Mira had grown up the same as Jocelyn had—middle class. Her mother was a stay at home mom who baked cookies for school parties and church functions. Her father was minister of the Holy Life church on Annabelle Island. They observed all the regular holidays and from all outward appearances were the perfect family.
After her mother died, Jocelyn changed. She fell in with the wrong friends and turned to drugs. Her father, even in his grief, tried everything to get her sister clean—rehabilitation, hospitalization, and counseling. Nothing worked. Mira doubted anything ever would. For reasons unknown to anyone, Jocelyn was bent on self destruction, locked in her own private hell with her demons. No one had ever been able to reach her.
But the best thing that had come from her sister’s life was the four beautiful, innocent children upstairs, Joseph Junior, Devin, Katie, and Hannah
Mira heard the creak of the floor boards and turned to find Armand standing in the shadows of the porch. He was barefoot, clad in a pair of faded jeans and a sleeveless tank.
“I thought you were writing.”
He moved into the soft glow of candle light. “I went for a walk on the beach and saw the votives flickering on the porch. I decided to check on you. How are the children…and you?”
Mira set her cocoa on a table. “The children finally fell asleep about forty five minutes ago. I think they were all keyed up from the drive over. They love coming to Aunt Mee Mee’s—what Hannah has called me since she was about two. She couldn’t say Mira so it came out Mee Mee. They’ve called me that ever since.”
“Aunt Mee Mee,” he repeated with a chuckle. “It’s charming.”
“They know Mira is my name but I’ll probably always be Aunt Mee Mee, even when they’re forty.”
“Mira,” he said, easing in beside her on the wicker settee, “I’ve decided to leave the island in the morning.”
Mira’s heart sank as her worst fear came to life. She touched his arm. “Is it because the children are here?”
He shook his head. “No. They’re adorable, even though one of them thought my name was humorous and the other one . . . well, let’s just say he might need to start shaving early.”
“Oh,” was all she managed to say, utterly confused by his last statement.” His hands enveloped hers and she reveled in their warmth. Strong and sensual.
“You’re in the middle of a family crisis,” he continued. “Your hands are full enough with four lively children. I cannot have you cooking my meals and changing linens each day. Besides, you have no other guests in the house and I see no point in staying on. I’ve already made arrangements to fly back to Los Angeles.”
“So it is true. You’re leaving because of the kids. They’re noisy, I know, but they’re very well-behaved. Oh, Armand, I promise I’ll keep the noise down.”
“Mira, it isn’t that.” His hands came up to caress her shoulders. “I’m in the way here and you’ve already too much on your plate. I’m sorry. I’ll leave you a check for the rest of the month’s balance for all your trouble. After all, I did reserve the room for a month.”
Mira bit down on her lip to keep from crying. Perhaps Armand was right. More than once this evening her concern over how she’d manage the four youngsters single-handedly while catering to a guest had crossed her mind. Jocelyn might be hospitalized for weeks—perhaps even months. If the state welfare agency were called in, Mira would be asked to sign for temporary guardianship of the children yet again.
She looked at Armand, so dashing by candle light, and wanted to cry. How she wished she’d gotten to know him better—perhaps even made love to him. She looked away, the pain in her heart at his leaving too great to bear. “I’m sorry you feel you must leave, Armand, but if that’s what you wish . . . “
“It bloody well isn’t what I wish,” he whispered, then leaned toward her. “This is what I want.”
Mira’s heart beat sped up as he moved in for a kiss. That wasn’t all. His large hands went beneath her oversized sweat shirt and caressed her bare breasts. Thank heaven she’d not donned a bra. Mira broke the kiss, gasping with delight as his fingertip swirled around the tip of her sensitized nipples.
Without thinking she grasped the hem of her sweat shirt and boldly peeled it over her head, revealing herself to his eyes in the flickering candle light.
A hiss escaped Armand’s lips as he gazed down at her, his face clearly readable. “Beautiful,” he breathed as he lowered his head.
