Fire shot through his body as he caressed her breasts, suckled her neck, and dragged her toward the bathroom. Moaning with appreciation, she fondled him with trembling hands, stroking the length of his hard-on, curling her fingers into his nest, cradling his sac, killing whatever shreds of self-control he hoped he might have.
“Turn the water on,” she said as they reached a tub that could seat seven, the wall behind it still missing the mirror but everything else exactly as they’d first found it.
He flipped both knobs full force and they stood kissing while the water rushed through a wide-mouth faucet that made a waterfall down the back of the massive marble tub.
She broke their kiss, lifting her hands to his chest, examining her fingers and palms. “We are filthy,” she said, stepping back to show her breasts blackened from the soot and ash on his hands.
“We need soap,” he said.
“Right there.” A wicker basket next to the tub was overloaded with high-end bottles of bath stuff, sponges, and brushes. “Pick one.”
He grabbed two plastic bottles, one filled with aquamarine liquid, the other a golden amber. “Cucumber and aloe or warm vanilla sugar?” he asked, turning the labels toward her like two bottles of fine wine.
“Definitely vanilla.”
“Good choice.” He dropped the green bottle back in the basket, twisted the cap off the vanilla, and poured it over her chest.
“Ahh!” She jumped back, surprised and laughing, but he kept pouring, covering her with the honey-colored soap, letting it drip over her stomach, between her legs, down her thighs to the floor. “You are officially out of control, Assistant Special Agent in Charge of Soap.”
“Shhh. You’ll ruin my reputation.” He tossed the half-empty bottle on the vanity and laid both hands on her breastbone and dragged them over her goo-covered flesh.
“Oh my God,” she whispered at the sensation, dropping her head back and letting him caress her. He followed the trail of soap over her flesh, sliding his hand down her belly and right between her legs.
She almost buckled at the touch.
“In the bath,” he ordered, helping her over the ledge.
It wasn’t full yet, but they tumbled into the water, and he leaned her back on the sloping marble designed for just this kind of bathing. He braced himself over her body as clouds of bubbles erupted under the cascading water.
Her hair floated like seaweed as she inched down into the water, her skin slippery and sexy and so, so perfect against his.
“You look like a mermaid,” he said, dragging his fingers through the locks, pushing them away from her body so he could see it before the bubbles covered his view. “No, an angel. A goddess. A water nymph.”
“Pick a metaphor, Lang,” she said with a laugh. “And kiss me before I drown.”
He started to, then lifted his head, looking at her again. His body was a lost cause right now, so why not just tell her what was on his mind and lose that, too? “I don’t know the right comparison, but you’re beautiful, you know that? I don’t think I tell you that enough.”
Her laugh faded to surprise, and a little wonder, her mouth in an O as she drew in a breath. “No,” she said softly. “You really don’t. Ever, actually.”
“I should,” he admitted, stroking hair from her face. “Because you are, Vivi. You are utterly beautiful.”
“Oh, Lang.” His name was just a sigh of pure astonishment.
“Don’t be surprised,” he said. “You are beautiful.”
“I’m surprised that”—she glided soapy fingers over his cheeks, searching his eyes with her dark, intense gaze—“I just never imagined you’d be… the one.”
The one? Was he the one for her? He tried to swallow, tamping down the disagreement that rose. She didn’t like when he fought her on something, but… he did not want to be the one. For anyone.
“The one who’d pour soap over you and throw you in a tub? That one?” He tried for a joking voice, and almost succeeded.
She just smiled, like she knew he was attempting humor, making light of what really wasn’t light at all.
So he kissed her again, stopping the conversation, putting his full concentration where it belonged: finally making love to this woman who constantly surprised and baffled and intrigued him. Her mouth tasted like vanilla and Vivi, a taste getting all too familiar and delicious.
The bubbles blanketed her now, so he used his hands to appreciate her body, moving them everywhere he could touch, making her close her eyes and rock under him. Heat oozed through him, his erection swollen against her stomach, his legs trapping hers between his.
She reached between them and closed her hand over him, stroking slowly, every breath more of a struggle than the one before. He kneeled up to give her full access, reaching back to turn the water off.
The room went silent except for the softest splash of her hands as they moved up and down over his shaft, the sensation so perfect he just gripped the side of the tub and gave in to the pleasure that shot through him.
She studied his face, his body, then his erection in her hands as he grew bigger, harder, readier for her. She sat up, leaning forward to kiss the tip.
He automatically closed his hands over her head, guiding her mouth, letting out a soft grunt as she took him as far as she could. Agony and ecstasy exploded in his body, a squeeze of exquisite pleasure with a kick of painful need.
He almost lost it. “Vivi, wait.”
Naturally, she ignored him, sucking harder like she’d never done this before and somehow didn’t know that he’d explode in about three more strokes.
She doesn’t get funky.
Gabe’s words filled the bathroom’s silence, making Lang’s heart spike for a second. No, that was impossible. Unthinkable. A girl like Vivi surely—
She popped her head up and looked at him, something like pride and awe in her eyes. “Do you like that?”
“Are you crazy?”
“Right now I am.”
