Impatience made him shake; he needed two tries to tug his sweater off over his head and three to unbutton his jeans and work the zipper over his straining erection.
It took her too long to unfasten the front of her bra, and she had no business doing that, anyway, when he was itching to touch her. So he caught both of her hands in one of his and pinned them to the blanket over her head, where they were out of his way.
“I’ll do that,” he said, undoing the clasp.
Wrong move. Because the sight of those breasts bouncing free, the nipples dark and distended and just begging for his mouth, brought out the poorly hidden animal in him. Growling—yeah, he actually made a crazy rumbling sound like a dog going for his bone and protecting it from the rest of his pack—he filled his hands to overflowing with all that firm flesh, squeezed them together, and tasted. Licking and suckling, rubbing and nipping, he hoped, in a distant corner of his overwrought mind, that she liked what he was doing because it sure as hell was working for him.
He couldn’t get enough of all the sensations of her. Like the way when he drew hard on a nipple, using his tongue to stroke that sweet deliciousness against the roof of his mouth, her fingers tightened on his head, scratching his scalp in a desperate effort to keep him close. Or the way her back arched, making her rise up to meet him, and her strangled cries coalesced into a symphony of all the things he wanted to hear.
“Hunter…ah, God, don’t stop. Don’t stop…please.”
She was everything. In the entire world, there was only her body in his hands, her voice in his ears, her taste in his mouth and the faint and earthy scent of her arousal filling his nostrils. She was everything, and he couldn’t get enough.
Thrilling as these breasts were, he had other ground to cover.
Sliding lower, he rubbed his face all over her heaving belly, encountering that tiny little ring he’d seen earlier. Interesting. Wonder what she’d do if he dipped his tongue—
“Hunter.” She writhed, her hips twisting and apparently beyond her control. “Hunter.”
Oh, yeah. He liked that.
And he liked those sexy little panties but they had to go, and he didn’t have time for sliding them down her ten miles of legs. What else could he do? Using both hands, he ripped them apart, pulled them off and threw them…somewhere.
There she was. That beautiful cleft between her thighs was swollen and ruddy, glistening with cream that he needed to taste. Leaning down—man, he was about to explode here—he breathed her in, making himself high with her scent, and then he ran his tongue over her with the kind of greed that would be right at home at an all-night buffet. Above him, she’d gone silent, either too stunned by this raw pleasure between them to speak—or asleep.
He was betting she wasn’t asleep.
“Stop torturing me.” Her breathless voice was the tiniest whisper, something he felt more than heard. “I need you inside me.”
Yeah. He needed that, too.
Shoving his jeans and boxer briefs just far enough down his hips to free himself, he rose up, hooking her behind the knee with the crook of his arm and spreading her wide as he went. There was a second as he looked into her face and saw the stars’ reflection in her heavy-lidded eyes and those dewy lips of hers, swollen now, curled in a half smile, that he absolutely couldn’t breathe. Poised to enter all that slick heat, he felt something swell inside him that had nothing to do with the orgasm gathering strength and getting ready to let loose.
Had he done something right? Was that it? Because he’d never imagined he had an experience like this—a woman like this—coming to him.
“Livia,” he said, but beyond that he was mute.
Her answer was to widen that smile by an inch, tip her chin up and give his bottom lip a long, slow stroke with her tongue.
Anything he’d been holding back from her was unleashed by that single act.
Groaning, he palmed the engorged length of his penis and entered her with a single hard thrust.
Chapter 10
Jesus.
The feeling of all that honey-slick tightness closing around him almost stroked him out on the spot. Paralyzed with exquisite sensation, he didn’t dare move below the waist but couldn’t stop his eyes from rolling closed or his head from dropping into the fragrant hollow between her neck and shoulder. She smelled like honeysuckle and felt like an unspeakable new heaven that he hadn’t had to die to reach. This fitting together of their bodies also felt like home.
Never in his life, not ever once, had being with a woman unraveled him like this.
Moving against him, she circled her hips and moaned with such unabashed delight that she snapped him out of it and fired him up even more, if that were possible. Pulling out to the tip, he thrust, setting a punishing pace that made him both lose his mind and also settle more fully into her body than he’d been before.
Those long legs of hers wrapped around him with the strength of a vise grip and he went deeper. Felt more.
Every detail came into excruciating focus: the cool night air against his back, the candlelight surrounding them, the slapping contact of his tightening balls and her ass, her flattened breasts against his chest, the hard twin points of her nipples, the silk of her hair in his hands, the wet fullness of her sucking tongue in his mouth and the encouraging croon in her throat.
It was all too much; he wouldn’t have been able to hold anything back even if the punishment was death.
Just as her cries reached a thrilling crescendo and her inner muscles began their rhythmic pulse around him, the orgasm roared through him with the force of an arrow shooting out of an Olympic archer’s bow.
He came. And came and came and came, shouting her name and pouring so much of himself inside her that he had no hope of ever being whole without her ever again. The whole time they rode it out, he gathered her closer, held her tighter, and even when his body’s urgency had begun to cool and it should have been enough, it wasn’t.
