Chapter Fifteen
Spencer
Fury sears through me at the sight of Marama struggling against the hold of this strange guy in her own house.
He stares at me, but doesn’t release her, so I stride up to him and push him hard on the chest with both hands.
He stumbles back and releases her, clearly shocked at the physical contact, but I don’t let him take a breath; I push him again, and again, until he backs up against the wall.
Then I lean my forearm against his throat, pinning him there.
“Fuck,” he says, and tries to fight me off, but I’m taller, bigger, and stronger than he is, and I hold him there easily, privately thanking my personal trainer for pushing me to continue weight training and boxing as part of my exercise routine.
Eventually, he stops struggling. He sends a pleading glance to Marama and says, “Mama, tell him to get off me.”
“No, I don’t think I will,” she says, her voice hard. “I think it’s exactly what you deserve.”
It sinks in then—this is no intruder who’s burst into the house to rob it.
He’s a good-looking guy, in his mid-thirties, and his endearment suggests he knows her well—this must be Connor.
I skim my gaze over him with disdain. This is the guy who Rangi said treated her like shit, who had some kind of hold over her and who manipulated her and tried to pressure her into having an abortion.
I already disliked him even before I discovered him in the house.
His gaze comes back to me, and he frowns, and then his eyes widen.
“This is the guy you’ve been waiting for?
” He blinks, scanning me and obviously noticing my designer jacket, my expensive watch, my classy cologne, and the superior demeanor I’ve spent a lifetime creating.
His expression darkens, and with a sneer he says to her, “Didn’t realize you were dating grandads now. ”
I punch him then, for Marama, for Rangi, and because the irritating little fucker deserves it. He yells and claps his hands over his face.
“You’ve broken my dose!” he yells as blood seeps through his fingers.
“Don’t be a pussy,” I snap. “You’ll live.”
“You should go,” Marama says. “Keep the towel.”
He presses it to his nose. With a last glare at the two of us, he storms off, banging the door shut behind him. Marama walks to the window and peers through the curtains. I hear the Ford’s engine start, and then it recedes into the distance, the tires scrunching on the gravel.
“He’s gone,” she says with relief, turning back to me. “Oh, thank God.”
Then she bursts into tears, bringing her hands up to cover her face.
I can only imagine how scared she must have been. I’m guessing he either pushed his way in or she only intended to talk to him in the hall, and she’d obviously asked him to leave when he grabbed her arm.
“Hey…” I walk up to her and pull her into my arms. “He’s gone. It’s okay, baby, you’re safe now.”
She curls her arms up in front of her and buries her face in my neck, and we stand there like that for a minute or two, until her sobs subside. I stroke her back, just relieved I got there in time.
She looks beautiful today, fresh and gorgeous in her dress, with her hair loose around her shoulders. I lift a hand to touch it, only then realizing my knuckles are covered in Connor’s blood. I flex my fingers and my hand throbs—damn, that’s going to sting for a while.
Marama turns her head, sees me looking at it, and follows my gaze, then steps back with an exclamation. “Spencer…” She wipes her face. “Aw, look at you.”
“It’s not my blood.” My voice holds a touch of smugness, and she gives me a wry look.
“Come on,” she says, “let’s get you cleaned up.”
She takes me into the kitchen, and uses soap and water to cleanse the blood.
I’m more than capable of cleaning myself, but I’m happy to let her do it.
Her touch is gentle, and I observe the tenderness on her face as she rubs her thumbs over my skin and rinses it beneath the tap.
Eleanor wouldn’t have done this. She would have told me I was being ridiculous for fighting and insisted I sort it out myself.
It’s kinda nice to be pampered.
When the skin is clean, Marama dries it with a few pieces of kitchen towel, then lifts my hand to her face and presses it to her cheek. “It’ll be tender for a while,” she says softly.
“It was worth it.” I cup her other cheek with my free hand. “Are you okay?”
She nods. “I’m glad you arrived when you did, though. I wasn’t sure if you were coming.”
“I was delayed at the office.” It’s a half truth. I did have a meeting, but the reason I was late was because I was pacing my office for fifteen minutes, repeatedly telling myself I shouldn’t see her again.
