His gaze slipped over her, making her feel as if his vision could penetrate clothing. She licked her lips as her breasts grew warmer. A sweet stinging ache at the apex of her thighs returned. For a fleeting moment she wished he might completely step from the shadows and reveal himself.
“Did you find what you were searching for? Or did you come for something else?” His deep seductive voice sent a twinge of arousal arcing through her lower body.
Mira swallowed hard. Why did he make no attempt to cover himself? Was he accustomed to traipsing nude before strange women? Or was this an invitation to join him?
After a moment she found her voice again. “When I realized the clicking sound was you at your computer, I decided to leave quietly.”
He edged closer. “I am sorry if I awakened you, Miss Reece—Mira. May I call you Mira?”
Mira’s breath caught as her eyes surreptitiously glimpsed him. Oh, yeah. He was erect! And he was coming straight toward her!
Her first instinct was to bolt. After all, she didn’t know this man. They were alone in a very large house on the deserted end of the island. He could do anything he wanted to her—anything at all and she’d be helpless to stop him. Most disturbing was the thought she might actually pretend to be helpless.
He stood mere inches from her, his long, erect penis slicing the air between them. Sweat moistened her palms and beaded across her upper lip. She felt the heat that emanated from his large and powerful body, smelled him—man, a hint of cologne, and the faint scent of arousal.
She ceased to breathe when he stepped closer and cupped her chin in his warm palm. As if of its own accord, her face tilted up to his.
“Are you shocked to find me nude?”
She swallowed hard. “No.” It was the truth. After her glimpse of him on the roof two days earlier she’d realized he was a sensual and uninhibited man.
His thumb caressed her lower lip and he lowered his face to hers. Mira closed her eyes and tilted her head as his lips moved within a fraction of an inch of hers. His breath smelled of cinnamon mouthwash, his cologne a manly herbal musk.
“I’m going to kiss you,” he whispered. “Is that all right, sweet Mira?”
Sweet Mira.
Her skin goose fleshed at the endearment of this stranger. What was she doing? This Don Juan was merely a boarder. She knew nothing about him. Yet she allowed him to come this close, to touch her? This was not like her at all.
But then, he was unlike any other man she’d ever met.
And really…how harmful could one teeny little kiss be?
“Yes,” she finally answered. “You may kiss me.”
His lips were warm and petal soft. They moved over hers in a back and forth motion as if he were caressing them. Making love to them. She opened her mouth a bit and his tongue darted in gently. Mira met him thrust for thrust, her fingers sliding into his silken shoulder-length locks. She tasted the cinnamon mouthwash and a hint of something else—rich, dark chocolate. Oh, heavens, it had been years since a man had kissed her. She’d almost forgotten how enjoyable it could be!
He broke the kiss, then moved to nibble at her ear lobe. Mira ceased to breathe in that moment as all rational thought fled. He dusted soft kisses down the side of her throat. Her hands came up in feeble protest when he opened her satin robe, but she dropped them to her side. Let him! the voice inside her cried. Momentarily, his palm lifted and he caressed her breast. Warm, Tender. She panted as his thumb circled her hardened nipple. Moisture seeped between her thighs, threatening to shatter all resolve. She whimpered her need, hating herself for being this vulnerable to his touch.
“Shhh,” he said, drawing the robe off one shoulder and bending to kiss her there.
Shivers of desire coursed throughout her body as he drew the robe down slowly, revealing her breasts to his eyes. She trembled, her heart pounding as she waited for him to make a move. Finally, he ducked his head and nuzzled the garment aside, taking a nipple in his hot mouth.
It became difficult to breathe, to think. Mira’s held him at her breast, wanting this, wanting him.
This was crazy! And dangerous. A stranger was seducing her by degrees and she was falling for his charm like a naïve school girl. He turned to the other breast and gave it equal attention as his large warm hands explored the curves of her waist, then smoothed around to caress her hips, her buttocks. A few more moments and she’d probably be naked and in his bed. Not that the idea was unappealing, just unfamiliar. Joel had been her one and only sexual partner and his touches had never been as tender as Mr. Jones’ were right now.
