Cold As Stone (Family Stone #7 John) (Family Stone Romantic Suspense)

by Lisa Hughey

  His brain kept returning to the flash of helplessness in her eyes when she’d admitted that she had a problem.

  What he should be remembering was her absolute ball-busting attitude.

  But instead, he recalled in perfect detail the strips of flesh revealed by the sex-on-a-stick dress she wore and the shadowed valley of her cleavage. Fully dressed, she’d commanded his attention far better than the nearly nude showgirls on the stage.

  As if he’d conjured her up, the door between her bedroom and the living area opened quietly. Rissa crept into the room, clearly trying to be stealthy. He sat in the shadows, knowing she was likely awake for the same reasons he was.

  Demons. They haunted her too.

  He didn’t want to disturb her. Of course, that was self-serving. Because he didn’t really want to explain why he was sitting here in the dark either.

  There was a slim possibility that she’d grab whatever she needed from the kitchen and head back into her room. Hopefully before she saw him skulking in the dark. John couldn’t help but track her movements. The glow from the light above the stove cast her in shadows, emphasizing the lush curves of her ass and breasts. John’s mouth watered. She tempted him. Like a siren calling to the sailor, the one who couldn’t resist, he wanted to swoop in and draw her to him. But in that moment he realized he wasn’t just drawn to her body, although it was spectacular. He was also attracted to her strength, to her intensity, to her sheer determination.

  While his mind hungered, his body lusted, responding to her proximity. And he wanted. Even as he shifted restlessly, he acknowledged that he couldn’t have her.

  “Oh,” she gasped when she saw him sitting on the sofa.

  Busted.

  “Hey,” he gutted out, his voice gravelly with the burn of embarrassment, and he was thankful that she likely couldn’t see him very well.

  See his stump. Again.

  He silently cursed his instinctive need to cover up, to hide from her. Which pissed him off. He shouldn’t be ashamed of his injury. He’d served his country. He’d sacrificed to keep people like her safe, and if she couldn’t appreciate it, then fuck her.

  Whoa.

  John shook his head, trying desperately to get rid of that rage-y rant. She’d never once given him any indication she found his stump disgusting. Clearly he still needed to work through some things.

  While he’d been fighting with himself, there was a hitch in her step, and he could almost feel her indecision. With one slow inhale, she continued into the living room. Continued closer to him.

  Rissa walked over to the sofa and dropped into the armchair next to him. The one closest to his residual limb. But she wasn’t looking at his leg, she was staring at his face. He figured his expression must be fierce, manifesting all the anger and rage he’d been spewing, if only in his mind and plain to see.

  “Can’t sleep?” she asked quietly.

  John fought the urge to massage the ball of his knee. No need to draw attention to it. Even in the dark of night, her hair mussed from bed—and holy hell there was a place his brain did not need to go—she exuded an inner grace and ethereal beauty. When she wasn’t speaking she had a fragility that was counter to her take-charge attitude.

  The primal urge to mess up that serenity, to savage that beauty, boiled inside him. So he forced himself to break his gaze from hers and rein in those desires that only seemed to grow the longer he spent in her company. What had she asked? Couldn’t sleep?

  “Yeah.” He wanted to talk about his feelings as much as he wanted to show her his stump. But they were, in fact, partners and if she needed to talk he needed to listen. “You okay?”

  He wondered if she were reliving her freak-out at the strip club.

  “Um, yeah.” Rissa shifted her gaze to the blank television. She rubbed her biceps. He took the opportunity to stare hungrily at her. Her supple flesh was hidden beneath a large white men’s T-shirt and masculine flannel shorts in a black and light gray plaid. Not sexy. Except the outfit revealed her smooth, sleek thighs, and the outline of her pert nipples beneath the worn cotton shirt was visible even in the very dim lighting. He wasn’t sure but he thought she flushed.

  Suddenly the room seemed warm, close. Her scent, the subtle aroma of pure sexy woman, wafted in the air, as if her skin had heated and released the perfume to tantalize. To tempt.