They melted together into the blanket, still joined, and the kissing subsided into nuzzles until, finally, he shifted enough of his weight for her to breathe and rested his forehead against her cheek.
When sated exhaustion should have been claiming him, his thoughts danced to life and twirled through his brain as though someone was throwing an impromptu party with four hundred dancing couples in there.
Wait a minute…what the hell just happened?
He hadn’t finessed her.
He hadn’t managed to take his jeans and underwear all the way off and was now hobbled about the ankles like some unfortunate horse.
He hadn’t remembered to use a condom.
None of that particularly bothered him. In fact, he couldn’t wait to do it again.
That was what bothered him.
What had happened to his life since this sweet siren showed up in it? What was she doing to him? What the hell was he going to do when she left?
Apprehension shivered through him, making him cold.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
He lifted his lids to see those clear hazel eyes staring into his, waiting for an answer he couldn’t provide. What could he say? That he had the growing fear that he couldn’t live without her? That he hadn’t thought about his dead wife, Annette, during this interlude, not even once? That the more time he spent with Livia, the more living he wanted to do, even though he’d spent years wishing the accident had killed him, too? That this thing between them was so much bigger than he’d anticipated?
Of course not.
“I meant to use a condom,” he said instead. “I’m sorry.”
“We’ll use them next time. I’m on the pill, anyway.”
“Yeah?” he said, trying to act like this was good news when his gut was doing a sickening little lurch.
“So.” Turning her head, she ran the backs of her fingers against his cheek and kissed him again, slipping her tongue into his mouth, where he wanted it. “Should we eat some of that dinner you cooked?”
&n
bsp; “Yeah,” he said, rolling over her again and giving those spectacular breasts a bit more of the attention they deserved. “In a minute.”
*
Hunter walked her back to her cottage just as a pink-tinged dawn was breaking against the mountains on the horizon. What was that saying? Oh, yeah—Red in the morning, sailors take warning; red at night is sailors’ delight. Or something like that. So that meant rain today, for the first time since she’d arrived. She could already touch the growing damp in the breeze and it felt like an omen worth noting.
Something had changed. Sometime between their glorious night on the dock, huddled under the quilts, making love, talking and eating the world’s best grilled steaks, the walk to the cottage and now, Hunter had stopped touching her. For good measure, he’d even shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and had them balled into unmistakable fists.
That was bad.
What was worse was his shifting gaze, which seemed to land on everything that wasn’t her. The growing awkwardness between them felt like approaching doom, and if she’d looked up to see a rampaging herd of elephants heading in their direction, she’d have this same suffocating tightness in her throat.
Still, she didn’t have to act needy. For one, Mama didn’t raise any fools, and for two, he’d never promised her a lifetime, or even more than one night, of that heart-stopping sex.
He was a man, she was a woman, they’d enjoyed each other and maybe now it was over. Fine. Big deal. She was a grown woman and she’d get over it without lowering herself to the level of burrs clinging to his pants as he walked.
Her? Please. She was so far above all that kind of nonsense it wasn’t even funny. Many people considered her to be one of the most beautiful women in the world, so she didn’t need to fret and wonder about any particular man. Someone else would turn up soon.
What was it that Beyoncé sang? “I can have another you by tomorrow,” wasn’t it? Yeah. That.
Opening her mouth, she prepared to say something witty and unconcerned so she could demonstrate her sophisticated understanding of what sex meant and didn’t mean.
“Will I see you later?” she blurted.
At last he looked at her and she wished he hadn’t. Gone was her lover from last night, replaced by the cool-eyed, granite-faced stranger who’d confronted her in the parking lot that first day. This was the man she didn’t know and wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
As though he knew something was going on and she needed moral support from wherever she could find it, Willard materialized just then, providing a much needed, though temporary, distraction. Yawning and shaking that huge body to wake himself all the way up, he woofed, trotted over and sat at her feet, bumping her hand with his head in case she needed a hint.
Grateful for his comfort, she scratched his ears and clung to his warmth, since she wasn’t getting any from Hunter, who ignored her question altogether.
“When are you leaving?” he asked.
Ah. Was that the heart of the matter, then? Did he prefer she pack and head out right now or was the thought of her going home killing him? Looked like the former.
“Ethan and Rachel are due this evening. We’ll check out the chapel, I guess, and then head out as early as tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” he echoed.
His face gave nothing away, which was a real trick. Though she’d done a little acting, she wasn’t good enough to stand here and play it cool for another second, so it was time to wrap this up.
Forcing a smile, she kept her voice light. “Thanks for the picnic.”
There went his gaze again, shifting off toward something over her shoulder while he jerked his thumb over his own. “I should get going. Kendra’ll be getting ready for school soon, and I need to—”
“I understand,” she said quickly, beginning to hate him with a seething virulence that they should really bottle and use as a pesticide, it was that strong.
He nodded, already a thousand miles away from her before his steps took him to the edge of the porch. There was no kiss. No hug. Nothing but the generic “See you later” that he might’ve said to the cashier at the farmer’s market.
