by Bella Andre
She wanted him. And not because she knew going back to the hotel and making love with him would stick in Brittany and Cameron’s craw.
Forget about their engagement. Forget wanting to prove something to them. Forget gunning for the big prize.
Suddenly, all that mattered was how much Zara had come to like Rory. How safe she felt with him. How hot he made her.
She didn’t want to share him with anyone else. At least for this one night.
She made herself stop kissing him long enough to say, “What do you say we take this to the hotel?”
As though he couldn’t keep from touching her, he brushed the pad of his thumb over her lower lip before giving her a truly wicked smile. “I say, hell yes.”
CHAPTER NINE
Thank God the oceanfront hotel where they had booked rooms for the night was only around the corner. If she’d had to wait any longer to tear off Rory’s clothes and have her wicked way with him, she might very well have combusted.
She’d never been afraid or ashamed of her sexuality, but the truth was that none of her partners had ever truly plumbed the depths of it. Given how delicious Rory’s kisses were—not to mention how heady the feel of his large hands caressing her curves were—not only was he going to be able to keep up with her, but she had a feeling she might learn a thing or two from him tonight.
Half a block from their hotel, he proved her right by pressing her up against a brick wall, threading his fingers with hers, and lifting her arms above her head so that he could hold her captive for the crush of his mouth over hers.
She was so damned happy about it that she grinned against his mouth as she lifted one leg to wrap it around his hips and urge him closer.
He lifted his mouth from hers. “You like this?”
Where another man might have taken her obvious attraction and passion as a green light, she appreciated how Rory went a step further and asked for words too.
“I love it.”
He grinned back. “If you think this is good, just wait…”
She laughed as they headed, hand in hand, for the front door of the hotel. “Nice to know that a few kisses haven’t made you any less cocky.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Cocky. Now that’s a perfect word for tonight if ever I’ve heard one.”
She was still laughing as they walked inside. They had checked in before the party so that they could change, which meant that Zara’s things were in her room and Rory’s were in his. She didn’t care which room they used, and he must have felt the same way, because without any discussion, they made a beeline for hers on the lower floor of the building.
Somehow, they managed to keep their hands off each other long enough to get inside. Once the door was locked behind them, she tossed her bag and key onto a nearby counter and got ready to tear his clothes off. They could start with sex on the plush carpet, then move to the couch, then the bathtub, and then, when they were finally starting to get tired, the bed.
Instead, Rory captured her hands in his and simply stared at her. “You’re beautiful, Zara.”
She paused, suddenly off-kilter. “You don’t have to say that.”
“I can’t tell you the truth?”
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a sure thing here. You don’t have to give me a bunch of pretty words, or flatter me, to get into my pants.”
He scowled. “When have I ever given you a bunch of pretty words?”
“Never.”
He still looked upset, however, as he said, “I know you’ve been with some pretty big jerks, but that’s not how I roll.”
“Okay.” She squeezed his hands. “Sorry. I was just trying to say that—” She broke off, realizing she had several hard questions to ask herself.
What had she been trying to say with that knee-jerk reaction to his compliment? Why couldn’t she just believe it? Especially when Rory had never lied to her with pretty words. It wasn’t his style. He preferred blunt, straightforward, even stark.
“Say it again, Rory. Please.”
“You’re beautiful, Zara.”
This time, she smiled and replied, “Thank you. You’re quite a sight to behold too.”
“Such a way with words,” he murmured as he drew her closer. “Now…let’s see what I can do to make you forgot how to use the English language entirely.”
Her breath hitched in her chest at his sexy intention. “Is that a dare?”
“No.” He gave her another wicked grin. “It’s a promise.”
By that point, she’d nearly forgotten how to breathe, so she supposed he already had her part of the way to forgetting how to speak. And all while she was still wearing her clothes.
Impressive…
“I remember what you were wearing the first time we met.” He moved his hands from hers to slide the zipper of her sheer top down the center of her back as he spoke. She laid her hands flat against his broad chest to steady herself against the onslaught of sensation as his fingertips trailed, featherlight, over her spine. “You had on a little blue tank top, oversized jeans hitched up with a big belt, flip-flops, and glasses the bright blue of a parrot’s wings.”
Though fashion and clothes had never been at the top of her priority list—apart from her glasses frames, of course—she remembered her outfit from that day too. Just as she remembered the flash of heat in Rory’s eyes when he’d looked at her. Heat she’d attributed to the fact that she’d managed to infuriate him within five minutes of entering the building.
“I wasn’t wearing a bra.”
“You most certainly were not,” he agreed in a low voice that caressed her skin the same way his fingers were. Ever so lightly, but with sinful intention. “Do you have any idea how hard it was not to touch you the way I am now?”
“Maybe.” She weighed the wisdom of admitting the truth before deciding to be just as honest. “I felt the same way. But then, you were so irritating that it didn’t matter how hot you were. If I had only realized you were pulling my pigtails on the playground because you had the hots for me—”
“You would never have let me live it down.” He lifted her gauzy blouse over her head as he finished her sentence. “Thank God I can stare as long as I like tonight.”