  His cock rose unbidden as she shivered in the warm air.

  The scent hit his nose, and his body responded as if she’d stood up and done a strip tease. What the hell was wrong with him? Partner, partner, he silently chanted, even as his body shouted sexy, sexy, sex. The drumbeat in his blood got louder and louder with each pulse of his cock.

  Shit. Abstinence suddenly seemed like a terrible idea. And double, triple shit, his boner was going to be evident soon. If she moved her head even a bit, she’d see the fucking wood he was sporting.

  And there was nothing he could conveniently use to cover the club in his shorts.

  Which sucked. Because A: she wouldn’t possibly want to get with him, and B: he hadn’t had sex since before his injury.

  It was going to be awkward as hell whenever he finally got around to it.

  And marring her perfection with his ugly body was not going to happen. No matter how much his cock stood up and begged.

  She leaned forward until her elbows were on her knees. Which would have been fine except now she seemed hyper-focused on the coffee table. But if she lifted her gaze at all she was going to get an eyeful of his erection.

  Because the monster just seemed to keep growing.

  “Want to talk about it?” The last fucking he thing he wanted to do but hopefully if he kept her talking she wouldn’t notice his very obvious attraction.

  Her low laugh trilled. “God, no.”

  Which should have made him feel better. But when she laughed, a puff of breath blew against his thigh. And he couldn’t help but think about how close she was.

  Heat rose between them.

  She had her fists clenched tightly.

  It had been a really, really long time since he’d had sex. Longer than he cared to think about. And suddenly all he could think about was the fact that she was close enough to reach out and touch.

  “How about you?” she asked. There was a note in her voice he couldn’t place. But the husky rasp skittered over his nerve endings.

  “How about me what?”

  “Anything you want to…talk about?” She dropped her gaze to his lap. Instead of freezing him with an ice-queen glare, her intense stare was hot. She licked her lips and he was pretty damn sure that it was an unconscious gesture. She was as stiff as his cock and he could feel the intensity radiating from her.

  He had an idea where she was going and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why.

  “What are you doing?” His tone was harsh, almost accusatory. Because damn, he wanted her. And if she didn’t hightail it back to her side of the suite PDQ, he was going to do something they’d both regret.

  “Nothing, apparently.” She laughed again but this time it was embarrassed.

  She stumbled to her feet. But she’d gotten up so fast that she overbalanced and began to fall forward. If he didn’t catch her, she was going to land right on his stump.

  John jerked and reached out to catch her as she pitched toward the coffee table.

  He caught her at the elbow, her skin silky beneath his rougher palms.

  But his hold had thrown her more off balance and now she was headed for the sofa and his lap.

  In a second, she’d planted her hands on the opposite side of his hips, her ass was sticking up in the air, right at his eye level, and her T-shirt had gaped open enough for him to see her bare, generous breasts. It was too dark to make out the color but her nipples were hard little buttons.

  “Sheesh.” She exhaled in another puff of breath.

  John froze. He didn’t move a single muscle. He barely even breathed. The only sound he could hear was the rush of blood thro
ugh his veins.

  John’s gaze was riveted on her breasts. His mouth watered, and his body reacted predictably to the sight of all those lush female curves mere inches from his lips, hardening even further with a powerful rush of blood to all the pertinent and long unused places.

  Rissa didn’t move either.

  Then, she dropped her head down, her hair tumbling around her face and hiding her from him. Her shoulders hunched and her gaze was now firmly fixed on the tent in his shorts. The ends of her hair brushed the bare skin of his thigh.

  He huffed out an embarrassed breath.

  Fuck.

  He could feel every pound of his heartbeat in his cock. And he wanted out but he was trapped effectively by the cage of her body. There was no way to get up and away until she moved.

  Heat rose from his body as he reacted to the nearness of hers.