“See you later,” she replied.
She watched him go as the first drops of rain began to fall.
*
The rain came down in driving sheets that did nothing to help Livia’s gloomy mood. Going out in that mess was unthinkable so she never even considered it. After showering and a room service breakfast, she took up a listless post on the living-room sofa, watching a Dog Wrangler marathon (the episode with the bulldog’s obsession with skateboarding always made her laugh) on the B and B’s satellite TV system and hunkering under a down blanket for comfort.
Willard, who’d apparently decided he was her pet, sprawled atop her legs, which was something like cuddling with an overweight fawn. To her surprise, he was a fine companion, except for when he barked back at the barking dogs on the show. That, she could do without.
Hunter didn’t call.
Not during the morning and not after she shared her paella lunch with Willard, who loved the shrimp but wasn’t so big on the mussels. When three o’clock-ish came, she figured he was getting Kendra off the bus from school, and when four o’clock came, she wondered if she should maybe think about changing her clothes for when Ethan and Rachel arrived.
Buuuut…nah.
It was so much better to wallow in her self-pity for being stupid enough to fall more than halfway in love with a man she’d met on vacation.
The loneliness was excruciating, which was pretty funny considering she’d only known him for a few days. If she’d never met him, she’d’ve been fine. If she’d merely kissed and flirted with him, she’d’ve been fine. Hell, if she’d merely had sex with him, she probably would’ve been fine.
But the agonizing combination of their wonderful daytime hours yesterday followed by the best sex of her life, followed by snuggling and talking and more sex, followed by today’s absolute absence of him from her life, made her feel as though she was dying. As though the best part of her had been ripped away and wasn’t coming back. As though this echoing hollowness inside her could never be filled.
How crazy was that?
She levered herself up just enough to gaze down at the dog, who had his snout resting on her knees. “Am I insane, Willard?”
That mournful look of his was answer enough.
Yeah. It figured.
Slumping back with emotional exhaustion, she tried to refocus on TV.
Screw Hunter Chambers. Screw him.
Her cell phone bleated, the sound echoing off the walls like the crack of a rifle. First she jumped ten feet in the air. Then her pulse went haywire on account of her soaring heart. Then she scrambled upright and grabbed it off the end table, simultaneously smoothing her Medusa-worthy hair out of her face, like that mattered.
True, she’d written Hunter off and never wanted to see him again. But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t take his call and read him the riot act for this shabby treatment today. Oh, yes. If he thought he could do this to her, then he’d better— “Hello?”
“Hey, girl,” said Rachel.
“Oh.” It was impossible to switch gears between crashing disappointment that it wasn’t Hunter and happy surprise that it was Rachel instead, so she didn’t even try. “Rachel. Hi.”
“Okay, what’s wrong with you? Did you get hit by a truck?”
Friends. That was both the good thing and the bad thing about them—they knew when you were feeling down in the dumps and didn’t have the decency to ignore your misery and let you wallow in peace. Normally she told Rachel everything that was going on, but then she’d never had her life turned upside down quite the way Hunter had done. Now wasn’t the time to get into it; she’d barely had time to process anything herself, and there’d be time enough to dissect her tragic love life once Rachel and Ethan arrived.
“Hello?” Rachel snapped. “What’s wrong?”
“Cramps,” Livia l
ied. “Are you on your way?”
“Ah. About that…”
“No way. No. Freaking. Way.”
“We can’t get away yet, Livie. Sorry. This thing is running long and I—”
“Well, are you talking another day or two delay or—”
“Three weeks.”
What? Three—what?
Dropping the phone away from her ear, Livia gaped at Willard, who yawned and scratched his jaw with one of his hind legs in an underwhelming display of support.
Okay. Okay, girl. Pull it together.
“Did you just say three weeks, Rachel? Is that what I’m hearing?”
“I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry. But there’s nothing we can do. This thing is so far behind schedule—”
“I’ll just come home.” Yeah. That made the most sense. “I’ll come home tomorrow, and you and Ethan can come on your own, when you have time. You don’t need me to scope locations for your wedding.”
“No! I need you, and I was looking forward to this! You can’t let me down like this—”
“I can’t stay here for three more weeks.” A desperate, lonely vista opened up before her at the idea: twenty-one days spent on this very sofa with Willard, longing for Hunter and remembering the good old day—yes, it’d only been one day, hadn’t it?—when he’d pretended she meant something to him. She and Willard could order pizza. They could have joint massages and manicures. It’d be great.
Not.
“Yeah,” she said, the decision made. “I’ll come home. I’ll get the first flight I can.”
“Well, at least stay a couple more days. I thought you had all that sightseeing to do, and it’s been so long since you had a vacation.”
“Yeah. I don’t think so.”
Rachel heaved a big sigh and Livia could practically see her deflating over the phone. “Did you have a chance to meet Ethan’s family?”
Love in the Limelight Volume Two: Seduced on the Red CarpetLovers Premiere Page 10