“Your nipples taste so sweet,” he murmured against her breast. “I’ll bet you’re delicious everywhere.”
Mira panted, closed her eyes. Sensibility warred with desire, threatening to consume her. She needed this. Needed him.
“Mr. Jones.” His name fell from her lips in feeble protest. His large warm hands smoothed downward, one ample palm cupping her buttock. Mira responded by arching against him. A sigh escaped his lips.
“Oh, but you’re a naughty lady.”
He had no idea how naughty she’d like to be.
“W-why do you say that?” she barely managed in a breathy voice she barely recognized.
“Because you’re not wearing panties. I like that very much.”
Mira sucked in a breath as his fingertip took her by surprise, brushing over her clitoris. She wanted this, yet she didn’t. Closing her eyes, she eased her legs farther apart and surrendered to the deft, erotic strokes of his fingertips. Biting her lip hard, she tasted blood, then gazed up at him as one, thick fingertip slid inside. A whimpering sound she didn’t recognize as her own voice burst forth.
He rested a cheek against hers. “Shhh…relax and enjoy,” he whispered against her ear.
Mira undulated against his pleasuring hand as he thrust the digit inside repeatedly. A white rolling wave of light built until she thought she would shatter into a thousand pieces.
“Is it good, Mira?” he murmured at her ear.
“Mmm-hmmm.”
“Come for me, sweetheart.”
And she did. A soft cry tore from her throat as the first climax rocked her, followed by a tumultuous second. Oh, damn. It had been so long!
Then it was over.
Mira whimpered at the loss of his hand.
His dark eyes were misted with passion, his breathing heavy. Mira’s knees felt as they were made of jelly. She shuddered with desire as he adjusted the robe over her shoulders.
“Come with me to my room and I’ll make love to you.”
She gazed into his sultry dark eyes. Yes. No. Yes. Oh, hell, she didn’t know what she wanted! His breath was warm, the touch of his hand as soft as a feather as it came up to caress her cheek, tenderly. And exactly what had he done to her body? Every pore felt as if it had been consumed by fire and electricity. She was moments away from tearing off her robe and taking him down in the hallway. Moments away from making a fool of herself.
“I can’t,” she whispered, hating the words as soon as they were spoken.
He took a step back and cleared his throat. “Then I shall return to my room, madam, before this progresses any further.”
She tried not to look at his massive erection, failing miserably. He was huge, larger than any man had a right to be and if she didn’t get away from him right now, she’d do something regrettable. Knees trembling, she turned and staggered toward the stair case.
“Mira,” he called.
Her heart skidded to a stop only an instant before her feet stopped moving. She couldn’t turn around, couldn’t look at him again. If he asked her to come to him, to climb into his bed and stay the night she would.
“Yes, Mr. Jones?” She swallowed down the lump of fear that mingled with desire.
“You are a very beautiful and sensual woman, full of life and passion. The invitation still stands. My door is always open, my bed ready and waiting for your pleasure dear lady.”
Mira clenched her e
yes shut as tears threatened. She’d never thought of herself as beautiful or sexy. Joel claimed she was frigid, not adventurous enough to satisfy him.
She turned slightly and glanced back at Mr. Jones, wondering what would happen if she began an affair with him. No strings attached. Just the pleasure of one another’s company during his stay. Would sex be enjoyable, or would she humiliate herself? No, she could never take that chance again.
“Goodnight, Mr. Jones,” she said quietly, then fled to her room.
Armand let out a heavy sigh as he quietly closed his bedroom door. Well, that short interlude had certainly answered one of his questions. Mira Reece wasn’t a man-hater after all. And a quick dash of his tongue over his fingertip, the one he’d pleasured her with also proved what he suspected: she was as sweet as wild honey.
What a beautiful sight she’d presented, her slender silhouette pressed against the wall when he caught her trying to sneak a peek at him. He hadn’t meant for things to progress as far as they had, but she’d been willing, and if his instincts were on target, it had been a while since she’d been with a man.
