by Heidi Rice
‘If you think that’s losing your temper, you ought to meet a Scotsman.’
‘Yeah?’ He gave a rough chuckle, as she’d hoped he would. ‘It’s just you’ve got me so…’ He sighed, the hesitation so endearing, and so unlike him, her heart pounded heavily. He let go of her waist, rubbed his open palms down her upper arms. ‘I’ll get the condoms.’
‘But you don’t know where they are,’ she said, chewing on her lip to stop the smile as he climbed off the bed. Affection bloomed alongside her lust. She didn’t know why it felt so good to see that super-confident mask of his slip. But it did.
He glanced over his shoulder on his way to the door. ‘I shouldn’t have too much trouble.’ He winked. ‘I’m a trained detective. Detecting stuff is my profession,’ he said as he left the room.
She collapsed onto the bed, her hands still clasping her dress, and took in a shuddering breath.
His head popped around the doorframe, making her jolt upright. ‘But while I’m gone, lose the dress and panties.’
She gasped at the audacious command as excitement and anticipation soared. ‘Well, really!’
‘Well, really,’ he purred in a surprisingly good imitation of her Scottish accent. The roguish smile came back full force. ‘I want you ready for round two when I get back, lady.’
She scrambled out of her clothes as his bare feet padded down the corridor, and shouted after him, ‘Conditions! Conditions!’
CHAPTER SIX
NOT COOL, MAN. Not cool at all.
Zane glared at the cracked bathroom mirror, taking in the dull colour on his cheeks, and the crater-like furrows on his brow.
He’d almost lost it, again.
He released his death grip on the sink and glanced at the pounding erection confined in his pants, which had been so hard for so long it was starting to hurt. And had his answer.
He adjusted his pants to ease the ache. Something about Iona had really got to him.
Her honesty, her openness and the ease with which he could read every single expression on her face, made her more vulnerable than any other woman he’d ever seduced. And when you added what she’d revealed about her run-in with Demarest, he felt responsible for her in a way he never had before in a relationship. The guy had taken her virginity and given her nothing in return. Less than nothing.
But instead of her inexperience putting him off, which by rights it should have, it only made her live-wire response to the simplest of caresses seem that much more irresistible—bringing out the hunger he’d thought he’d satisfied years ago.
Tonight, he’d been less in control of himself than he’d been since he was a teenager, banging pretty much anyone who offered, and as a result he’d almost blown the stringent rules he’d imposed on his sexual appetite ever since.
When she’d come apart in his arms, the soft sobs of her surrender spurring his own arousal to fever pitch, and then held him through his pants, her face flushed with arousal, for one brief agonizing moment he’d almost snapped, consumed by the need to thrust deep inside her.
Thank God that burning need had only lasted a split second, and he’d come to his senses in time. But it had still been deeply disturbing. His control had almost shattered—giving him a connection he didn’t want to contemplate to the man who had fathered him.
How could he be entirely free of that legacy, and even for a second have considered taking a woman without due care and attention? Without even the proper protection? Simply to satisfy his own lust?
He took two deep breaths, let them out as steadily as he could.
Don’t overreact.
He rolled his shoulders, pulled on the mirror to check the bathroom cabinet and spotted the box of condoms, still wrapped in cellophane, on the top shelf.
His breathing slowed as the insistent ache subsided a little.
The thing to remember was, he hadn’t snapped—he’d held it together. And he’d apologised to Iona. From her sweet, funny reaction it was clear she hadn’t had a clue how close he’d come to losing it. Which was great, because now he had the chance to make it up to her—to finish what they’d started and do it right. The way he’d promised her he would.
He lifted the box off the shelf, ripped the seal.
Only three! Who the hell buys condoms in boxes of three? That’s not even enough for…
He clamped down on the thought, let out another calming breath.
Hold it together.
Three was good. Three was enough. Three was more than enough for them to take the edge off their hunger and have a good time, before they went their separate ways.
He closed the cabinet, dumped the box in the trash and stuffed the condoms in his back pocket before splashing some water on his face, determined to be grateful for the three condoms if it killed him.
But as he walked into Iona’s bedroom, and she smiled at him, the sheet stretched across her breasts, her dress and panties by her bra on the floor and her face flushed with anticipation, the hunger coiled hard, taunting him.
‘Did you find them?’ she asked, the eagerness in her voice making the erection pound.
He slung the condoms on the bed. ‘I told you, I’m a trained detective.’
He eased the zip down on his pants and her gaze followed the movement. He shoved his pants and boxers off, and her upper lip curled into her full bottom lip, her gaze now riveted to his groin.
‘That’s impressive,’ she whispered, the Scottish burr low with fascination.
He tore open the first foil package as his erection hit critical mass—and admitted there was no freaking way three condoms was ever going to be enough.
Goodness.
Iona studied the long thick erection jutting out proudly from the dark hair at Zane’s groin as he rolled on the condom with practised efficiency. Heat swelled in her abdomen, her heartbeat ricocheted into her throat and her breathing sped up.
She let her gaze drift back up his body, past the ropes of muscle that defined the V above his hip bones and up the thin trail of hair that bisected the flat ridges of his six-pack and then bloomed around his pecs.
She reached his face at last, her heart pounding so hard now it was practically choking her. ‘You’re gorgeous all over.’
He laughed but it sounded strained as he lifted the sheet and tugged it off. She lay still, the heavy beat of her heart plunging into her sex. Her skin tingled and tightened as his gaze roamed in return.
Just when she thought she couldn’t stand the intense scrutiny a moment longer, his eyes finally lifted to her face. ‘Not as gorgeous as you.’
