Her Inconvenient Groom by Niomie Roland

Chapter 27

 

Good riddance, Dustin thought as he watched the luxury car disappear past the front gates. He half wondered where Dennis, Tom and Samantha would go, but then reminded himself he really didn’t care. Although, to be honest, he did feel a little sorry for Samantha, who looked utterly bewildered as they dragged their bags outside.

He’d surprised himself by the ferocity of his reaction, but the sight of Chantelle being manhandled like that had hit him between the eyes. He had been this far from losing his grasp on his temper.

He wanted to convince himself that he’d respond that way if he’d witnessed such an obnoxious display toward any woman. It would certainly be true if anyone had spoken like that to Arabella or Kim.

But the fact remained that it was Chantelle this time, his wife. The woman who was carrying his child. And if there ever was a reason to respond the way he had, it was that.

And now, to face Chantelle. How would she respond, he wondered. What would she think?

As he walked towards the stairs, he spotted Sienna on the landing, making no secret of the fact that she’d been present throughout the eviction, and delighted with it. Minerva was standing next to her, tail wrapped companionably around her ankles.

He nodded towards her and gave her a half smile.

“You the man,” Sienna whispered as he passed, gave him an evil grin and a thumbs-up.

He chuckled. He’d found an ally in her.

He found Chantelle sitting up in bed, propped up on many pillows, even though it was still rather early. Immediately he was at her side, fearing the worst. “Are you—!”

She lifted a calming hand. “I’m good. Just catching my breath. That was…” she searched for the word, “intense,” she finished, but he got the impression she didn’t think the word adequately conveyed how she felt.

He sat on the edge of the bed, searching her face. Wondering if he should ask what she thought about what he’d done. He didn’t need to.

“I can handle my brothers, you know.” Her words were firm, but without rancor.

He touched her hand lightly, running his fingertip across the backs of her fingers, feeling the hard metal of the simple wedding ring he’d put there weeks ago. A ring she’d bought for herself. “I know.” Then he added, “but a man steps in when he has to. There was no way I’d stand there and allow you to be bullied.”

“My hero,” she said dryly.

“Just because you don’t need a hero doesn’t mean I can’t be one.”

To his surprise, she laughed. A sound that had been growing less and less rare, as she became less tightly wound. He knew that for the most part it was thanks to being once again in the land of her birth, but he also hoped that his presence had a little to do with it as well.

Without asking, he crawled in next to her, and with her proximity and warmth, the massive bed felt mighty small. He was painfully aware of her presence.

They were quiet for a while, enjoying each other’s company, it seemed, as the sounds outside the window slowly died down. The birds were coming home to roost, and night was easing her way in.

“Do you want to know a secret?” she blurted unexpectedly.

He tilted her head in her direction, indicating without words that he would be delighted to hear her secret, even if it was a confession of an embarrassing pregnancy craving or something equally trivial.

“My father wasn’t really my father.”

“What?” He reeled mentally as if struck in the head by a pop fly.

“The man I called papa for the first ten years of my life, my mother’s first husband. He wasn’t my biological father.”

“How do you know? Did your mother tell you that?”

She clamped her lips down for a second, as if biting something back, and then said, “No. She never breathed a word of that to me. She took that to her grave.”

Dustin had always sensed a thread of resentment in Chantelle towards her mother, and wondered if this was the cause of it. He waited.

“Simon told me.”

“Clark?” he asked, surprised. “Your stepfather?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, as if she was trying to block him out, or maybe other intruding thoughts. “He told me this on his deathbed. It was one of the last things he ever said to me.”

“And he’s sure of this? Is there any chance it may have been the ramblings of a dying man?”

She shook her head vehemently. “I’ve had myself tested. I’ve done a DNA comparison with my dad’s sister. We’re not related.” She looked at him, beautiful eyes shining green. “Renaud isn’t my biological father. Doesn’t mean I didn’t love him, though. I still love him so much.”

“You don’t need to be tied by blood to love someone,” he responded agreeably, thinking of Kim.

She nodded in acceptance of his truth, but murmured sadly, “But my mom. The lies. Why didn’t she tell me? There are so many things in my life that could have gone differently if only I knew the truth.”

He was dying to know what those things were, if only to know her better from the inside out, but instead, recognizing her distress, reached over and wrapped her in his arms. Relishing the softness of her, and the sweet smell of her hair.

Realizing that desire was slowly overtaking his need to comfort; the feel of her in his arms transmuted into something more. A hunger he’d been struggling to tame these past few nights, when they’d lain in the same bed but with an ocean’s width of space between them. As if they both knew that to make physical contact at night, even accidentally, would catapult them into intimacy.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that, he mused humorously.

She seemed to pick up on his thoughts. “You know, with my sibs gone, we don’t need to share a bed anymore.”

“I know,” he said mildly. But he didn’t let her go.

“You’re free and clear to go back to your own room.”

“Mm-hmm.” He didn’t budge. He asked a question with his eyes.

Her eyes responded.

He bent and kissed her and immediately his mind was thrown back to the last time they’d kissed with passion, deep into each other, wrapped in each other’s arms. As the present was layered upon the past, he felt his body respond, stiffen.

Her mouth was unresisting. In fact, she was aggressive, kissing him hard and with a hunger he hadn’t felt in her before. As if the tension of the past few days had translated into need.

