Caught in the Billionaire's Embrace / The Tycoon's Temporary Baby. Emily McKay

tighter still, until her entire body seemed ready to explode. She felt the man behind her fill her again and again and again, felt the dizzying sensations of hunger and desire and need mingling and twining until they all became one. And then she felt the white-hot release of her climax shaking her, followed immediately by his.

      And then he was removing himself from inside her and wrapping up the spent condom, rearranging their clothes as best he could before he spun her around and covered her mouth with his. For a long time, he only kissed her and kissed her and kissed her. Then, finally, he pulled back enough so that he could frame her face with both hands. It was snowing harder now, swirls of powder blowing up onto the terrace, surrounding them in a virtual tornado of white. Marcus’s breath was coming in gasps, puffs of white against the sparkle of snow that merged with her own hitched breathing.

      He dipped his head until his forehead was pressed against hers. “Nothing like that has ever happened to me before,” he said between breaths. “Della, my God. You’re a narcotic.”

      She wasn’t sure how to reply to that, so she said nothing. She only curled her fingers in the front of his shirt and clung to him. They stood that way for long moments, neither seeming to know what to say or do. Della was confident no one inside the club had seen what had happened. Not only was the place deserted by now, but the two of them had also been obscured by both the darkness and the blowing snow. She also noted with a smile that they’d managed to fog up the windows behind them to opacity.

      Finally, Marcus pulled away from her. But only far enough that he could gaze into her face. She’d expected him to demand the return of his jacket and say something like, “Holy cow, would you look at the time? I gotta get outta here.”

      Instead, he threaded his fingers gently into her hair and, very softly, asked, “Do you know what my favorite thing is about the Windsor Club?”

      Still not trusting her voice, Della only shook her head.

      “My favorite thing is that it’s connected to the Ambassador Hotel. On nights like this, when driving could be dangerous due to a mix of weather, darkness and extremely good champagne, you can just … spend the night there. You don’t have to set foot outside to get there. You can walk down the hall and through a breezeway and be at the registration desk in a matter of minutes. And, thanks to your platinum club status, within minutes of that, you can be in a luxury suite ordering another bottle of champagne from their twenty-four-hour room service.”

      Finally finding her voice, Della told him, “But I don’t have platinum club status at the Ambassador Hotel.”

      He feigned forgetfulness. “That’s right. You just came to Chicago recently, didn’t you? So I guess you’ll have to be with someone else who has platinum club status.”

      She smiled. “And who could I possibly know who might have that?”

      “So it wouldn’t be a problem for you spending the night at the Ambassador? With me? You don’t have any … obligations waiting for you anywhere? ”

      Only the obligation of returning her clothes by noon and checking in with Geoffrey by nine, as she did every morning. And she always woke by five, even without an alarm, even after a sleepless night. It was ingrained in her because Mr. Nathanson, her boss, had always insisted she be at her desk the same time he was—at 7:00 a.m. sharp, before anyone else showed up for work. At the time, Della had thought it was because the man was a workaholic. Had she known it was actually because he was corrupt …

      She turned her attention to Marcus again, where it belonged. He was a gift, she reminded herself. One night with him would be the most amazing birthday present she’d ever received—from herself to herself. It would be terrible not to accept a gift like him.

      “No,” she finally said. “I don’t have any … obligations.” She lifted a hand to thread her fingers through his hair, loving the way the snow had dampened it and their encounter had warmed it. “Not until tomorrow. One night, Marcus,” she made herself say, because it was very, very important that he realize that was all it would be. It was even more important that she realize it. “One night is all I can promise you.”

      “One night is all I’m asking for, Della.”

      It was probably all he wanted from any woman, she thought. Because it was probably all a man like him could promise in return.

      She told herself that made her feel better. They both wanted the same thing. They both needed the same thing. They were both willing to give and take equally. Tonight would be exactly what she had planned it to be all those years ago: One night. Of magic. Her gift to herself.

      Marcus lifted his hand to trace a finger lightly over her cheek. “Well, then, my sweet, intriguing Della,” he said softly, “why don’t you and I take a little walk and find out where it leads? ”

      Four

      Marcus stood at the broad window of the hotel suite dressed in the plush royal blue robe the hotel so thoughtfully provided for all its guests and watched the snow fall. And fall. And fall. And fall. Fat, furious flakes coming down so thick and so fast, he could barely make out the buildings on the other side of Michigan Avenue.

      Unbelievable. What was supposed to have been a manageable snowfall of three to five inches had turned into a blizzard during the night. The entire city was on hold until the snowplows could get out and do their thing, but since everyone had been caught by surprise, they couldn’t do anything until the snow let up. A lot.

      And the snow didn’t show any sign of letting up. At all.

      The situation was going to be untenable for a while. No one would be going anywhere until tomorrow at the earliest. Not that Marcus cared. Because it meant that the one night Della had promised was all she could give him would now, by necessity, become two.

      That was something he should definitely care about. The last thing he looked for in a one-night stand was for it to last more than one night. Hell, half the time he was safely back at his place before the night was even over. Once he was sexually satisfied by a woman, there was never any reason to hang around. Even the prospect of being sexually satisfied a second time rarely kept him from leaving.

      But with Della, even being satisfied a third time hadn’t quelled his appetite for more. Once he’d regained enough strength to manage it. They’d both been insatiable last night, to the point where they’d slept only long enough to recover from their previous coupling, then come together even more fiercely than before. That third time, they’d had to rely on oral gratification alone to bring each other to climax, since the second time had been so rough. Not that either of them had seemed to mind. Della had been as demanding and wild as a tigress, and Marcus had mounted her the way a jungle cat would have claimed his mate.

      And even that hadn’t been enough to satisfy him. In fact, that had only made him want her more. When he’d awoken that morning beside her, their bodies had been so intricately entwined, he’d barely been able to tell where hers ended and his began. Marcus never slept with a woman after having sex with her. Never. And he’d certainly never gathered one close that way and held her with such possessiveness. For a long time after waking, he’d only lain silently beside her, holding her, listening to her soft respiration, inhaling her scent. It was different now. Last night she’d smelled soft and flowery. This morning she smelled musky and dark. And, God help him, Marcus had grown hard against her as he lay there, and it had been all he could do not to take her again in her sleep. Instead, he’d eased his way out of the bed without waking her, donned the robe and called for room service.

      Even its arrival hadn’t woken Della. But that might be because Marcus had intercepted the steward in the hallway when he’d heard the rattle of the approaching cart and brought it in himself. He hadn’t wanted to wake her before she was ready. Strangely, however, that hadn’t been because he wanted her rested up for another night like last night—and, hey, maybe a day like last night, too—but because he simply liked watching her sleep.

      He turned away from the window and let go of the sheer curtains, throwing the room into an otherworldly dusk created by the thickly