Kept by Him
NOT EVEN ICE MAIDEN CAN RESIST THE PRINCE!
He scowled at that one and scrolled onto the next. All of the speculation had stemmed from the funeral. He landed on that famed picture. THE ICE MAIDEN CRACKS IN THE ARMS OF THE PRINCE!
Daniel had been clad in black, his blond head bent, and he felt all over again the impotence of being unable to shield her from all those prying eyes even as she’d begged him not to let them see this. She’d burrowed in his arms like a bird with a broken wing and by God Daniel had wanted to take her to his nest until she could fly again with him.
Heart heavy in his chest, he went back further, to the murder-suicide.
LISA AND CARLTON DAVENPORT FOUND DEAD BY SOLE HEIR!
His eyes scanned the article, and they related once again how their eldest daughter had called 911 after finding them in their bedroom, dead, with their wrists slit.
Daniel rubbed his forehead and leaned back, remembering all the drama. Monica had breathed it, lived it, from up close, and it still pained him to think of her having gone through that alone.
They’d been normal people, Lisa and Carlton Davenport.
Hell, he still remembered them on the Lexington’s Queen yacht, laughing and having a good time. You’d never imagine they would do what they did. Apparently, Carlton had a slip, a passing affair with his flight attendant. He confessed when Lisa found out and had begged for forgiveness. But she couldn’t, and ended up having an affair as well. After an ugly divorce battle, it all escalated until their Romeo and Juliet finale.
The autopsies had revealed Carlton died before Lisa. It could have been a murder-suicide, or a double suicide. Whatever it was, it had rocked the city.
It especially rocked Monica.
He zoomed in on another picture of her at the funeral. In this image, she stared straight at the camera, her dark sable hair contained, but not too tightly, her ice blue eyes tired and vacant, her lips closed and almost turned downward at the corners. God, she was so beautiful his heart ached. She looked like her mother, some said. Lisa had been smart, like Monica, alive and passionate, but Monica had tried to kill every bit of passion inside of her since the whole debacle of the divorce began.
But Daniel had awakened her passions tonight. He knew it. He’d seen it, was still, hours later, burning to ashes from the flames they’d created.
And if Monica was lying awake tonight, feeling the same starving need for him as he was, then she was going to run again.
He stroked a finger down her face on the floating screen, knowing he couldn’t let her. Wouldn’t.
Not anymore, Monica. Not this time.
Chapter Three
Monica awoke thinking of a particular set of eyes. Green eyes. Like forests, emeralds, clovers. She showered to that same pair of eyes, drank coffee to that same pair of eyes. On her way to Davenport’s, they were there, in the back of every thought. Sexy and knowing, dark with arousal, watching her as he brought her to orgasm.
Scowling at herself, she pushed the thought aside as her driver pulled over right in front of Davenport’s glass doors. The store was half a block in size and swept six stories high, and the sight of the elegant store windows filled her with an almost overwhelming sense of pride.
She’d loved her family’s store since she was a little girl and came to “work” with her father on Saturdays, the clerks spoiling her by allowing her to ring up a couple of amused customers. This Davenport’s location on the Magnificent Mile was the first store among forty-eight across the country, and it had been in business for over sixty years. Monica knew every doorman, every security guard, every attendant.
Her heart warmed in satisfaction as she went straight through the shopping area, aware of dozens of shoppers already milling about. Two teenage girls started pointing in her direction, as though they recognized her from a magazine or newspaper article, and Monica gave them a smile as she headed to the elevators for the upstairs offices.
Manufacturing had always been taken care of overseas, in Scotland, where the best cashmere was woven and washed, and the business side of the product was handled in the floors above. Security, merchandising, conference rooms, and executive offices were all spread from the second floor upward. Ever since Monica had taken over five years ago, she’d slept and dreamed about cashmere and merchandising, worker’s compensation, product liabilities, profit margins.…
When her parents had died, Monica had decided that she’d marry nobody but Davenport’s. The store always gave her back exactly what she put in. And Monica had put in everything to this store.
