by Joanne Rock
When I came out of the bathroom, Damien was just returning to the office from somewhere else in the half-finished building, a towel around his neck. His short hair was damp and pushed back from his face. His shirt a little more open at the collar than it had been.
My heart rate quickened. My breath caught. I stared at him, frozen, while he shut the door quietly. Locked it.
He caught my stare. Must have seen the way I eyed him like a drink after a hike through the desert.
“Hungry?” His gaze never left mine. I swear those hazel eyes pulled me to him as if I was on a string.
“Starving,” I whispered, right before I pressed myself against him, pressed my lips to his.
He didn’t seem to mind. In fact, the few noises he made while I kissed the ever-loving daylights out of the man sounded full of approval.
Eyes closed, arms twined around his neck, I backed him against the heavy wooden door. Kissing, wanting, panting. I peeled one layer of shirt off and then the other, until his chest was hot and naked against mine, the sculpted lines of smooth abs and narrow waist almost as appealing as the flat surface of his pectorals or the broad expanse of shoulders.
Looking wasn’t enough, though. I smoothed my hands over the warm, hard planes and drew deep, wet kisses from him until we were both edgy and excited.
“I’m in charge,” I warned him between kisses, savoring the way he let me do as I pleased.
“I’m strangely in the mood for taking orders.” His hands roamed over my body with all the self-assurance of a guy who knew exactly what he was about.
“No.” I gripped his wrists in manacles of thumbs and forefingers, not reaching all the way around. “I mean—I’m in charge.”
Shaelynn speaks! The notion flashed through my head, the idea of a character speaking through me not nearly as absurd as it should have been. I needed her strength. Her confidence. If I didn’t have much time left with Damien, I needed every second to count, every encounter to push me further toward becoming a normal, sensual, sexually empowered woman.
I felt his smile in a stretch of his lips beneath mine, a sensation that seemed sexy on the outside even as it warmed my heart. Yes!
“Can’t wait to see what you’re going to do with me,” he teased, his wrists going slack in my hands, the muscles in his forearms relaxing.
The action between his hips and mine...that didn’t relax one bit. Quite the opposite.
Bolstered, I rocked against him, liking the hard feel of him and the knowledge that I’d done it to him. I raised his arms higher, to shoulder height. Higher still.
“Am I your prisoner?” he asked, an eyebrow quirked as I kept going.
“Mostly I just like seeing things flex.” I dipped down to kiss his shoulder, where muscles had popped into delicious relief. Then I bent lower, to lick a kiss along the top of his biceps. “You taste good.”
I nipped a soft bite there, but he flexed again, making it impossible to get a hold on him. I kept him pinned in place, looking, and liking what I saw. Until I glanced into his eyes and saw a starker hunger there.
“What?” I loosened my hold.
“It’s nothing.” He shook his head. Stayed right where I’d left him, even though I wasn’t really holding him anymore.
Confused, I rubbed a finger against his arm. More friendly, less sexy. “Did I mess something up?”
Doubts crowded my mind, a quick avalanche of negative thoughts—
“No.” He grabbed me by the shoulders—gently. “Look at me. You could never mess this up. Ever. I’m so turned on I can’t think straight, which is why I...” He shook his head as if to clear it. “You said that thing, you know—‘you taste good.’”
“I remember.” I was holding the avalanche at bay. Or he was. I liked the way he held me. Talked to me.
I definitely liked how he looked at me. There was a sincerity in this man’s gaze that I was certain never left. He could be cynical. Unsocial, even. But he was honest. He didn’t have that layer of charm that most of Hollywood wore like a second skin. I’d bet anything he’d shed it like a hot potato when he moved up here.
“My brain went to all kinds of carnal places on that one.” He shook his head again, but this time, it seemed to be a gesture of regret. “I tried to rein in my imagination in the same way I held still for you, but I guess some of what I was thinking registered in my face.”
“Oh.” I tried to put that together. I’d said he tasted good. In turn, he’d thought... “Oh.”