Though she was still wearing a black bra and leather pants, as Rory drank her in, she felt naked. No one had ever looked at her like this before. Like she was a work of art. Like she was absolutely perfect. Like she was the most wonderful gift.
And even though she knew she wasn’t, for one night she wanted to pretend that she was.
When he feathered his fingers through the hair at the nape of her neck, she shivered in response. “You’re going to torture me by taking your sweet time getting me to the finish line, aren’t you?” Her words came out breathless. Borderline desperate.
“You’d be disappointed if I didn’t.” He slid a hand over the bare skin of her back. “And you should know I intend for you to cross the finish line over and over again.”
“Rather confident of your sexual prowess, aren’t you?”
His answer came by way of a kiss that was at once wonderfully filthy and breathtakingly romantic. “I know better than to bring anything but my A game tonight. You’d taunt me endlessly at work otherwise.”
She slid her fingers through his surprisingly silky hair. “And you’d be disappointed if I didn’t do just that.”
“I would. Although I can already guarantee nothing about tonight is going to disappoint me. No matter how much we do or don’t do, I’m already a very happy man.” She appreciated that he was giving her time once more to make sure she was fully on board. “So before I strip you down completely and run my tongue over every inch of your gorgeous skin, I need to know your limits—anything that isn’t on the table.”
“I don’t have a lot of rules for tonight,” she said. Especially when it came to his tongue and her skin. In fact, she couldn’t remember ever wanting anything quite so badly. “Only that neither of us gets to act weird when it’s over.”<
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“Works for me.”
“Good. And for every piece of clothing you strip from me,” she added, “you’ll lose one too.” To make her point, she slipped her hands beneath the lapels of his jacket and pushed it off his shoulders.
“I always did think strip poker would be better played without cards,” he murmured as he played his fingers over her abdomen. “And I’ll have you know that you’re my full-on teenage dream in those leather pants. Especially the part where I’m about to take them off.”
Was there anything hotter than watching Rory use his big, brilliant hands to pull down her zipper? She’d never be able to watch him work again without remembering this heat flooding her body and the mouthwatering anticipation of just where he was going to put his hands next.
“Well, well, well…” His heated gaze caught on her lingerie. “Aren’t you full of surprises?”
Zara had never been a girly girl, but she couldn’t resist soft, pretty things against her skin. She’d chosen a simple black bra to wear beneath her translucent shirt tonight, but there was nothing simple about the lace and silk she was wearing beneath the leather.
Rory knelt before her as he unzipped her boots and took them off, then slid her pants down her legs and helped her step free of them. Once she was standing in only a bra and panties, he stopped to stare again.
“My God…” With his callused fingertips, he traced the extremely thin, extremely small strip of material that covered mere inches of her hips.
He wrapped his hands around her hips to press a kiss to the fabric that still covered her, and she couldn’t hold back a low moan of pleasure. If he was making her feel this good already, how was she going to survive his hands, his mouth, on her bare skin?
He looked up her body from where he was kneeling on the floor. “Please tell me you normally wear big cotton briefs beneath your clothes when you’re working.”
The touch of his hands and mouth, and his nearness to the center of her arousal, made her feel weak in the knees. Tonight was a first on so many levels—no man had ever made her legs feel shaky enough to collapse. “You don’t want me to lie, do you?”
“No,” he said. “Always tell me the truth, even if I don’t want to hear it.”
“In that case,” she informed him with relish, “the truth is that the baggier and more shapeless my clothes, the prettier and more sexy I like my lingerie.”
He groaned. “I’m never going to get another damned thing done in my workshop. All I’m going to do is sit there and wonder what you’ve got on under your overalls.”
“If you ask really nicely,” she said, “I just might let you take a peek every now and again. Especially if you don’t mind me drooling as I stare at your big, brawny hands while you work.”
He held up said hands. “Got any ideas what you want me to do with them now?”
Another thrill of anticipation ran up her spine. “Absolutely anything you want.”
CHAPTER TEN
In Rory’s wildest dreams, he hadn’t known to dream of Zara.
Now he suspected he’d dream of little else.
She was beyond gorgeous, with curves that filled his hands just right. That wasn’t the only thing that was right, though. He’d never been a big talker during sex, but it made perfect sense that with Zara, verbal sparring should be part of even their most intimate moments.
The hotel room overlooked the sea, and though it was night, the sound of the crashing waves provided a backdrop to their lovemaking. With the moonlight shining over the sea, it wasn’t too different from the view he had from his lighthouse home. He wanted to take Zara there again, wanted to carry her into his bedroom with its floor-to-ceiling glass, where on a stormy night you almost felt as though you were out there riding the waves.
One night only meant he couldn’t do that, however. Not unless he could convince her to go for more.
Here they were, barely into their first night together, and he was already longing for more. So much more…
Starting with running his hands over every inch of Zara’s beautiful skin.
He’d often seen her head out for a run in the middle of the day and not return for over an hour, so he knew she was in great shape. But as she waited for him to make his next move, her breath was coming faster and faster.