His cock grew and lengthened at the memory of how he’d divested Mira of her robe and suckled at her breasts…how he’d delved into her feminine softness and tested her desire for him. What would she have done if she’d accompanied him back to his room? Would she still be with him now, lying naked in his arms, reveling in the afterglow of their loving?
Armand was not unaware of the sensual power he exuded. Even at thirty eight, his good looks still had women falling at his feet—well, except this one. She was difficult to figure out, but he knew that beneath the prim, cool façade of Mira Reece, lay a warm, vibrant and sensual woman in dire need of some serious loving. Certainly she’d allowed him to pleasure her, but he still sensed she could not be conquered easily. He suspected some brute had abused her in the past.
He returned to the writing desk, saved his work on the laptop, then took and cold shower to ease his uncomfortable predicament.
The next morning Mira fed the cats, watered the parched Boston fern in the hanging planter on the porch, swept the front steps, beat the sand out of the furniture cushions, then began preparing sandwiches for the noon meal. Anything to keep the memory of what happened with Mr. Jones last night at bay.
He’d had missed breakfast and her first thought was that he’d overslept. Her second thought was that he’d been embarrassed about what had transpired between them last night and was avoiding her. Actually, she was nervous about seeing him again. Would he act as if nothing had happened? Should she?
After she’d returned to her room following their hallway encounter, she’d chided herself for allowing the situation to progress as far as it had. But now that she’d had some time to think about last night’s events rationally, she chalked it up to severe case of lust for a drop-dead sex god. Either that or her body was telling her she needed release and any convenient male would do.
Not likely, though. She hadn’t wanted the company of a man since her fiasco with Joel twelve years ago, and she rarely resorted to self-pleasuring. However, in light of the fool she’d almost made of herself last night, perhaps a trip to Tatiana’s Treasures, an adult novelty shop a few miles away, was in order. There, she’d purchase a healthy sized, multi-speed sex toy to ease her midnight cravings.
She wondered what Mr. Jones had really been doing on his laptop in the middle of the night—and why he’d been naked. She still wished she could have gotten a peek inside his room before he discovered her lurking in the hallway. Before he’d kissed her and caressed her body. Before . . .
A shiver skittered up her spine and her breasts warmed with desire at the memory of his intimate touch. She bit down on her lip and closed her eyes, reliving the incident in her mind. But this time, she imagined how it might have progressed, how he would have caressed her, swept her into his arms and carried her to his bed. She continued her fantasy, imagining him as tender and patient. Not forceful and demanding and critical like Joel.
She opened her eyes and drew in a calming breath as hot tears misted her eyes. No. Joel was wrong. She wasn’t frigid. He’d been the problem in their relationship.
She finished making roast chicken sandwiches on home baked white bread, sliced the fresh fruit and stirred the hot potato and ham salad in the crock pot. She set Mr. Jones’s place at the sturdy oak table which had belonged to her grandma Ada. Hopefully he’d remember lunch time.
Mr. Jones appeared in the doorway at noon and her breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t heard him come downstairs, but nothing could have prepared her for the awkwardness of the moment. Was he remembering their erotic encounter last night? Of course he was. The look in his smoldering brown eyes was unmistakable.
He wore a pair of faded jeans, a well worn t-shirt with a lame beer slogan on the front. Not exactly the type of attire she’d expect a man of his refinement to wear. Not that she was imagining him wearing anything at the moment. Memories of their steamy encounter resurfaced. The room grew warm. Mira tugged at the collar on her simple dress.
“I apologize for missing breakfast, Mira,” he offered as he took a seat at the table. “I had a late night, as you’ll recall.” He gave her a knowing smile and shook out the napkin before placing it across his lap.
Damn, could the man ever manage to look shitty, or was he eternally perfect in whatever he wore? Even in the old jeans and well-worn t-shirt he looked stunning. If she’d been wearing them she’d look like a bag lady.