I got it now. His expression hadn’t been disappointed. Or frustrated because I didn’t know what I was doing, or because I wasn’t my sister. He just wanted more. Of me.
He wanted really sexy things from me.
“Yeah. Oh.” He cleared his throat. “And that was just a stray, crazy, hot thing I was thinking about you, because I could think hot things about you 24/7 and still wake up wanting more.”
“Okay.” I nodded, more wild about this man than ever. What kind of magic did he possess to banish that whole storm of negative thoughts that had been about to slam over me? “Things are getting interesting, aren’t they? I like hearing that...you know...you want me.”
I pulled off my sweater in a move that had Damien’s undivided attention. It stuck on my forehead a little, but he helped tug it off and over, his attention...fixed. Heated. I didn’t even think about my body or bother to be self-conscious.
I was back in the Sexy Zone.
“Will you come lie down?” I asked, taking his hand.
There was a monstrous leather sectional at the far end of the room that looked like it could accommodate six grown men without them touching, so I figured it would work for us.
Dusk was falling fast outside, the purple light filtering in and making the candlelight seem brighter as I led him toward the corner.
“Want me to undress?” he asked hopefully, as he took a seat on the couch, the brick-red leather softly squeaking.
“I’m doing all the undressing here.” Just this once, I needed to be in charge. I hadn’t realized it until I started this little game of sexual dictatorship, but I was loving the power trip. Loving that he indulged me. “First I go. Then I’ll do you.”
He groaned as if this would be a unique brand of torment, but I was too busy unclasping my bra to pay attention. I wasn’t smooth about it, but somehow I unhooked the back with fingers that trembled. Slowly, I edged the straps off my shoulders, my touch lingering over smooth skin, senses ultra-aware. Shivers raced up my arms, my nails lightly grazing the sensitive back of one and then the other as I unwound myself from lace and satin.
Breasts beading even though the room was warm, I made a halfhearted attempt to cover myself. Not that I was embarrassed about my body—I’d conquered those old evils long ago. But I wanted his attention on what was going to be unveiled next.
Instead, his gaze snapped up to mine.
“Thank you.” The fierceness in his voice made me wonder how I’d earned the gratitude. Now, of all times.
“For what?” My fingers paused over the button of my jeans.
“I wanted to do something nice for you today, and instead, you’re giving me...” His eyes burned me like a candle flame. “...something so much better.”
My heart turned over in my chest.
“You’re an easy man to please.” I cupped his face, savoring the warmth of his jaw, the rough feel of five o’clock shadow.
I didn’t want to ever leave this place. Not Fraser Farm. Not this office. Not this moment. Even the thrill of sexual dominance didn’t compare with the soul-deep connection I felt to this man right now.
* * *
DAMIEN FELL FOR HER.
Hard.
He could feel himself going over the edge, and couldn’t do a thing to stop it even though he knew Miranda Cortland could vanish out of his li
fe as quickly as she’d charged into it. She was so damn vivid, so bright, so too-good-to-be-true, he half wondered if he’d dreamed her.
“Is it my turn yet?” he asked, needing to break the spell, needing to just get his hands on her so he could channel all of what he was feeling into making her feel good. “To touch you?”
He took a risk and cupped her bare waist, the skin creamy and soft. High, perfect breasts turned up at the tips, just out of reach of his mouth. When she didn’t protest, he kissed just beneath the left one and caught the barest hint of fragrance. Something warm and sweet, like vanilla.
“You can have a turn,” she agreed, her hands stroking his arms and shoulders, the grazing touch winding him up again. “I’ll reserve the rights to a full striptease another day.”
“I’m going to hold you to that.” He wanted to squeeze her tighter. Make sure she stayed. “I may need to work up the stamina to withstand it.”
“Was it so painful?”
“Seeing you get naked and not touch you?” He looked up at her in the flickering candlelight, her skin tinged with warm, golden tones. “I wouldn’t call it painful so much as...a test of restraint.”
