He had her so turned on that it took everything she had to lie still and wait for his next touch.
It came soon enough. He grabbed her panties and roughly yanked them down. Then he was against her. “I’m going to take good care of you, Leona,” was the last thing she heard him say before he thrust into her.
She hadn’t allowed herself to miss this when he’d been gone. She hadn’t had the time to think back to the days when Byron would make love to her and it would take her away from everything—the stress of the late-night job, the tension at home, the fact that she was sleeping with the enemy.
But now that she had him back, she turned those memories loose. They wove themselves around her, mingling with how Byron was gripping her hips, how he was thrusting in with hard, sure strokes. “Leona,” he groaned over and over again. “My Leona.”
“Yes, yes,” was the only sound she could make. The noise hissed out of her with every thrust as Byron took her again and again. She was his—she always had been and she saw clearly now that she always would be.
She couldn’t see him, but she could feel every single thing he was doing to her. The way his fingers dug into her skin, pulling her back into him. The way he filled her over and over, pushing her to the brink of orgasm without letting her fall down the other side. The grunting noises that built in pitch until he was nearly shouting her name.
Then he relinquished his hold on her hips and fell forward onto her. His teeth scraped along her back but that feeling was quickly blotted out as he reached around and pressed against the hot little button of her sex. “Come for me,” he ordered, thrusting and pressing and nibbling until the tension in her body finally, finally snapped. Her muscles tightened almost to the point of pain as she screamed her orgasm into the bed.
“Oh, God,” Byron grunted, slamming his hips against her twice more before freezing. “Oh, babe.”
The orgasm left her completely wrung out and panting. Byron collapsed onto her, his chest hot against her back.
“I want to see you,” she said in a shaky voice.
The blindfold was pulled away. Even though the candlelight was dim, she still blinked. Then Byron slid off and pulled her into his arms. “Wasn’t too much, was it?” he murmured into her hair.
“Just right,” she replied, curling against him and tracing small circles against his chest. Now that the orgasm and anticipation and massage had all run together, she was having trouble keeping her eyes open. They lay there for a few moments, the only sounds in the room the beating of their hearts and the occasional pop of a candle burning.
He’d put her first. He’d taken care of her, just like he’d said he would. He hadn’t run screaming earlier when Percy melted down.
Maybe...maybe this would work. Maybe she could marry him and they could be a family and he would love her. Maybe she should allow herself to hope that she’d get everything she ever wanted.
And then he spoke and ruined it.
“If only you’d been honest with me from the start,” he said with a heavy sigh, “it could have been like this for the past year. We would have found a way to make it work.”
The insult was worse than any slap in the face. “If I’d been honest?”
She was up and moving, off the bed and out the door before he could blink. “Leona? Hey—Leona!”
But she was already out of the room, heading down the hall. “If you hadn’t left, Byron, maybe we could have made it work,” she said, knowing he was right behind her. “But you keep making this all my fault, and I’m not going to take it anymore. You’re always going to hold that over my head like a sword, aren’t you? Because God forbid I try to make up for my mistakes. God forbid we try to get past it. I’ll always be the Harper who lied to you, won’t I?” With that, she slammed the door to her room and locked the lock.
“For God’s sake, Leona,” he growled from the other side of the door. The door handle jiggled. “Damn it, Leona!” No doubt he thought that, because he’d bought the house he could walk right into any room he chose.
“It’s fine. I’m fine. Thank you for the massage. Good night, Byron.”
“I’m not done with you yet,” she heard him say on the other side of the door. “But we can talk in the morning. Get some sleep.”
No, of course he wasn’t done with her.
Yet.
But he would be. Sooner or later, he would be.