“Is the principal hot…?”
His steamy voice and the feel of the lace being circled so wantonly over her honey-filled core made speech impossible for Narice.
“Are you hot enough to come for me?”
He raised his finger to her breasts and circled a wet finger around the aureole. Leaning down, he bit the nipple gently before sliding two long fingers into her core. It was so good Narice buckled, twisted, and came with a hoarse scream that ruffled the silence.
Saint’s manhood was so thick and full he felt like he was going to burst. Watching her come with such awesome abandon pushed him right to the edge, but he held on. He had more in store for the Lady Narice. Then it could be his turn.
It took Narice a few long seconds to come back. Lying over his arm, like a rag doll, she tried to find her brain. She’d never had such a powerful orgasm. Never. But then she’d never been with a man like Saint before.
Something cold awakened her nipple, making her instinctively draw away and open her eyes. The sight of the whipped cream he was dabbing on her made her chuckle and then groan with renewed excitement as he sucked and licked her clean.
“Dessert…” he murmured, and after setting the silver bowl of cream closer at hand, dipped in a finger and boldly and slowly coated the other bud. He flicked a hot tongue over it until it too was hard and clean. “Nubbins and cream. My favorite.”
He sucked her in fully and Narice drew in a loud shaky breath. She could feel his sensual tugs on her nipples down to her toes. When he raised his head, she was spiraling. In the past it took her body a while to bounce back for more loving, but with him things were different. Her body was more than eager for another round.
Dipping his finger in the cream again, Saint drew a white fluffy line down the valley of her breasts, then slowly kissed her clean. He repeated the action across each soft top and then moved to the succulent under curves. He wanted to eat her up, but forced himself to wait. There was no guarantee they’d make love again, so he wanted this night to be memorable.
Next Narice knew he was carrying her back to the bedroom. He eased her down onto the gold and ivory spread, then reached down to play between her parted thighs. She held his sparkling eyes for as long she could, but when the heat from his ministrations took her higher and higher, maintaining contact became impossible. Her hips rose, her eyes closed, and her head fell back. She felt the bed give as he joined her on top of it, but his wicked, wicked hands never stopped.
He took her thong, and once she was bare, he spent a few long moments making certain she was still flowing. Narice arched sensually, purring for him, blooming for him. Her navel was adorned with a small dollop of the cream from the dish he’d brought along, but it soon disappeared beneath his sorcerer’s tongue.
Saint dipped his finger back into the dish of sweetened cream. Certain images really turned him on: a scantily clad school principal dabbled with whipped cream stood at the top of list. “How do you like my whipped cream?”
“I think it and you are scandalous,” she breathed.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” He placed a bit on the other inner thigh and lingered over the taste of it against her brown skin. She was, as the old song said, the sweetest thing this side of heaven. Circling her damp heat with his fingers, he couldn’t resist and so flicked his tongue against the lodestone that made her woman. Her gasping reaction made him want more so he opened her gently and feasted lustily.
Narice didn’t think more pleasure was possible, but this blazing hot encounter proved her wrong. Spreading her legs wantonly, she let him nibble taste and delight her until her hips rose to offer him more. He took the offering gladly, increasing his ardor and making her mewl in response. “I’m going to come…” she pleaded, whispered.
“Anytime you want, angel.”
Narice’s senses were towering higher and higher. His fingers slid into her gates and impaled her deliciously, he then took her bursting bud fully into his mouth, and she came screaming like a crazy woman.
Only then did he step back and sheathe himself with a condom. While she was still pulsing and echoing, he eased himself inside and she groaned with the glory of it all. “Oh, that’s good,” she breathed.
Saint grinned and began his rhythm. “You’re a hot little teacher. Do you know that?”
She growled in response because there were no words to describe the carnal rush in her blood. “Are all cheetahs this good?”
He stroked her with movements that teased and coaxed. “Why? You in the market for another one?”
“Oh no. You are more than enough.”
Stroking her lustfully, he let her feel just how much he liked hearing her words. Saint didn’t want anyone touching her ripe brown body but him. In his world, only his hands would tease the dark buds of her breasts until they sang; only he would kiss her lips until they were swollen and tender; only he would slide in and out of her like this until she begged him to return. Just the thought made him increase the pace.
Soon he was caught up in the whirlwind of desire and all thought was left behind. His rapid thrusts met her answering rhythms. Passion grabbed him, sending him higher and higher. Unable to hold back any longer Saint’s orgasm exploded and he roared loud enough to be heard in the lobby. Narice came next and for the third time cried out her joy.
In the aftermath they lay tangled together, their breathing the only sound in the quiet room. Narice was sticky from the whipped cream, but didn’t care. His loving had left her boneless, breathless, and oh-so satisfied. She could lie here with him like this until winter.
Saint looked into her eyes and kissed her mouth softly. “Did you enjoy yourself?”
Her answer was a contented smile. “Oh yes. How about you?”
He kissed her again and grinned, “I want to do it again.”
She shook her head. “You are a mess.”
“And you are the hottest thing this side of the Mississippi.”
She slid over so that they were belly to belly and thigh to thigh, then lightly wrapped her arms around his neck. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
He eased her down into the yielding bed and kissed her deeply. “How fast can you take a shower?”