He laughed a little and bent over to grab his condom from the wallet he’d left on the ledge. “You have to stop that now.”
“Why?” She was actually… innocent.
“Because it’s time for”—he snapped the condom package—“this.”
She nodded, half smiling, half… trembling, then leaned back on the angled marble. “You put it on,” she said.
“I want you to.”
Her eyes expanded almost imperceptibly. “Me?” She looked like she wanted to argue, but she just shook her head.
“What’s the matter, Vivi?”
“Nothing,” she said quickly. “You’re just… you know, there’s a lot of you.”
He bit the condom wrapper and spit out the corner, opening it without taking his eyes off her. “I won’t hurt you.”
She wet her lips and nodded. “I know. That’s why I picked you.”
She picked him? Why did he not like the sound of that? He pulled out the rubber disk and held it out to her. “Please.”
“Okay.” She took the condom, flipping it once, placing it on him before quickly realizing it was upside down and wouldn’t slide that way. She covered with a smile. “I’m a little nervous.”
Really. “You’ve never been nervous in your life.”
“There’s a first time for everything, isn’t there, Lang?” She gave him a meaningful look as she rolled the condom over him, taking her sweet time, hitting every nerve ending along the way.
A first time…
He hissed in a breath when she reached the bottom, fondling his balls, numbing his far-too-active brain. He didn’t want to think about—that possibility. He couldn’t. The aftermath would be too much.
Wordlessly, he laid her back and positioned himself over her, guiding her legs around his hips. She reached up to him, pulling him closer and as he came down, they held eye contact for one beat of his heart, two, then three.
“I’m ready for you,” she whispered.
Holding himself with one hand, he let t
he tip slip into her, watched her shudder at the first inch. Tension rolled off her like the steam of the hot water.
“You sure?” he asked.
She nodded, biting her lower lip, reaching out to his hands. They locked fingers, both hands, looking at each other as he entered another inch. She was so tight, so hot, so damn sweet that he had to close his eyes to keep from ramming into her.
She squeezed his hands so hard the tendons cracked but her hips rose and fell, taking him in farther. “That’s good. That’s…” Pain tore her voice and he froze. “No, don’t stop, Lang. Just… don’t stop.”
He inched in deeper into unbelievable tightness. He paused again, questions screaming in his brain, only slightly louder than the drumbeat of blood and need urging him in farther, the natural desire to plunge and push and bury himself inside her taking over every part of him.
She cupped his rear end, arched her back, and urged him deeper. “Please, Lang, please.”
He let go and entered all the way, a soft curse falling from his lips at the bone-deep satisfaction that kicked his gut and his body and his brain into blissful silence.
“Oh!” She grabbed his arms and clutched, but there was no way to stop. He let himself fall forward, splashing water and bubbles while they moved in and out, up and down, slowly at first, then a little faster.
“This is… good.”
Why did she sound so surprised?
“Oh, yes, this is so good,” she whimpered in his ear, growing more emphatic with each thrust. “Oh my God, Lang, I had no idea….”
He closed his eyes and tried to chalk up the words to sexual bliss, holding her tightly, their heads well above the water that slapped and splattered and danced to their perfect rhythm.
Tiny, helpless mewing sounds from her throat coaxed him on, her greedy hands clinging to his backside and hips, clasping him with all her might, desperate for everything he could give her.
“Vivi,” he moaned, release threatening low in his back and deep in his belly.
She let go of him, smacking her hands through the water like she just couldn’t stand the pleasure, crying out again as he bowed his back and thrust every inch of himself into her.
“Come with me, Vivi,” he urged. “Come when I do.”
“I will.” She flattened her hands on his chest, nails digging into him like she could barely hang on. “I will,” she repeated, her eyes wild, her jaw slack. “I never dreamed it could be like this, Lang.”
Jesus, was this her first time? The impact of the thought was enough to stun him into stopping.
Her eyes flashed open. “What’s wrong?”
“You’ve never done this before, have you?”
The color on her face deepened, more blush than sexual flush. “In a bathtub? No. Please don’t stop, I’m so close.” Her voice broke with frustration as she rode him, and he still didn’t move.
“Anywhere,” he said. “You’ve never done this anywhere.”
“That’s not true,” she whispered. “But it has been awhile.”
That helped a little. He didn’t want her to be a virgin. Didn’t want it to mean that Goddamn much. This was supposed to be—
“How long?” He had to know.
“Long,” she said simply, her expression changing. “Please don’t ruin this time with an interrogation, Lang. It’s been a long time and I want you and you want me and please, please, please don’t stop to talk.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it again, lowering to taste her lips and suck her tongue into his mouth. Did it matter how long it had been? No. This was now. This was what he wanted. This was all he wanted.
He started to move again, getting rewarded with a soft sigh of relief and a matching roll of her hips.
“Come inside me, Lang,” she urged. “I want to feel that. I have to feel that.”
He didn’t kiss her, didn’t bury his face in her neck and hair and lose himself to the exquisite pleasure like he should have.