His mouth was exquisite. Soft. Hot. He suckled tenderly at one nipple while his fingertips plucked and tweaked the other. Mira’s fingers threaded into his hair and she held him at her breast. Dear heavens! Joel’s mouth and hands had never given her pleasure. Instead, he’d grabbed and squeezed, slapped her if she protested his roughness. Hurting her excited Joel, and although she’d hated the darkness he’d brought into their sexual acts, she’d endured it because she’d been so young—an idiot in love—or so she thought.
Armand gathered her in his arms and moved her off the settee and to the rug. Reaching up, Mira grasped the edge of a crocheted blanket from the seat and tugged it down, in the event one of the children awakened and they needed quick cover.
She knew where this was going, but she didn’t care. She wanted Armand Giancaro, even if it were just this once. Closing her eyes, Mira reveled in the sensations swirling throughout her body as Armand’s hot mouth covered her areola again. He laved the distended nipple, then turned his attention to her other breasts. She didn’t realize he’d tugged her sweat pants down until the salty night breeze washed over her naked skin.
He hesitated, and she saw him visibly shudder at discovering she’d not worn panties.
“You planned this?”
She hadn’t. Actually, she’d only wanted comfort. But something about this man brought out her naughty side. She decided to play along. “What if I did?”
“Then I think we’re going to need a bit more privacy for what I have in mind.”
Without bothering to adjust her clothing, he gathered her in his arms again, lifting her. Carrying her, he hurried down the steps from the porch toward the dark, roaring ocean.
“Armand, where are we going?”
He moved swift, yet deftly in the pale moonlight. After laying her down on the blanket near the water’s edge he moved over her, easing down her torso, sensuously tonguing her navel first, his hands sliding beneath her buttocks. He gently squeezed, pausing to nip at the flesh of her hip bones.
The pant legs bunched around her ankles. She lay exposed and vulnerable as he bent her knees up and eased her thighs apart.
Mira panted in anticipation, her body begging for the touch of his tongue. Oh, heavens, if he didn’t do something soon she would scream!
As if he sensed her impatience, her urgent need, he said, “Try and hold on my sweet Mira.”
He removed her shoes and socks, slid the pant legs over her feet, then lay the garments aside and returned. Warm, fingertips on her labia made her gasp. So gentle. He separated her feminine folds with his fingertips and ducked his head.
At the first flick of his tongue on her clitoris, Mira cried out softly. Joel had never done this for her—never wanted to, although he’d certainly insisted she fellate him. She arched her back, pushing herself closer to Armand’s mouth, wanting to finally experience the ultimate act.
“Oh, yes, you are as sweet as I imagined,” he murmured as his tongue darted between the folds.
Mira died a slow, excruciatingly pleasurable death as he sucked her clitoris into his mouth and tugged hard on the tight bead. She felt the wave of passion rising within and struggled to reach it. He groaned deep in his throat, then speared her, probed her with his tongue the way he might use his penis. She clutched at the blanket beneath her, closed her eyes, panting as he thrust in and out.
“ Armand, I’m . . . oh, ohhh!”
He gripped her hips when she came, held her in place as she rode the rolling wave of ecstasy. With a choking gasp, she climaxed again in rapid
succession, white hot fire raining down upon her. Still, he was relentless, his tongue darting into her core again. She thrashed her arms against the hard, wet sand, arched her back, crying out softly as he held her hips stationary. He was going to kill her with pleasure!
“Come for me again, Mira,” he growled, and then dived in for a finale. She clamped a hand over her mouth and cried out, short staccato sobs of pure ecstasy.
Once she reentered reality and could mentally focus again, she whispered, “What happened?”
He chuckled softly, lifted his head and kissed the inside of one thigh, then the other. “You died a little death, Mira. The French call it petit mort. ”
Her thoughts continued to drift down slowly like a feather on the wind as her body twitched from intermittent aftershocks. A cool salt breeze ruffled her hair, caressed her skin like a silken scarf.