  Until finally the temptation was too much. John lifted his rough hand, staring almost as if it was attached to someone else, as if he were watching some other guy think about touching her. With a gentle curl of his fingers, he brushed her black hair away from the curve of her cheek so that he could see her face.

  Goddamn. He wanted. So fucking much.

  She’d inhaled. Didn’t seem to be breathing. Was barely moving, poised over him.

  Had she shifted closer?

  Anticipation shimmered in the silent room.

  John leaned forward. Her eyes drifted closed. He paused when they were barely an inch apart. Her sweet minty breath whispered over his mouth. John finally closed the distance between them and pressed his lips to hers. He sucked the plump curve of her bottom lip lightly into his mouth. The contact was gentle but not tentative. His touch far surer than he felt. No hesitation. No uncertainty.

  He kissed her, his thumb brushing over her cheek and his other palm cupping her jaw with an exquisite tenderness. Treating her as if she were fragile, taking care not to hurt her.

  He couldn’t think past how good this felt.

  He gave her time to pull away. But damn he hoped and prayed she wouldn’t. Heat, desire wrapped around them in the intimate darkness like a cloak protecting them from outside threat.

  Rissa lifted her palm to his bare shoulder and he shuddered. Then she broke the kiss and pushed slightly away from him. Her face was shadowed as she perched, one hand on the couch next to his hip and her other soft against the ball of his shoulder. She stared into his eyes, her gaze questioning, hesitant.

  The only sound in the room was their harsh breathing. Far too harsh for the light kiss they’d shared.

  Rissa’s chest heaved in and out, her fingers clenched against his bare skin. But what slayed him was the expression in her eyes. They were mostly in the dark. The glow of the light from the stove cast an uneven reflection over their silhouettes. But John could see the naked vulnerability in her gaze.

  His own likely wasn’t much better.

  John was used to action. Used to kicking ass and taking names but he’d lost some of that mojo when he’d lost his leg.

  He sat there, giving her the control to choose what happened next, hoping she’d choose to stay, before doubts and insecurity could kick in and she’d retreat.

  Right now he wasn’t thinking about logistics or how awkward it was going to be. Right now he was waiting for the green light and then maybe he’d worry about that stuff. Because right now all he could think about was sinking into her wet heat.

  Of reveling in the welcoming clasp of her body. Of drowning in sex. Of losing himself in physical pleasure. Because it had been so damn long.

  But the next move was up to her.

  Rissa teetered on the edge of reason.

  This was a bad idea. Really bad. Her head wasn’t in a good place. She wasn’t even sure his head was in the right space.

  Light from between the small gap in the curtains slanted across his face and highlighted his eyes. And the hope in his hazel gaze struck a chord deep within her.

  His skin was supple beneath her palm. Rissa hesitated one more moment, then decided to let everything go. They both needed this.

  She’d been attracted to him from the moment they’d met. She just hadn’t thought they’d ever have the opportunity to get this physically close. But now that she was here, she didn’t want to waste the chance.

  She glanced down at his legs, for a second unsure if it would hurt if she sat on his lap. Then she mentally shrugged. He wasn’t shy. He’d move her if she was causing him any pain. So Rissa swung her right leg over his lap and then knelt over him on the sofa. Her knees bracketed his hips and she braced both hands instinctively on his shoulders. His broad, muscular, naked shoulders.

  John let out a long, slow sigh and tilted his head back against the sofa. “Thank fuck.”

  For some reason his obvious relief loosened the tightness of insecurity and she let out a little chuckle.

  John’s big hands came to her hips and he settled her on his thighs. A sense of peace descended over her as other impressions registered. The nubby texture of the sofa on her knees and calves, his silky shorts beneath her butt, and the scratchiness of the hair on his thighs as he slid her along his legs until he cradled her hips with his.

  The thick length of his erection rubbed against her swollen and throbbing sex. And she suddenly understood that whole historical-romance notion of swooning because her head went light and she practically melted into him.

  With one small tug, she fell against his chest. Her breasts smashed against his hard muscles.