She’d inherited a rapidly dwindling business and had taken control at twenty-four, when the shares hit rock bottom and nobody wanted “in” except Monica. She’d removed the old management and brought in new people, took out a bank loan to start expanding, and as the share price rose, she’d sold a large percentage of Davenport’s to her board members to keep financing its growth. She’d still managed to remain holding the majority of shares along with keeping an amazingly successful board, and now the company showed solid growth and impressive profit margins.
Today, she was especially excited as she headed to the third floor, where the photo sessions for their winter catalogs took place. They had a special session planned this morning, which had been scheduled with a Chicago top ad agency months before.
Her marketing staff was intent on using Monica’s iconic face for a publicity shot they expected would boost sales dramatically. The team wanted to interplay her Ice Maiden nickname with the warmth of cashmere, so rather than standing behind the photographers and watching them shoot the models, Monica soon ended up spread on a bed of cashmere, their finest two-ply from China, where the Capra hircus goats produced the softest hairs known.
Tons of cashmere pillows were tossed out behind her while Monica lay in nude-colored panties and golden heels, her only cover an earthy cashmere throw that matched her glossy earth-toned lips. In the background, a winter wonderland showcased enough fake snow to rival an Aspen ski slope.
Monica hadn’t realized how difficult it was for models to look into a camera lens and willingly, openly transmit their emotions into the lens.
It seemed to be an art—and one at which she was not a natural.
She clutched the cover to her chest and tried to look warm. Chris, an amazingly talented photographer who always did their most successful ad campaigns, rubbed his bald head in exasperation a half hour later. “Go for more warmth, soften your expression, Ms. Davenport.”
Monica tried fixing her expression for a couple of more minutes, first and foremost attempting to calm her frustration, for it didn’t made her feel necessarily warm or giving, much less sensual.
She did her deep breathing exercises, but the more she thought about being closed off, the more she actually closed off. She didn’t mind being physically naked as much as showing some inner vulnerability, which she usually dared not show anyone.
“I still need you to relax, Ms. Davenport.”
“Can’t we tweak in Photoshop, Chris?”
“No, Ms. Davenport, it’s your entire expression. It’s too controlled, your jaw is tight. Give me slackness, part your lips, give me an on-the-beach sensual look while holding the throw tighter.”
Monica tried parting her lips, all while wondering how much they could improve with Photoshop, when suddenly a dark figure moved through the swinging doors at the end. Monica’s assistant turned, gasped, and stepped aside to make room for it. Recognition struck Monica and her system froze and restarted as though the bolt of lightning had struck her dead on her sex.
Her nerve endings trilled with a strange sexual alertness. Daniel came to a stop a few feet away from the photographer, his feet braced apart, his stance oozing that air of natural authority that always surrounded him. His shoulders were draped in a dark black button-down shirt that matched his slacks, and all clad in black, he looked even blonder, tanner, his eyes greener—every feature of his enhanced and striking.
Instantly, his
forest green eyes locked intimately with hers, raking her form almost possessively. Heat. It spread suddenly all over her and she became hyper-attuned to him. Her awareness of him had heightened to new levels, and now it was almost painful in its force.
This morning, what they’d done last night had felt surreal. Now her pussy throbbed in memory, still sore from his touches, becoming strangely even sorer at his presence. Monica had never been more painfully mindful of how empty she felt inside until she stared at Daniel Lexington across a room full of dozens of people while desperately, desperately wanting him inside her.
His intense green eyes stayed fastened to hers, only roaming briefly as he once again took inventory. She became aware of every bit of skin exposed from the cashmere. Her toes, her ankles, a part of her calf, her rounded shoulders, one of her arms … What was he thinking? Why didn’t he smile? Oh, God, she felt like one of those women. One of those who dreamed at night of this man, who dreamed of being the Prince of the Windy City’s princess. The thought snapped her back into herself only to realize Chris was shouting at the top of his lungs, “Yes! Yes! That’s the look!”
