Page 62 of Vicious Redemption

Tia’s black satin heels and crimson-painted toes come into view a moment later. And her delicate pianist’s fingers comb lightly through my hair. Resting my hands on the backs of her thighs, I tip my head to peer up at her. And as her soft caresses ease my ragged soul, I pull her forward to rest my chin upon her stomach.

Gentle fingers trace the purple bruising beneath my sleepless eyes, and her brows press together in concern. “What can I do to lighten your load?” Her voice is low and intimate, steeped in loving distress.

“Make me forget,” I rasp. “Just for a few hours. I’m so tired of thinking, of reliving my regret.”

“What could you possibly regret? If it’s giving Mayor Romney a piece of your mind, I think you were perfectly entitled after everything he’s said to you.”

I shake my head no. That’s not what plagues me. “If I’d been the ruthless leader my father told me to be, if I’d adhered to the lessons he taught me, then maybe he would still be alive.” I let most of the traitors who betrayed me walk away with little more than a slap on the wrist. And now my father is dead. I should have killed them all.

Confusion lingers in Tia’s eyes, her delicate eyebrows buckling further into a frown. She parts her lips as if to ask what I mean, but I’m done talking. I don’t want to think. Every time I do, I’m left with a deep pit in my stomach, an agonizing guilt over what I could have done that would have prevented my father’s death.

All I want to do right now is distract myself with Tia’s loving perfection. To think about something good and pleasurable—and it’s going to take something as all-consuming as Tia to grant me peaceful oblivion.

Rising from my chair, I follow the lines of Tia’s curves, feeling them as I scoop her into my arms. She gasps, her breath catching audibly as she wraps her legs around my waist. Her dress slides up around her hips, offering me more of her creamy thighs. And I relish their softness.

She feels so warm and alive—the opposite of what this day has brought—and my need for her intensifies. I crave the confirmation that she’s still here with me. That I haven’t lost everything now that the man who served as my rudder is gone. The chaotic waves of emotion toss me about, like a ship caught in the storm. But Tia anchors me, her sure embrace making my heart pound.

I’m alive.

She’s alive.

And she’s looking at me like she would give anything to ease my pain.

I love her for it—I love her with a deep, desperate kind of need that overcomes my grief. I seek that feeling like a heat-seeking missile, determined to hold onto it for as long as I can. I don’t want to think about my dead father or the person responsible for murdering him.

All I want to think about is Tia. Her soft brown eyes are wells of deep compassion, beckoning me in, inviting me to lose myself in her. Sudden, ravenous hunger consumes me.

And I kiss her passionately, claiming her lips like my life depends on it.

Most definitely, my sanity does.

My hands travel up her thighs, kneading them as my fingers slip beneath the soft black fabric of her dress. And when I palm her ass, Tia shivers against me, awakening the fire inside my chest.

I’m alive. She’s alive. The child we made together is still growing in her belly.

I repeat it like a mantra in my mind.

The thought is somehow comforting. That I can pass on my father’s legacy. I will make our empire something greater than he could ever have dreamed. And I’ll do it with this sensational woman I have wrapped in my arms.

30

TIA

Heat floods me at Leo’s passion. And the way his hands explore me leaves no room for confusion over what he meant by “make me forget.” It doesn’t matter that my feet are aching from being on them all day. I don’t care that I could have fallen asleep hours ago; I’m so tired.

Fire races through my veins at his touch.

But we’re still in the drawing room, where any number of people might walk in on us accidentally. And the thought of getting caught in the heat of the moment makes me pull back.

“Leo, not here,” I breathe, glancing nervously toward the door as he carries me past it and across the room to the table laden with gifts. “What if someone comes in?”

His lips continue to claim mine, unwilling to let them part for more than a few words at a time.

Flustered, I start to breathe more quickly, my chest rising and falling erratically. But he simply sets me on the corner of the table, keeping my legs firmly around his hips as he kneads my thighs.

“No one will disturb us,” he assures me, trailing seductive kisses down the side of my neck. “The staff know better, and I want you right here. I want you now.”

My core throbs at his sensual words, his intense need turning me on. And though my stomach quivers at the thought of anyone seeing me in some indecent pose, I allow myself to release my inhibitions.

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