Clearly, it didn’t work. All the way here I was cursing myself for being weak, but now I feel a surge of relief that I did come. Marama is an emotionally strong, independent woman, and I would never say that she needed saving, but what might have happened if I hadn’t turned up?
She turns her head and kisses my palm, and the mound at the base of my thumb. Then she presses her lips against my wrist and touches her tongue to the sensitive skin there.
My pulse picks up speed, and my cock hardens in my trousers. Jeez, that was quick. Damn, this girl knows exactly how to get me going.
I don’t move, caught up in her spell as she kisses back across my palm, then down my clean index finger. She kisses all the way to the tip, then closes her mouth over it, lifting her gaze to mine as she sucks. Her eyes are hot, and full of desire and longing.
Fuck.
Carefully, I extract my finger from her mouth, cup her face in my hands, and crush my lips to hers.
Aaahhh… her lips are so soft, and she tastes sweet as I stroke my tongue inside her mouth.
She moves the sides of my jacket over my shoulders, and I lower my arms to let the jacket fall to the floor before returning my hands to her face.
I’m wearing a shirt over the top of my chinos, and she rests her hands on my chest, then moves them down, lifts the hem of the shirt, and slides them beneath the fabric onto my belly.
The touch of her fingers on my skin sends hairs rising all over my body, and I tingle as she strokes up around my ribs to my back, slipping her hands right up beneath the shirt to my shoulder blades, which for some reason feels secret and wicked and forbidden and sexy.
I groan, tipping my head to the side and deepening the kiss, and she sighs in response, lifting up on tiptoes and pressing against me.
She’s so soft all over, and my hands leave her face and travel over her hair and down her back, following the dip of her waist and the flare of her hips, and over the swell of her bottom.
I clench my fingers there, pulling her tightly to me so she can feel my erection, and we both sigh.
She moves back and looks up at me, moistening her lips with the tip of her tongue, then takes my hand and leads me out of the kitchen.
I assume she’s going to take me into the bedroom, but instead she leads me into the living room and over to the plush cream leather suite.
She moves me back until my legs meet the sofa, and then pushes me until I sit, following which she hitches up the skirt of her dress and climbs on top of me.
Sitting astride me, she takes my face in her hands and kisses me again.
I feel a twinge of guilt at the thought that I’m sitting on Rangi’s sofa, kissing his daughter…
but then I stroke up the outside of her thighs to her hips and realize she’s not wearing any underwear, and every single thought flees my head, as my pheromones and hormones and nerve endings take over my ability to think and speak.
I grasp her butt and sink my fingers into the soft muscles there, and she moans against my lips and rocks her hips. Argh, she’s pressing against my erection, arousing herself on it, and that’s so fucking erotic that the last dregs of my resistance fade away.
Things turn heated then—not that they were exactly cool in the first place.
I lift a hand and slide it into her hair, tightening my fingers on it to make sure she doesn’t pull away as I kiss her exactly the way I want—fiercely, taking my pleasure from her, demanding she yield.
She doesn’t fight me; she just moans again, her tongue tangling with mine, and shivering as my fingers skate over her skin.
Crossing her arms, she lowers her hands to the hem of her dress, draws it up her body, and tosses it aside. Jesus, she’s not wearing any underwear at all, and now she’s completely naked astride me.
She’s teaching me so much about myself; I thought I was strong and determined, and I thought I had incredible willpower, but with her it all dissipates like morning mist, to be replaced by this raw, feral hunger.
I can’t resist her. I want her more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life, and that’s saying something, as my drive in business is second to none.
I draw my hands up her back, lightly, because I like making her shiver, then bring them around to her breasts.
They fit perfectly in my palms like two small cushions, the light-brown nipples soft and relaxed until I take them between my thumbs and forefingers and tug them.
She gasps, and I growl as I feel the nipples tighten immediately to firm buds.
I like having this power over her, being in charge of her desire.
At this moment, she belongs to me—not Connor, not any other man. She’s mine.
Thinking of the word she imprinted on my chest, I tear my mouth from hers, place hungry, wet kisses down her neck until I reach her breasts, and then I lift one so I can close my mouth over the nipple.
She slides her hands into my hair, her nails grazing my scalp, and I suck, which in turn makes her arch her back and cry out.