Instead, he just held her gaze, plunging in and out, watching each move change her face, letting every sensation roll through him until he had to release the pressure. Helpless and lost, he finally closed his eyes and let out a growl of release, coming hard to the music of her moans, the sound of his name, the gasps of her own orgasm against him.
His face against hers, water lapped over them, the sound of their hearts magnified through the whole tub. Neither one could breathe or talk or move any of their spent and exhausted muscles.
Nothing worked… but his brain.
And that was very busy trying to remind him that this was supposed to be sex without aftermath. But now he knew she’d picked him and it had been a long time and—
“Sixteen years,” she whispered.
Very slowly, praying he’d misunderstood, he lifted his head to look at her. “What?”
“It’s been sixteen years.”
All he could do was let out a soft grunt of disbelief and close his eyes. Aftermath dead ahead.
CHAPTER 18
Vivi stayed in the tub until the water was cold, long after Lang had slowly lifted himself out, his green-gold gaze questioning and—yeah—a little bit mad. Maybe she should have told him sooner, but, really, what difference did it make?
Would it have stopped them? No. Would he have been any different? Any more tender? Kinder? More affectionate? How could he have been?
He was perfect.
And, damn, she was going to want more of him in a big fat hurry. Sex was more fun than a five-forty McTwist on the high ramp. This could be her new favorite thing. This could be—
Sheer hell when he was in L.A.
She pushed the thought away and listened to him move around the bedroom. He’d want to know why, of course, and she’d tell him—some. Not all. Never all.
She’d carry that around like poor old Mercedes, only she was smart enough not to let the past imprison her. Just not free enough to give that knowledge to anyone.
Then she heard the door open and close, and silence.
Oh. No. He’d left her.
A low, deep pulse of disappointment and disbelief drummed in her belly as she climbed out of the tub, her legs shaky, her most tender parts… more tender than usual.
How could he just leave her like that? Not even want to talk about it?
The same way he’s going to get on a plane and fly off to be an SAC in Los Angeles, that’s how. With Lang-like ease.
“Great,” she mumbled, opening a linen closet—walk-in, naturally—looking for a towel but spying a fluffy butter yellow bathrobe. Stuffing her arms in and tying the belt with a hard snap, she sighed audibly.
Just her luck. She’d finally found a man she could trust, who she wanted to get close to and who made her feel good right down to her toes… and he was leaving.
Why did he have to leave?
It had nothing to do with ambition, she suspected, and everything to do with escaping. He’d never gotten over the woman he’d lost—a blind person could see that when he talked about Jennifer.
“Nice work, Vivi,” she chided herself. “You can really pick ’em, girlie.”
Not only was he running away from the ghost of a woman he still loved, he didn’t want to fall for another one. Resistance rolled off him in waves.
This was all just sex for him, so no wonder he’d left afterward. Colton Lang didn’t want her and her sixteen years of emotional baggage. He wanted to get laid and get out.
Fine. So did she. Again. So where the hell had he gone, anyway?
She marched to the door and flung it open just as he reached the top of the stairs, a tray in his hands, Stella at his heels.
“I need food,” he said simply. “And I figured you did, too.”
God, she hated when she underestimated people. “Thanks.” She opened the door wider to let him through, and Stella trotted in with her awkward little hitch, not so much as a sniff of Vivi on her way. “That dog hates me.”
“She just likes me a lot,” he said, putting the
tray on a table between two chairs in a bay window.
“So do I.”
He turned around and gave her a questioning look.
“I just want to make that clear,” she said quickly. “I like you a lot, Lang. Enough to break a self-imposed celibacy. But not enough to… try and talk you out of your plans. So you can just relax about that. I’m not out to nail you to the wall and keep you in Boston.”
He simply stared at her, expressionless.
“Though I wouldn’t mind nailing you to the bed and keeping you in it all night,” she said with a forced laugh.
He didn’t laugh back. “You should have told me.”
“The subject really didn’t come up.” She crossed the room, shifting her attention to the cold chicken and potato salad he’d brought for them, taking one of the two bottles of cold water. “Let’s not talk about it yet, okay? Can we just eat?”
She twisted open the bottle and took a sip.
“Will you tell me why?”
The water caught in her throat. Some, Vivi, not all. No confessions to a man who’s leaving you anyway.
“I had an abortion.” She took one of the seats, falling into it casually, like she hadn’t just shared something she’d never told—anyone.
“Oh,” he said, still standing, looking down at her. “That’s…”
She shrugged, digging for nonchalance she really didn’t feel. “I know what it is, Lang. Shocking. Disappointing. Disgusting. I’ve been through the range of emotions. Still visit them occasionally—even now, all these years later.”
He sat down slowly, scrutinizing her while she brusquely took the food and plates off the tray, giving them each silverware and napkins. If she acted like she didn’t really care, maybe he’d believe it.
“I bet that was a very difficult decision to make,” he finally said, his voice flat. Of course he’d hate that she’d made that choice. “Especially for a girl like you.”
It had been a different girl, a different Vivi. “I was scared,” she said, absently wrapping the robe tighter, then reaching for another drink of water. “I was sixteen and scared to death of hurting the family that adopted me. I thought I might be deported for… being stupid.”
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