  John let out a groan as she pressed against his heat. Rissa’s fists had flattened out and she was caressing his shoulders in slow, languorous strokes. Goose bumps peppered his skin.

  And he stared into her eyes, the moment fraught with an unexpected tension. She’d made the first move so now she figured it was his turn. But he was perfectly still, no action. Finally, she nudged him.

  “You going to kiss me or what?”

  John angled his head and dove into the kiss.

  She’d spread her hips wide and their bodies synced as if they’d done this a thousand times together. He kissed her like time had stopped, stalled, and everything faded away except the sensual details, wrapping them in a cocoon of intimacy.

  He cupped her hips in his large palms and edged his thumbs beneath her T-shirt, rubbing lightly against her waist. His callused fingers whispered along her skin, and her body clenched, hungry for him. Hungry for something more than this delicate touch.

  Her nipples tightened to nearly painful buds as he leisurely nipped at her mouth. His naked skin was supple and warm beneath her touch. Arousal pulsed deep and low in her body.

  She nibbled at his mouth, urging him to move faster, kiss her harder. But as if she had pushed a button, he slowed down. He skated one palm over her hip and along her thigh. Everything clenched. Then he slid his hand back, coming perilously closer to where she needed him. She gripped him by the jaw and jammed her mouth over his.

  “So impatient,” he murmured against her lips.

  “It’s been a while,” she confessed, trying to let him know she was on the edge. Sexual frustration was making her crazy. Because she was one step away from grabbing him and inhaling him.

  He cleared his throat, lifted his gaze. His hazel eyes glowed in the dimly lit room, the expression on his face was wry. “Me too.”

  They held there, on the precipice.

  Breath mingled. Anticipation was heavy in the heated air.

  She slid her fingers through the short strands of his black hair and scraped her nails over his scalp, and let triumph roar when he groaned again and lifted his hips so his cock rubbed against her clit. Their admissions unleashed the restrained passion.

  She slid her palms down his muscular chest and abs, and his muscles flexed beneath her hands even as he skimmed her T-shirt up and over her head.

  John lifted his palms to her breasts and cupped them in his hands. His thumbs rubbed over her distended nipples and her body liquefied. He leaned forward and sucked
one nipple into his mouth. The hot suction zapped electricity straight to her clit as he sucked voraciously on one nipple while his hand played intently with the other.

  Electricity tingled through her from the twin assaults, his attention pushing her toward a spectacular orgasm. But she didn’t want to go over that edge alone.

  The tip of his cock pushed from the waist of his basketball shorts and glistened with a drop of pre-come.

  Rissa rubbed her thumb over the head of his cock and slipped her hand beneath the elastic. She curled her fingers around his impressive girth and caught her breath at the thought of that thick long cock inside her.

  She squeezed and he pulled his mouth from her breast.

  “Goddamn, Riss,” he wheezed. “You’re killing me.”

  “But what a way to go, huh?” she teased, slightly surprised by the playfulness. She wasn’t usually comfortable enough during sex to relax enough to play.

  She pushed his shorts down to completely expose his penis. A nest of dark curls framed his impressive thickness as his cock jutted up between them.

  “I want,” she said.

  “Hell, yes.” John shoved at her shorts. It hit them at the same time that she was going to have to stand up to get her shorts off. Rissa scrambled off his lap and shoved her shorts to the floor. She should have been at least slightly uncomfortable standing in front of him completely naked. But his appreciative hot, crazy stare made her feel powerful, like a goddess.

  “You are so fucking beautiful.”

  Exterior beauty is fleeting. “It’s what is on your inside that’s beautiful,” she murmured, thinking of his strength, his peace.

  Her gaze skimmed over him, the scars and nicks that decorated his body like medals of honor. She traced them with her gaze and then her fingers, touching lightly on all those imperfections, anointing them with a gentle caress to show him how much she appreciated his sacrifice. Until her hand skimmed down his left leg. “So much honor inside you. I respect you so much.”