Chairman Trump and his daughter

He brought her hands to his chest, then slipped his arms around her waist as he turned his head into her stomach and pressed his mouth to her navel. Her head dropped back on a soft moan.

Thin cotton was the only thing separating his mouth from her bare skin, and it was all she could do to stop herself from ripping the tank top off.

He took his time nuzzling her. The heat of his mouth and breath stoked the fire building inside her. Her fingers curled over his neck and upper shoulders; his skin was damp, the scent woodsy, masculine.

She heard the sound of her own labored breathing, then the low groan from deep in his throat as he pulled her closer to him.

She’d never experienced anything like this before; she was too drunk to feel all these when the had a one night stand in the hotel at Liverpool. Passion that consumed so completely, so thoroughly. She hadn’t known it even existed beyond the movies and books. Sex had been pleasant enough, but never earth-shattering, never overpowering.

Never devastating.

That thought flew apart when he used his teeth to push the unwanted fabric out of his way and bared her stomach to him. His mouth was hot on her skin; he nipped and tasted the soft flesh as he slowly moved upward. She felt herself melt under his touch, her bones soften like warm taffy.

His hands slid under soft cotton and cupped her breasts. She arched upward on a gasp when his thumbs caressed her hardened nipples. Sensations, as exquisite as they were intense, rippled through her. She burrowed her fingers into his scalp, wanting more of this incredible pleasure.

He gave it to her. His mouth replaced his thumb, and she caught her breath on a soft, low moan. His wet, hot tongue swirled over the sensitive peak, sending hot currents of pain-pleasure through her.

She had to touch him, it was absolutely necessary. Her hands roamed over the solid muscles of his upper arms, slid over his wide, strong shoulders. He felt like a raging river of liquid steel under her, and she let herself be swept up in the current of passion engulfing them both.

“Flash.” His name was a soft, breathless whisper on her lips. “Flash, oh, my—” Her words were cut off as he moved to her other breast and offered the same delicious attention with his mouth and tongue.

It felt as if she were on fire; flames licked at her skin. She needed him closer. Impatient, she cupped his head in her hands, then dragged her fingers over his scalp.

He sucked in a sharp breath and swore, then slowly sat as he dropped his head into his hands.

In her dazed state, it took a moment to realize why he'd moved away from her, then she groaned and dropped her head back against the sofa. His head. She’d completely forgotten she’d bashed in his head with a frying pan. Of course he’d be in pain. And she’d just dug her fingernails directly into the source of that pain.

Embarrassment flamed on her cheeks. Not only because she’d hurt him, but because of what had just happened between them—not to mention what would have happened. She quickly pulled her tank top back into place.

“Oh, Miguel, I’m so sorry. I…I wasn’t thinking.”

Still holding his head in his hands, he let out a long, slow breath. “That makes two of us.”

“I’ll get some ice.”

She started to rise, but once again he snagged her hand and pulled her back down. “Bella ,” he said quietly. “I opened the package.”

The package? The package. She hadn’t thought of it once since she’d smashed him over the head. Her body was still humming from his kisses, and she was finding it hard to think about the package even now that he’d reminded her. Especially with his hand still touching her arm and his thigh pressed against hers.

She had to dig deep, but she mustered up a light tone. “So you caved, did you? How long did you hold out?”

He chuckled at that, then winced from the effort. “Do you know what was inside?”

“Dad didn’t tell me.” She wanted to brush the hair off his forehead and kiss his temple. Instead, she tugged at the edge of her cotton knit boxers, wishing she’d worn sweats or flannel pajamas. Anything that would have covered her, that would have made her feel less vulnerable.

“They were details about Agatha!"

“detalils about Agatha??”

“He told me about every deal with Agatha"

Bella frowned. “But he didn’t know about you, if you even existed not until I told him that you're willing to help”

"I didn't say I wanted to help"

The thought made Bella’s eyes tear. All these years, even though there’d never been one shred of evidence to prove that her grandchild had lived after birth, Margaret had clung to her hope, to what she believed in her heart. Every card was a symbol of that hope. And of her love.

“Miguel—” she scooted to the edge of the couch and turned to face him “—you’re dad's hope, help us reveal Agatha, Dad needs this. Agatha means no good for any bussiness man out there. I heard that they have a godfather, that old man is the brain behind them"

He shook his head slowly. “I'm not interested in all that, Agatha is a no go area for you Bella, Belive me, knowing about Agatha will hurt you and your dad. I don't have any intention of helping you"

It was the first time he’d acted like he gave a damn at all. If only a little, maybe that whack on the head had softened him, she thought with a smile. She knew he wasn’t going to like her observations on the subject one little bit, but that hadn’t stopped her before, and it wouldn’t stop her now.

“It scares you, doesn’t it?”

Eyes narrowed, he glanced over at her. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You’re afraid that Agatha might hurt you?" she said evenly. “You’re afraid you might want to eve join them after knowing about them?.”

His laugh was dry. “You’re crazy.”

“You’re safe where you are right now,” she went on, even though she saw his expression darkening. “No serious commitment or responsibility, just a couple of old chums you get together with now and then. But helping us expose Agatha is helping yourself too"

A muscle worked at his jaw. “Was this some kind of a setup, Bella? Call me over here in the middle of the night, then get me in your bed so I’ll agree to go to Liverpool? Some girls will do anything for a thousand dollars.”

His crude verbal blow struck her square in her chest, sucked the air from her lungs. Her impulse was to slap him, but then he’d know how deeply he’d hurt her, and she refused to show him weakness.

She drew in a slow, deep breath and stood. “I apologize for calling you, and for hitting you. What happened between us after that was unprofessional of me, and I assure you it won’t happen again.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Bella, look, I—”

“I’d appreciate it if you’d leave.” She moved toward the front door and opened it. “Now.”