“Depends on whether you’re with me or not.”
Saint raised his head. “Could take a long time with me in there.”
“Then let’s synchronize our watches.”
Filled with all the happiness and joy she made him feel with her sassy brown self, he gathered her in his arms and began rolling them around on the huge bed until she was screaming with laughter. “Let me go you, Mutant!”
“Never, little girl. Never,” he countered in a mock evil voice. He continued to roll them around for a few more silly minutes, then stopped and looked down into her face. For a moment he studied the flare of her lips, the brilliant intelligence in her dark eyes, the silken cut of her jaw, and the hoops in her perfectly formed ears. It was official, Anthony St. Martin was in love, really in love, but with a woman who’d made it clear she didn’t want or need a man in her life.
The sudden solemness on his face made Narice go still and she felt something pass between them that lodged itself inside. She could already feel the hole he’d leave in her life when the time came for them to part and she realized it wasn’t something she wanted. How could she go back to being a proper headmistress after being on the lam with him? Raising her hand, she very gently cupped his bearded face then leaned up so she could reach his lips. Her kiss said all the things her words could not, and as it deepened, he lowered himself and gathered her close.
Saint had never kissed a woman with all of his heart and soul before, but he seemed unable to do anything else. Having Narice in his arms and in his life felt natural, good. As he kissed her cheek, her ear, her eyes, he reminded himself that in few days he’d have to let her go.
Narice broke the kiss slowly, and in an effort to bury the feelings for him that had bubbled to the surface, she purposefully changed the
subject, by asking with a purr, “Still want that shower?”
Saint slid a hand down over her ripe behind, liking the way the flesh yielded to his touch. “Want the shower, want you, want to finish eating, too. Sometime tonight.”
“Then I’ll race you!” And Narice took off for the shower.
Saint was stunned. “Hey!” he yelled laughing. “Cheating woman!” He rolled off the bed and took off after her.
The shower was equipped with six shower heads evenly spaced up and down the green marble wall. Narice had them all on and was basking in the powerful spray when he slipped in behind her. Honestly, Narice had never taken a shower with a man before, but when he began to slide the bar of scented soap over her wet skin and followed it with the loofah he retrieved from the basket of toiletries provided by the hotel, she knew it didn’t matter; he knew what to do. He washed her with hands that were seductive and ohso scandalous, hands that had her arching and shimmering by the time she was clean.
Narice turned to him and redid the favor. She slid the loofah over him slowly, purposefully, and by the time he was clean, they were both on fire again.
They stepped out and he wrapped her in a large purple bath sheet, then made her stand in front of him while he dried her off. Narice thought she’d died and gone to heaven. The feel of the fluffy towel slowly drying the parts of herself he’d made love to so fiercely had the principal hot all over again. He took full advantage too, and with his lips and hands turned up the heat.
She countered by taking him in her hand and savored the feel of him rising warm and hard. Her eyes blazing into his, she squeezed him meaningfully. He growled and pulled her into his arms. The kiss was hard, possessive, but her hand continued its wanton teasing.
“You keep that up and you’ll be riding me schoolmarm.”
“Is that a threat or a promise?” she husked back, her hand still moving.
He grinned through the fog of desire and steam. “I may have to ask for your hand in marriage after all.”
“And I might have to say yes, but right now, I’m interested in that ride.”
“Greedy woman.”
“It’s your own fault. I was an innocent schoolteacher until I met you.”
“And now look at you.”
“Yes. Look at me.”
He eyed her curves and valleys, then bent down and pressed his lips to hers. “Shameful.”
“Shameful,” she echoed.
He picked her up and walked her back into the bedroom.
Later as they both lay across the bed too sated to move, Narice looked up at the shadows cast on the ceiling by the dimmed chandelier, and smiled.
Saint raised himself on one elbow and began to trace a meandering finger over her belly, “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. I was just wondering if this is how the James Bond women feel?”
Her silliness made him shake his head. “Oh really?”
She chuckled a moment, but as she ran her hand over his golden chest, she became more serious. “You have a lot of scars, Cyclops.”
“Yeah, I do.”
Narice saw remnants of wounds on his arms, his chest, and thighs. Some looked like large healed-over cuts, while others appeared to be what she imagined bullets would look like.
“Goes with the territory.” He eased away and sat on the edge of the bed, his back to her.
Narice sensed she’d stepped into uneasy territory and wished she’d kept her mouth shut. Then the faded stripes across the skin of his back caught her attention. Had he been whipped? She wanted to ask about them, but didn’t. Instead she confessed, “Didn’t mean to send you away.”
He looked back over his shoulder and said into her eyes, “I’d never go far.”
The sincerity in his voice made her heart pound. At that moment, Narice knew she’d never forget this conversation no matter how long she lived. She knew because she was in love with him. Recognizing that fact made her happy, but it also scared her to death. “I’m going to take a quick shower.”