Monica jerked her eyes back to the camera, but her body still ached with such intimate force that she instinctively drew her arms protectively over her pained breasts, trapping the cashmere against her flesh, her heart pounding in awareness of Daniel’s green eyes watching her.
The blinding flashes stopped, and Chris lowered the camera with a frown. He seemed somehow disappointed that she had lost the magic as soon as she glanced at the lens. He turned to study the source of Monica’s change, and his eyes lit when he spotted Daniel.
“Would you mind if we tried something with you, sir?” he asked.
“Not at all,” Daniel said easily, his voice making Monica’s flesh pebble.
“We need a sweater in his size,” he said, and Monica’s assistant rushed to grant the request.
Meanwhile Monica watched him strip off his shirt, and her pussy clenched despite her wanting to stay cool and aloof. His chest became exposed, and Monica almost climaxed, visibly jolting at the sight.
“Forget the sweater, look at this! Bare skin it is!” He began giving orders while Monica and the rest of the people in the room almost drooled over Daniel’s torso. Thick chords popped up in his hands and forearms, disappearing into the bulging muscles of his biceps, shoulders, and triceps.
“Cool tat!” Chris said. “Great quality work, great bod, too! Ms. Davenport, there’s going to be a change. I will take only some sample pictures of you with our new guest. Our ads will probably be as planned, with you alone, but in the meantime let us get into the mood of seduction.”
He turned to whisper something to Daniel, and Daniel nodded and pulled off his shoes and tossed them aside with two loud thumps. He ended up in dark slacks, a belt, and a chest that got her saliva glands working like nothing else.
His walk as he came over caused a tightening deep in her abdominal wall. She was so sensitive today even dressing had felt sexual, and all those places throbbed even more as the blood rushed in their direction.
A strange dread ran through her as he lifted the blanket to join her, somehow taking care not to reveal her to the dozens of people gathered around. He turned his big body to face her, his broad back angled toward the camera as he rolled to his side against her, covering her nakedness from view.
As soon as he dropped the throw over his hips and hers, his legs entangled with her nude ones, and Monica’s body chemistry altered. Everything—heart, lungs, flesh—heightened to alarming levels.
His scent stole into her lungs, causing her mouth to water even more. “What are you doing here?” she murmured, horribly breathless, hot, aching.
He bent so only she could hear. “I’m a little early for the board meeting and was told I could find you here.” His strangely hoarsened voice flooded her with memories of last night and the coiling, writhing tension of desire came alive within her as he pulled her against him, the move proprietary, possessive—protective.
He braced up on one elbow, his powerful arm around her waist, his back shielding her from everyone present as he ducked his head so that practically no one could see her. But him. She felt immediately safe, while at the same time, electricity crackled through her, clanging off all the warning bells in her body.
Years ago, she had felt enormous pleasure when she’d lived with the Lexingtons temporarily, and Daniel had held her at night. She’d count the hours until he’d appear, large and manly at her door, and when he slid his arms around her, his touch would release some strange calming hormones in her body.
But that had started changing, even back then.
When the tears stopped, the hormones clamoring for his touch had been different ones, frightening ones, and had been the reason Monica had pulled away.
Now his effect had magnified to proportions beyond her understanding, his suddenly familiar nearness causing every cell in her body to jolt into wakefulness. She wanted to melt, while at the same time, she feared the power of his nearness, remembering how she’d broken in the funeral when he held her, how she always seemed to shatter either in pain or in pleasure in no place else except his arms.…
“Ms. Davenport, if you would embrace our male?”
Heart accelerating, Monica gingerly slid her free arm around his waist, her hand splayed on his muscled back as the other soon joined it. His eyes darkened, and he was looking down at her with a strangely animalistic gaze, the slight flare of his nostrils making him appear almost menacing in his hunger.