Her hands came up to his chest, exploring, then slid under his shirt as if feeling him through the fabric wasn’t enough. The hair on his chest crinkled under her fingertips, like tiny wires connected to a low current. It sent a shiver up his spine, making him laugh softly.

She pulled out of the kiss to look at his face. “You’re laughing,” she chided.

“Not at you,” he promised. “You, I could never laugh at. All I can do is wonder.”

She smiled with such frank pleasure that he felt honor-bound to remind her, even as he lay her back against the sheets and positioned his body above hers. “You know I’m booked to leave in a week, right?”

She looked puzzled.

He reminded her, “I agreed to stay until your brothers left. I rebooked my flight for the day after they were originally scheduled to leave. The airline must hate me.”

“They probably do. We don’t have much time left together,” she said softly, as comprehension dawned.

“No, we don’t.”

“Then let’s make the most of it.” Boldly, she began pulling his shirt up over his head, and he shifted his body to allow her to do so.

They began to undress each other, each trying hard to move slowly, tamping down their haste and hunger. But that got old really fast, and the last few items, their underwear, were flung over the side of the bed like they were jettisoning cargo on a sinking boat.

Then they were both naked, and Dustin’s arousal was painfully evident, both to him and to her. She stared at it with a hunger in her eyes that left him both flattered and excited.

He reached out to her tummy, now not as flat as before, admiring the gentle bump that was beginning to swell there. “Cover your eyes and ears,” he advised. “Mommy needs some alone time.”

“Dustin!” she slapped him on the arm, hard. “Are you talking to—”

“Shhh.” He put his finger over his lips.

She laughed again, squeezing her eyes shut in delight, and they fell into each other’s arms, kissing, touching, holding.

He thought once more about the knowledge she’d shared with him the last time they’d made love. That he’d been the first man to bring her to orgasm. It was a source of great pride for him and a challenge he was willing to take on in an effort to duplicate the feat.

He slid down between her legs, slipping his hands under her sweetly rounded ass cheeks, to grip her and hold her steady. She recognized his intent, and he felt her stiffen as if she was about to resist, but he commanded her softly, “Don’t.”

She relaxed, knees falling to her sides, revealing to him a world of wonder between her thighs, a light sprinkling of dark hair surrounding eager flesh that was the deepest shade of rose, sprinkled with dew like an early morning blossom.

He wanted to devour her, consume her, but paced himself, starting slowly, delicately licking and tasting, waiting for her reaction to tell him how to proceed. He felt the muscles in her butt and thighs tense and relax, tense and relax as he delved deeper, probing with his tongue, inhaling her. Reading her signals.

When her thighs clamped around his ears, and her ankles crossed over his back, he took that as her signal to go harder and speed up.

He did, his tongue transforming into a blade, swishing, attacking, then pulling back until she cried out and cursed him. He pressed on, triumphant, as the tremors wracked her. Even then, he didn’t give her a break, not a moment to catch her breath, until another orgasm came for her, one stronger than the last. Only when she pleaded and sobbed did he show her any mercy.

But not for long.

He slid up and over her until he covered her with his body. Her thighs were already parted for him, and she was wet and ready, but he waited a second, because he wanted to look into her eyes as he slid into her.

But Chantelle held back, squeezing them shut, as if afraid to reveal herself to him in that moment.

“Open your eyes,” he urged.

Cautiously, she did so, to his combined triumph and delight. Only did he slide his way in, feeling her clamp around him in welcome.

Now, it was his turn to close his eyes, because he was sure that if he left them open, looked deep inside her, it would all be over. She must have understood, because she gave a small, mocking chuckle.

And then, together, they began to move.

In a rhythm that was theirs and theirs alone, rising and falling like the tides. But the tension grew and grew to a point where neither of them was willing to stand it anymore. She signaled as much to him with her heels digging into his haunches, as if he was a thoroughbred she needed to speed up as it approached the finish line.

It never crossed his mind to deny her what she asked for. He gave her everything, and she, in turn, took it all, sighing into his ear until her body went limp beneath his, and he finally accepted his own release.

He wanted to whisper words to her, of sweetness and connection, but a part of him was afraid of her response. The frustration made him cringe. Why was he always required to keep his peace, hold his tongue?

He felt more and more for this beautiful woman every day, but could say nothing.

She sighed, nuzzled his throat, and began to drowse, making Dustin think. Just one more night, here, in her bed. And then I’ll return to mine.

Then the sound of buzzing interrupted his thoughts. He sat up to realize that it was coming from the pocket of his jeans.

He didn’t move, but when it stopped and started again, Chantelle grunted in irritation, so he decided he’d better silence it. Reluctantly, he got out of bed and rummaged in his pockets until he found it.

One look at the screen made his chest go cold. He recognized the name, all right. He was just shocked to be receiving a call from that number ever again. And just like that, his contentment was gone. That warm fuzzy feeling evaporated.

Under Chantelle’s quizzical gaze, he got dressed, gathering up whatever flotsam and jetsam he’d left behind. “Maybe I should sleep in my room tonight,” he said, knowing just how lame he sounded.

She didn’t say anything, but rolled over and drew the covers up over her shoulders.

Dustin slunk out, feeling like an asshole, but also bewildered. He gave the phone another look, wondering if he’d imagined it all. But he hadn’t.