Armand rose up on his knees, so handsome, so damned sexy in the moonlight.
He began easing her pants up.
It couldn’t be over! Not yet!
“Armand?” she said into the dark, hearing the desperation in her own voice. “Don’t stop.”
“We must, my dear.”
“No!” She sat up, slipped her hands behind his neck and pulled him to her, kissing him, tasting her own essence on his lips and tongue. “We have to, Armand,” she said between kisses.” I’m aching so bad that I’m going to die if you don’t do something.”
He chuckled softly. “But Mira, darling…regretfully I have nothing with me to protect you with.”
Protection? She’d almost forgotten about that once pesky, yet needless little detail.
“I don’t need protection,” she whispered as she nibbled his lower lip, but Armand didn’t seem to understand what she was trying to tell him.
He pulled away. “No, Mira, it’s too risky.”
Well freaking be damned, she intended to have this man one way or the other. In the morning they could sort out the unexpected turn their relationship had taken. Tonight, however, she was going to make love to Armand Giancarlo if it was the last thing she did.
Years ago, that bastard Joel had choreographed their sexual acts, then criticized her for her so-called lousy performance. Well, she’d changed from that shy mouse who’d let a man abuse her body and mind. More than a decade had passed yet his hurtful words, his presence continued to torment her. Now she was about to attempt something she really wasn’t very good at—or at least according to Joel.
Mira had never attempted anything so brazen in her life. She pressed Armand to the damp sand, straddled his muscular legs and unbuttoned his fly amid his slight protest.
“Mira, you must stop.” He groaned as he sprung forth, erect and steely in her hand. She clasped a hand around the base of his hot flesh, then bent to taste the glistening bead of dew in the hole at the tip of his penis. Her jerked, whispered a phrase in what sounded like French.
He was slightly salty, slightly sweet. She savored the taste of him on her lips, then licked the tip again.
He jerked. “Oh damn,” he breathed. “I think am going to die a little death, too.”
Mira paused, delighting in the power she held over Armand.
“I’m going to come if you don’t stop,” he said hoarsely.
Mira didn’t care. She’d never been the one in charge before and she darned well intended to find out what she’d been missing all these years. She drew him deep into her mouth by degrees, grazed him with her teeth, loving the way his body jerked in response.
Without warning, he lifted her and rolled her beneath him.
On her back, Armand moved between her thighs. When he partially entered her, she gasped, dug her heels into the sand. He was huge, and it felt as if she were being speared by a two by four. She clawed at the blanket beneath her bare bottom. Relax, she told herself, but even that didn’t help. He pressed deeper and she tensed. Oh, damn . . . it felt like the first time all over again.
He must have sensed her discomfort, for he quickly withdrew. Momentarily, she felt warmth pulsing against her thigh.
“Why did you stop?” she asked.
He eased off her slightly. “I was hurting you.”
“But I wanted you.”
He hesitated. “Mira you cannot be a virgin.”
She thought it odd that he’d suggest such. “I’m not.”
“Oh, good,” he said with a nervous chuckle. “I was worried a moment. Still, I cannot take you if your body is resistant. Besides, I have no protection. I don’t want to get you pregnant.”
Mira rested a forearm across her eyes, holding back a flood tide of tears. Armand had no way of knowing what happened all those years ago.
Moments later, they sat side by side as the warm, tide rolled in, lapping at their bare legs. A cool, salty sea breeze washed over Mira’s naked skin, giving her goose bumps.
“There is no chance of impregnating me, Armand,” she said with a sigh, garnering her courage for what she was about to reveal. “I’m scarred inside. I can’t have children.”
The bottom fell out of Armand’s stomach. He blinked, trying to digest her words. Scarred from what? Disease? Injury?
“What do you mean, scarred?”
“Fifteen years ago, I became pregnant with my boyfriend’s child. I was seventeen. We decided to do the right thing for the baby—or so we thought—and get married. A week before the wedding, I lost it—a baby boy, six months into the pregnancy. There were complications and I had to have emergency surgery. I almost died. The doctors told me I’d never be able to get pregnant again.”