“All right, now act like you want each other. Look, touch, nuzzle…”
Their bodies seemed to seek closer contact, and his muscles quivered under her fingers as her hands slid almost involuntarily over his skin. Time came to a standstill. Noises fading. People fading. They were breathing hard and she forgot everyone in the room. Even the screams.
“Yes! You’re dying for a touch … a kiss … look for it, that’s it. My God, that’s superb chemistry. Superb!”
Daniel spoke in her ear. “Are your nipples hard?”
“Yes.”
“Let me feel them.”
Monica could only hear her heartbeat as he seized her wrists and brought her arms above her and brushed his nose against hers, grazing her lips with his. She let him draw them up and press his chest into her, feeling the soft mounds of her breasts flatten wantonly against him, her nipples pricking into his pecs. She had never been as wet as she was now, this instant, lying in cashmere and Daniel warming her. His lips parted, and she parted hers, eager, needy, everything else forgotten.
He bent his head, their mouths painstakingly close, their hearts thundering. She could remember his powerful presence inside her and every way he stretched and widened her, every way he made her feel.
The rising heat in her body made her breath quicken, made her think of wrapping her legs around him, and she started sliding her feet up his calves, feeling his breath quicken, too. He groaned softly against her. “I could eat you up alive, Monica.”
Oh, God, she really wanted him to. She was restless against him, unable to feel such proximity to him without seeking closer contact. Her voice was barely audible, airless with lust as she discreetly bent to lick the hollow under his neck. “Tell me that you’re hard, too.”
He tensed every muscle, dropping his head. “I’m hard as hell, and it’s all for you.”
Pleasure shot across her nerve endings at his words, making her struggle to stifle a shudder. She tilted her pelvis anxiously upward. “Let me feel you.”
He shifted so his erection nestled at the apex between her legs, and her panties got instantly damp with a surge of wet heat. A shiver of pure feminine delight ran through her, and she closed her eyes and dug her nails into his back, her other hand sliding around him to improve her grip on him, her hip moving timidly up to him, seeking … “What did they tell you to do to me?”
“Wow! Holy guacamole, that is so damned good! That is so damned good! Whate
ver it is, don’t stop!”
“Hold you,” he murmured, and his eyes blazed on her mouth so fiercely that she could remember every one of his kisses from last night, his face stark with need as he gently nudged her pelvis with his. “But I’m primed to do so much more than that.”
She bit back a moan and buried it against his collarbone, smelling him, then she went to his ear. “Will you?”
“What?”
“Do something more to me?”
He groaned and turned to whisper back, his lips bumping her earlobe, curling her toes. “I’ll stop by tonight. To deflower my little Ice Maiden again.”
“Shit, this is crazy! Crazy! All right now look at me past his shoulder, Ms. Davenport, lift your eyes and let me see what’s in them. Yes! Like that!”
Monica pressed her nose into his collarbone, her eyes lifting to the camera, shamelessly looking into the lens as his heat whirled and spun in a dizzying swirl around her. She could almost feel him. Filling her up. Making her feel completed and absolute. Powerless and powerful.
Her nails bit into his flesh as she tried to get closer, her lips pressing to his skin so that she could almost feel her teeth gnaw at him.
“All right, now leave her alone with the cashmere, sir! Don’t lose it, Ms. Davenport. Look at me just like that!” Chris instructed.
Daniel shuddered as he stood, and Monica belatedly realized they had used his sex appeal to their advantage. They’d used her reactions to him to set her loose, and now she lay there, dazed and cloudy, watching him tuck her under the blanket almost like he’d tucked her in her own bed the night before.
She watched helplessly as he grabbed his clothes and stalked around to the back, and suddenly she knew the time from now until tonight would feel like a century. Waiting for tonight would be torture. Tonight was too far away and she was going to disintegrate to ashes if he didn’t touch her before then.