He spanned her rib cage with one hand and lowered a kiss to her flat abdomen just above the waistband of her jeans. Just below the belly-button snake ring that had driven him crazy that first day.
“Doesn’t anyone ever tell you no?” she teased, her hands combing through his hair, down the back of his neck, over his shoulders.
“Not anyone that I’ve ever wanted to say yes to this badly.” Unfastening the clasp on the denim, he shoved her jeans down her hips, kissing his way along the lace trim of neon pink panties.
She stilled when he dipped his tongue beneath the edge, tasting her soft skin. Her nails flexed into his flesh and she gasped.
Pushing the denim farther down her legs, he coaxed one foot off the ground and then the other, tugging the jeans away and the pink underwear with them.
“Now you,” she urged, rotating her finger in a spinning motion, as if to show him how fast she wanted him to move. “Can you take those off?”
He could see the flush in her cheeks and the bright light in her blue eyes that said she wanted this as much as him. There was no more taking their time. Without answering, he stood to wrestle worn jeans over unyielding flesh, kicking aside boxer shorts, too. The only thing he kept was the condom packet he placed on an arm of the sofa. But before he could lower her onto the couch with him, she sank to her knees in front of him.
And he’d thought he was done testing his restraint? He bit the inside of his cheek as she brushed soft lips up the rigid length of his shaft. The sight of her kissing and tasting him, her hands splayed on his hip bones, sent a hot surge through his blood. Grinding his teeth together, he tried not to think about how good she felt or how sweet she looked or how much he wanted to be inside her before he lost it.
But he waited. Held back. Twined his fingers in wild curls that would be gorgeous any color she dyed them. And only when his release was imminent—tingling in the base of his erection and driving him out of his ever-loving mind—did he lift her to her feet. Her satisfied smile made his restraint worth it, that sweet, feminine confidence obvious.
He didn’t let her savor the moment, though. He’d waited until the last possible second, and now he needed her. Tearing apart the condom packet he’d left out, he rolled on protection. Lowered her to the wide leather cushions of the sectional and positioned himself between her thighs.
Light freckles sprinkled across her chest and shoulders called to his tongue. He kissed a path between them, licking and nipping his way across her collarbone while he coaxed a finger inside her. Tested her warmth and heat. She arched her back. Rolled her hips into his touch.
He could have touched her like that all day if he hadn’t already been pushed to the edge himself. But she was more than ready for this. For him. The slick wetness on his finger drove him wild. He circled her sex, rolling his thumb along the swollen nub, working the sensitized flesh until she moaned and undulated against him.
When he entered her, she tossed her head back, urging him on with sweet, incoherent words of encouragement. She wanted him, she needed him, please, please, please....
Like a siren’s call, the breathy sound of her made him forget everything except this moment. Except eliciting the next soft moan for more. He thrust his hips harder. Faster. She moved with him until her legs locked around his waist, holding him fast. She arched hard against him, hips grinding into his as she found her release.
Feminine muscles tightened and contracted, softened and then tightened again. And again. Miranda was caught in a storm of sweet, sensual waves, her whole body riding the crest of that hot momentum. He held her through it, taking all those lush, intimate touches until her hips stopped bucking, her thighs loosening just a little.
Then he thrust just twice more. Burying himself deep inside her, he came so hard he saw stars. Stars. That wasn’t waxing poetic. He was pretty sure it was the return of oxygen and blood to his brain, after his body had held it hostage for so long to fuel the headiest sex of his life.
Collapsing to one side so as not to crush her, he waited for his breath to return. Or his senses. He could have slept with her in his arms right there all night and been perfectly content.
But this date wasn’t supposed to be about him. He’d arranged the horseback ride for her. A meal they hadn’t eaten—for her. He needed to stop getting distracted with how much he wanted her, and focus on how he could keep her.
“Miranda?” He couldn’t move yet, but he was speaking. It was a start.
“Hmm?”