Armand’s gut twisted. He had no idea she’d endured so much for one so young.
“Joel dumped me and called off the wedding. He said there was no reason to go through with the marriage since, in his mind, I’d killed our child. A month later I spotted him in a restaurant with some bleached blonde with huge boobs. I later learned he’d been seeing her on the side the entire time we’d been together. End of story.”
“I am sorry for your loss, but it sounds as if you are better off without the likes of him.”
She gave a half laugh. “I realize that now, but at the time I was devastated.”
He reached over and caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. He didn’t want to hear about her ex-lover, didn’t want to think of another man enjoying her body. Deciding to change the subject he whispered, “I am jealous if he was the recipient of such a mind-blowing fellatio. You are quite talented with that pretty little mouth.”
“Glad you think so. My ex said I couldn’t even do that right.”
Armand clenched his teeth. What a sorry bastard. This Joel fellow probably couldn’t fuck worth a shit, either, he wanted to tell her. He’d almost swear Mira had never had an orgasm like the one he’d given just given her with his tongue.
Armand reached beneath her chin and turned her face to his. Even in the pale light of the full moon he saw tears glistening on her cheeks. He wiped them away. “Look me in the eyes, sweet Mira.” She did. “We must talk about what just happened here.” He chuckled as another warm, foamy wave rolled in, catching them unaware. “Do you regret what we’ve done?”
“Do you?” she countered.
“Not on your life.”
“Good. Me either.” She rose, taking the saturated blanket with her as she gathered her wet clothing.
“Mira, do not leave. Stay a while.”
“I’m not leaving, just moving the party.”
He blinked. “I don’t understand. Moving the party where?”
“We’re going to my bedroom, Armand, and this time, we’re going to finish what we started. But first, I think I’m going to need a bath. I know this doesn’t sound very romantic, but I have sand in my butt crack.”
Armand assisted Mira with a quick check on the children on their way upstairs. Secure that all were safely snug in their beds, he took her by the hand, allowing her to lead him to her room.
“Too small for all the sensual delights I have planned for y
ou,” he said, taking a look around. “Besides, I have a fireplace and an oversized tub.”
“Hmmm. The fireplace sounds nice. All right. You win.”
He led Mira up the next flight of stairs to his third floor room.
Armand had taken dozens of women to bed over the years, mostly faceless, nameless women who wanted to use him. Always before it had been for sex, but this time it was different. Mira was special, a treasure of a woman who deserved to be cherished. Apparently her past lover had failed miserably in that respect. He wouldn’t disappoint her tonight.
In his suite, he drew a thick, luxuriant bubble bath for two and placed a few white votives he’d found in a drawer around the tub. Tiptoeing downstairs, he retrieved a few of the roses he’d gotten Mira from the base downstairs.
It had been a while since he’d entertained a lady, but he hadn’t forgotten the special touches they seemed to adore. He dimmed the lights, turned back the covers on the bed and plucked a few flower petals to scatter on the bed, then set the radio on low to soft jazz music. Once he’d finished setting a romantic mood, he stripped out of his clothes.
Back in the bathroom, Armand eased into the lush foam first, then reached for Mira who stood nearby. She stepped in and sunk to her knees between his outstretched legs. “Turn around and put your pretty little bum between my thighs,” he instructed.
Smiling impishly, she turned in the water, settling back against his newly growing erection. He locked his arms in an embrace around her beneath her breasts, nudged her.
She gasped. “Well…um… this is cozy.” She pressed her soft bottom against his semi-hard penis.
“Yes, and it’s about to get cozier if you wiggle that sweet little bottom of yours again.We might not make it to the bed.”
Armand relaxed in the warm, fragrant water with Mira cradled in his arms. Neither spoke for the longest time. No words were necessary. The only sounds in the room were an occasional drip from the faucet, or the scratch of a tree’s branch outside the window.
Midnight Craving (Contemporary Romance) Page 6