Saint watched her go and in spite of the slight tension between them, smiled at the way her bare behind moved provocatively as she walked. Truthfully, he wanted her to come back so he could make love to her again. Amazed by that fact, he put his head in his hands; he couldn’t remember ever wanting one woman so much and so often. He already knew that Narice Jordan was one of a kind, but he hadn’t expected her to weave herself into the fabric of his soul so completely. He thought about her silent exit. Had he hurt her feelings? Legally, the stories behind most of his old wounds were classified and he couldn’t tell her about them even if he wanted to, but that was just a cop-out. The truth was he was so accustomed to being a loner and an outcast, he found it difficult to share the details of the darker parts of his life with someone else.
He got up and went out to the table and cut himself a piece of the chicken. What he really wanted to talk about was the dilemma he found himself in. Delivering the Eye to The Majesty was what he’d been hired to do, and until that was accomplished everything else was supposed to be secondary. Him being distracted by Narice could get them both killed. However, asking himself not to focus on her was like asking his heart not to beat, so he was really in uncharted territory.
In the end, Saint knew that the best way to deal with this unexpected complication was to let things flow and to go with the bit. He and the curvy Ms. Jordan had no future; all they had was the here and now, so he planned to enjoy it. When it was over he’d have content himself with the memories. With that settled, he washed down the chicken with a small slug of champagne, then headed off to the shower connected to the suite’s second bedroom.
Drying off behind the closed doors of the luxurious bath Narice contemplated her relationship with Saint. She told herself that first of all, she didn’t need a man in her life; life as she knew it was pretty okay. Truthfully, she did get lonely for companionship sometimes, but hey, that’s why God made girlfriends. Saint on the other hand was a woman’s fantasy, he was dangerous, intelligent, and made love like nobody’s business, but he’d said cheetahs make lousy pets and she didn’t doubt him for a minute. Although she had developed feelings for him, they had no future as a couple, so there was no sense in her contemplating anything else. They were having a great time. Real life would return soon enough.
Fifteen
After slipping on the hotel’s robe, Narice padded back into the suite’s living area and found Saint seated on the fancy celadon-colored loveseat, studying the screen on his handheld computer. When their eyes met, his smile made her heart pound. Coming closer, she asked, “What’s up?”
“Just checking out the Okefenokee.” Saint wanted to take her back into the bedroom and pleasure her all over again. The curvy Ms. Jordan was good for the soul but bad for business. “Says here, the swamp covers about a half-million acres.” He was glad the tension between them seemed to be a thing of the past.
“People don’t actually live there, do they?”
“Not in the protected areas. It’s a wildlife reserve.”
“Is Grey Swans on the map?”
“No.”
Narice was disappointed. “Wonderful. How are we going to find Aunt Camille?”
“Good question, but we’ll come up with something.”
Narice didn’t doubt that for a minute; after being with him these past few days, she knew he was a man who could literally pull a rabbit out of a hat.
Saint could smell the fresh scents of her body and it was playing havoc with his decision to concentrate on the job first and her second. “I need to make a call. You read up on the Okefenokee.” He tossed her the computer.
Narice caught it deftly. “Aye, aye, mon capitaine.”
He grinned and walked over to his coat lying across one of the upholstered chairs. While Narice read why the waters in the Okefenokee had a reddish color, and folklore tales about swamp yetis and UFO abductions, he began a search through his pockets. Watching him out of the corner of her eye, she wondered what
kind of magic lamp he was after now. It turned out to be a small plastic square that he plugged into the back of the phone. “Another prototype?” she asked.
“Nah, just something to keep the line secure. If anybody’s trying to listen in, all they hear is a dial tone.”
“I see.”
“Have to check in with Portia.”
“I can go back into the bedroom if you want some privacy.”
“Thanks, but not necessary.”
Soon he was talking with Portia, and Narice went back to scrolling through the info on the swamp. Located in southern Georgia and northern Florida, the land was originally inhabited by Native American tribes. The Cherokee named the area Okefenokee, which roughly translates to The Land of the Trembling Earth. Interestingly enough, the Seminoles, one of Narice’s favorite historical groups, also inhabited the swamps before being forced west, and the great Seminole chief Osceola lived in the Okefenokee as a child. She linked into a few more websites and read on.
As she did, she kept one ear on Saint’s talk with Portia. He gave her their location, spent a few more moments discussing their run-ins with Ridley and the helicopters then, after asking after Jesse and James, he clicked off.
“Portia says hello.”
“Next time you talk to her, tell her I say hello back. How are the dogs?”
“Jesse is still moping, but otherwise they’re fine. I told her I’d check in every two hours, and if four hours pass with no word, she should come looking.”
They’d left the farm less than twenty-four hours ago yet to Narice it seemed like days. “Are we hitting the road, or spending the night here?”
“No, I want to get on the road, but let’s take a look at that quilt one more time.”
She went into the bedroom and pulled the quilt and the book from her suitcase. Returning to the other room, she spread it out on the coffee table and silently studied the patterns and symbols. The Monkey Wrench and the Flying Geese were now as familiar as the Bear Tracks and the Wagon Wheel. The only symbol that hadn’t come into play was the box within a box, the Log Cabin, and she still wasn’t sure if it stood for her father’s birthplace or not. She really hoped they hadn’t come all this way for nothing.
The Edge of Dawn Page 21