He smiled a little, to think coherent speech was a struggle for her, too.
“Are you hungry?”
10
“MMM.” THE APPRECIATIVE RUMBLE in the back of Damien’s throat let me know he was enjoying the game we played an hour later as we half sat, half sprawled near each other on the office floor. “That tastes so good.”
A shiver of pleasure went through me as I understood why those same words, when I’d spoken them earlier tonight, had made him think sexy thoughts. They did the same for me now. I fanned myself.
Not that Damien could see, since he was blindfolded.
“But what does it taste like?” I prompted, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of him, the remains of our picnic scattered around. We’d eaten everything in a nest of blankets spread over the Persian carpet, like a couple of decadent Roman nobles.
I leaned back against the displaced leather couch cushion and waited for his verdict. I’d used the office’s coffeepot to heat water for tea, since I always carried a small stash in my purse. Tea bags take up about as much room as an extra tissue, and that way I always have my favorite flavors. So after a lunch catered by a local winery, I’d come up with the idea of a taste test.
“It reminds me of you.” He lifted the edge of his shirt up over one eye to look at me, the rest of the flannel still tied around his head, where I’d secured it earlier. His chest was, happily, naked. He’d pulled on his jeans for dinner and I’d worn his other shirt.
“Me?” I laughed, a little giddy from my one glass of wine. Plus I’d thrown myself into the “live for the moment” idea and wanted to squeeze every second of joy that I could out of this window of time with Damien. “I’m pretty sure I don’t taste anything like tea.”
“I definitely recall a hint of vanilla.” He set down the cup I’d given him and shoved the flannel blindfold the rest of the way off. “Right here.” He leaned over a crimson chenille throw blanket and brushed his fingertips along the spot just beneath my breast through the fabric of the cotton shirt I wore. “I kissed you there and the scent of you reminds me of this tea. Vanilla.”
My breasts felt heavy with awareness, the nipples beading as soon as he touch
ed me. Since I hadn’t bothered to put my bra back on, I knew he could tell, now that the blindfold lay forgotten on the floor.
“Well.” I tried to ignore the pheromones back at work between us. My eyes went to his lips as I thought about him kissing me there. “You have an excellent sense of taste, it seems. That one is vanilla with cinnamon.”
His smile was part triumph and part pure wickedness.
“Are you sure? Because I can put my mouth on you again and double-check.” He was already coming for me across the blanket, the discarded silver trays and lids clanking as he disturbed them.
“I have a better way of testing it.” I skittered backward, laughing. “There’s another tea you haven’t tried.”
He sat down, planting an arm on the leather ottoman that had been his backrest a moment ago. “Seriously?” He frowned while I poured hot water over the bag in yet another disposable cup. “How much tea does one woman need on a horseback ride?”
“It’s just a little tin.” I held it up to show him a case no bigger than most women’s compacts, the fabric of my T-shirt dragging across my taut, sensitive left nipple. “I keep a handful of tea choices in there so I have them with me most any time.”
“What made you decide you want to run a tearoom?” He took the cup from me, but didn’t drink out of it. The scents wafted between us, a complex bouquet he’d probably never guess. “It’s a long way from small-town farmer’s daughter to Hollywood actress to tearoom proprietor.”
“The acting thing was just a stopgap.” I knew that even going into it. “I wanted a more exotic life—some reason to feel like I was running to something instead of running away from the past. And since lots of people dream of going into show business, I could tell myself it was a step forward, even though I was just sort of...biding time.”
“What kinds of jobs did you land? Anything I would have seen?”
“Depends how you feel about late night infomercials for skin cream or advertisements for local fast-food chains.”
“That bad?”
“No.” I had purposely trotted out the bottom-of-the-barrel jobs to make him smile, but instead his brow wrinkled with worry. “I had tiny roles in a few movies and landed a minor character in a sitcom that didn’t get picked up after one season. But it was enough for me to hold my head high when my parents would call and tell me to return home.”