Drawing in a deep breath for courage, she brought a tray to the table—iced tea with lemon wedges and a sprig of mint, sandwiches and a fruit compote consisting of melon balls and sugared berries. With trembling hands, she set each before him, then turned to leave, but his warm, massive hand reached out to snag hers.
“Mira.”
Mira’s heartbeat sped up as his sensual voice washed over her. She looked down at his dark hand on hers, his touch electrifying her.
“I apologize for waking you in the night,” he said quietly, then broke into a devastatingly sexy grin, “and for the near ravishment of you in my hallway.”
Ravishment? That sounded like a word from a romance novel. She suppressed an urge to laugh.
Of course, it wasn’t his computer that had awakened her, but the mind-shattering orgasm she’d had from the erotic dream. Of him. She couldn’t tell him that, however. She also couldn’t look him in the eye right now, certain he’d know she’d returned to her room and fantasized about having night of adventurous sex with him.
“No need to apologize,” she said, easing her hand out of his, “but if you’re going to be on the computer late at night you might want to take one of the other rooms. The one you’ve chosen is directly above my bedroom.”
His eyes widened. “I had no idea. No wonder I disturbed you. Yes, I will switch rooms immediately.”
This was her prime opportunity to find out what he’d been doing naked at his computer. “Guess you were catching up on email?” she asked as she returned the serving tray to the shelf.
“I was handling some correspondence.”
Mira smiled to herself. She turned to look at him from across the kitchen. “A letter back home to dear old Mom?” she teased.
A grin touched the corners of his mouth. “Ah, but my secret is out. If you must, know, I left my blankie and teddy behind and I miss them terribly.”
She did laugh then. So did he.
“Actually I was working on my latest novel—Passion’s Storm.”
Novel? He was a writer? “Oh,” was all she could say, feeling suddenly stupid for having teased him. The idea had never dawned on her. “You’re an author. Wow. I never would have guessed.”
“I’m an erotic romance author,” he added.
Mira snorted rather unladylike, then realized from the sober look on his face he wasn’t joking. “Seriously?”
He nodded. “My heroine was drafting a rather scandalous letter to her lover and I�
�d just reached the part where it had been intercepted by one of her father’s servants.”
She bit back a smile. The man wrote romance? Erotic romance? Wait. Hadn’t she read in a magazine a while back how some retired male cover model—what the hell was his name—turned to writing erotic novels? The bottom fell out of her stomach. No. No freaking way!
She studied the planes and angles of his deeply tanned face, his hair and broad shoulders. He looked familiar—even more so than before. Armand something or other. Armand . . .
Armand Giancarlo.
She sagged against the buffet table for support as her brain turned to mush and her knees grew wiggly like jelly.
Oh, yeah. It was him all right. Armand Giancarlo in the flesh.
And she’d seen much of that magnificent flesh last night.
She swallowed hard. Why hadn’t she made the connection before now? The breath left her lungs in a whoosh. Oh my God. Armand Giancarlo was here… It was really him!
“Mira, is everything all right?”
Hell no, everything was not all right. Armand Giancarlo—the god of all romance cover models, the fodder of 99% of her erotic fantasies over the last decade, was eating a freaking chicken sandwich in her kitchen!
“So you’re really Armand Giancarlo—not Mr. Jones?”
He nodded. “I suppose I really don’t look like a Mr. Jones, do I?”
No more than seagull looked like a donkey.
“I write as—”
“Raven Midnight,” she interjected. “I’ve read all of your books.”
His brow lifted. “You read erotic romance?”
“Yes, of course.”
“I’m not surprised. You strike me as an adventurous woman with a bold sexual appetite.”
Mira swallowed hard, taken aback by his statement. Is that how he envisioned her?
She watched as he took a bite of his sandwich, the way his strong jaws worked as he chewed. Oh, damn. The man could even make eating look sexy.
He swallowed, then took a sip of his iced tea. “This is a most delicious lunch,” he said. “I’m famished after such a late night of writing…among other things.”
Midnight Craving (Contemporary Romance) Page 4