He leaned forward to press a kiss to her stomach. She made only the slightest sound, a sudden intake of breath, but he was so attuned to her every move that he couldn’t miss it.
“Wait,” she said, and instantly he went on high alert, expecting her to back away and say she must have lost her mind to be here doing this with him tonight. “It’s my turn to take off something of yours.”
Relief whooshed from his lungs. “What do you want off?”
“Hmm…” She took her sweet time perusing him. “I’ll play fair, for now at least, and say your belt.” She licked her lips. “What do you say to a little striptease? You still on your knees before me, undressing for my pleasure?”
“Anything for you.” And he meant every word as he slowly undid the buckle, then slid the leather from one belt loop to the next and then the next.
“Ooooh…you’re good.” Her eyes were lit with both heat and humor. “Are you sure you haven’t moonlighted as a stripper?”
She always made him laugh, even now when there was barely any blood left in his brain. “Not yet. But if you ask nicely,” he offered, just as she had before, “I might be willing to put on a show just for you sometime.”
“I’d like that,” she said in a husky voice. “Both of us doing a little secret show-and-tell for each other at work.”
The thought alone was nearly more than he could take. Hell, after what felt like a year long tease of being near Zara without having her, he couldn’t wait another second to unsnap the front hook of her bra so that her gorgeous breasts sprang free, then slide his thumbs into the sides of her panties and pull them down too.
That was when one of the strongest women he’d ever met…whimpered.
And he hadn’t even put his hands—or mouth—on her yet.
He got it, though. Because he was on the verge of whimpering himself. That was how badly he wanted her. How much he wanted to pick her up and toss her onto the bed and claim her as his.
“That was two pieces of clothing,” she said, her words raw with desire. “It’s my turn now to take two pieces off you.”
Considering she was still able to string so many words together, he obviously needed to do a better job of making her incoherent with pleasure. At the same time, he didn’t want to make the mistake of ignoring either of her two rules.
She moved her hands to his tie. He hadn’t noticed how elegant her fingers were, or how erotic, until she loosened the knot at his neck. Sweet Lord…she might as well be stroking him for as hard as this made him.
Finally, she tossed the blue striped fabric to the side. “Now it’s time for your shirt to go. But don’t stand.” She gave him a wonderfully naughty smile as she put her hands on his shoulders to keep him on the floor. “I like having you on your knees.”
“Don’t get used to it.” He was doing his damnedest to speak normally when he was the one losing his grip of the English language with Zara standing naked in front of him. All he wanted to do was touch and kiss and stroke and have. But a deal was a deal—he just hoped she would be quick about getting his shirt off.
So of course she took her sweet time, moving agonizingly slowly as she undid one button at a time, sneaking in the brush of a fingertip here, the light scratch of a nail there.
Rory couldn’t remember ever being this aroused. To the point where the lightest brush of her breasts against his face as she dawdled over the second-to-last button had him momentarily losing control and ripping his shirt open so that he could shove it off and throw it across the room.
“Looks like someone’s getting antsy,” she said, laughter underscoring her words.
“Antsy was ten minutes ago. I’m straight-up frenzied now.” Still on his
knees, he rose high enough to rub his five-o’clock shadow over her breasts.
“Rory…”
His name on her lips was more breath than sound. And when he turned his face the other way to caress her again with the bristles over his jaw, her whole body shuddered. His hands, his mouth, were greedier than ever by now, and she wasn’t the only one feeling a little shaky when he cupped her full breasts.
How had he never guessed that her strong surface hid such softness?
All Rory’s life, he’d used his hands to carve, to shape, to draw out the beauty of the wood he was working with. But he’d never before held so much passion, so much exquisiteness, with his bare hands.
He could spend the rest of his life touching Zara and never get enough.
Moving slowly to imprint every sensation into his memory, he ran his hands from her breasts to her waist, then over the swell of her hips. He didn’t blink, barely breathed, as he slid one hand between her legs…then over her sex.
She was so hot. So wet.
So damned perfect.
Breath whooshed from her lungs. “I was starting to wonder if you were ever going to get there.”
“You mean here?” He barely allowed time for his words to register before sliding one finger into her.
Her head fell back, and her fingers tightened in his hair. “Yes. There.”
She writhed against his hand, urging him to move deeper, faster, rougher. All the things he wanted too. All the things he needed as he took the tip of one breast into his mouth and then the other.
Her inner muscles clenched over his fingers as he laved her soft skin, then gently ran the edge of his teeth over the taut peaks. Never in his life had he felt a bigger rush than taking Zara to the brink of climax. Wanting to prolong the beautiful moment as long as he could, he stilled his hand to breathe her in.
A growl of frustration rippled from her throat. Her glasses were slightly askew on her nose. And she had never looked sexier as she said, “Stop now and you’ll forever pay the price.”
Though he was just as caught in the grip of desire, he laughed. How could he not when she was this gloriously fierce in her passion, in her insistence on pleasure? And when he pressed his mouth to her sex, she was so damned sweet on his tongue that he couldn’t get enough of her.