Climbing onto the bed, he settled beside her, his flesh hot where it touched her thigh as he swept his hand over her in a tender caress, following the curve of her body to her breasts. He stroked the underside, then rolled the engorged tip between his thumb and forefinger. He bent to flick his tongue across the swollen peak and she jolted in his arms.
‘Sweet,’ he muttered, then suckled hard.
The choked sob of pleasure was almost animalistic as the prickle of need arrowed down. He took one breast then the other into his mouth, gorging himself on her and making the heat and pleasure race across her skin and tug hard in her sex.
‘You’re so responsive, you’re killing me,’ he rasped in her ear as he grasped her leg, lifted it over his hip and brought her sex into sudden contact with the large head of his erection. ‘I’m not sure I can wait much longer.’
She gripped his shoulders, clinging on to sanity, and arched into him. ‘Don’t wait.’
He muttered something in Spanish, then grasped both her thighs and rolled, holding her open, until he was poised above her. Then he sank into her in one long, slow, all-consuming thrust.
She tensed at the shock of penetration, her body shuddering as she struggled to adjust to the invasion.
‘Shh,’ he soothed, his voice tense with the effort to hold still. ‘Just breathe—it’ll take a moment. You’re so tight.’
Then his thumb traced across her hip an
d found the place where their bodies joined. She bucked beneath him, cried out as he touched the sensitive nub. Then he started to rock inside her, pulling out, thrusting back, gradually at first, and so gently. Then faster. And harder.
The full-stretched feeling gathered and intensified, the incendiary stroke of his thumb radiating outwards and shooting like lightning through her body. She moved with him, instinctively angling her hips to take him deeper, racing towards that glorious oblivion that beckoned just out of reach.
The brutal orgasm hit in a bright, beautiful, never-ending wave, crashing over her and then rising up to crest again. She heard her thin cry of desperate pleasure matching his harsh grunt of release as the wave crashed through that final barrier, hurtling them over together.
Iona couldn’t seem to keep her eyelids from drooping to half-mast as he tucked her under his arm and gathered her close. She settled her head on his shoulder, breathing in the spicy scent of his skin and the clean musk of fresh sweat—the slight soreness between her thighs nothing compared to the slumberous afterglow of spectacular sex and the sweet, serene feeling of achievement.
He brushed a strand of hair off her forehead and smiled. ‘Good?’
She smiled back. ‘Very.’ And ignored the rush of tenderness as her heartbeat evened out and her eyelids grew heavy.
‘Get some sleep, querida.’ His lips brushed against the top of her hair. ‘We’re not finished yet.’
‘We’re not?’ she asked, around a huge yawn, trying to keep a lid on the rush of excitement, and the swell of longing.
‘Of course not. We’ve got two condoms left.’
She huffed out a laugh, and snuggled against him as she drifted into sleep—refusing to regret the fact that once they’d used those two condoms and the night was over, he would be gone.
CHAPTER SEVEN
IONA BLINKED AT the business card perched on her nightstand. Sitting up in the empty bed, she picked up the card and flicked it over, to find a note scribbled in black ink.
Hey Sleepyhead,
I had to go let C.D. out before she starts figuring my closet is on fire!
Call me.
Zane
PS. You look real cute when you’re sleeping—even when you snore.
‘I do not snore,’ she whispered, sputtering out a half laugh. She rubbed her thumb across the embossed writing on the front of the card and felt the lump lodged in her throat sink to the pit of her stomach and land like a lead weight. She stared at Zane’s name and his contact details framed next to the geometric drawing of an office building—which was probably his firm’s headquarters in Carmel—and then concentrated on the ‘call me’ scribbled in his looping scrawl on the back.
She set the card on the nightstand. Their fling had been amazing, but now it was over and mooning over him, or thinking they could take this any further, would be silly.
She needed to find gainful employment and a cheap place to stay—not get mixed up with a sex god like Zane Montoya. The man was way too distracting.
Getting out of bed, she stretched, feeling all the little aches and pains and tender spots Zane had left behind to remember him by.
He’d woken her twice during the night, both times bringing her expertly to orgasm before finding his own release. He’d located and exploited every erogenous zone she had, with the focused, thorough precision of a man who knew his way around every inch of a woman’s body.
But each time she’d reached for him, eager to explore his magnificent body and exploit his limits in return, he’d distracted her, by swirling his tongue or stroking his finger across some super-sensitive part of her anatomy, or simply insisting that he’d never last if he let her have her way with him. And while that might very well have been true—she certainly hoped so—the last time she’d collapsed into his arms, dawn peeking through the pretty gingham curtains, she’d fallen into an exhausted sleep feeling sated and sexy—and the tiniest bit disappointed.
She examined her face in the bathroom mirror, the reddened patch of whisker burn under her chin and the sleepy afterglow still making her eyes shine.
Get away with you, woman.
How typically Celtic of her, somehow managing to find fault with the most stupendous sex she’d ever had.
She should be thanking the man, and rejoicing in the generosity of his lovemaking, not criticising him for his perfection. If it hadn’t been for Zane she would have continued to believe that her experience with Brad was as good as it got.
Reaching into the shower cubicle, she turned on the tap full blast, set the temperature a notch below scalding and stepped under the stream.
And anyway, she was never going to see Zane again, so none of this mattered…She’d made a promise to him, and herself, to be out of the cottage today and the quicker she packed her stuff and got going, the better.
But as she shampooed her hair and soaped the scent of Zane Montoya, Latino-Lover Extraordinaire, off her skin she knew in a tiny part of her heart what he had done to her, and for her, all through the night, would always matter—even if she hadn’t been able to do the same thing for him.
By mid-afternoon she’d showered, made herself a hearty meal—most of which she hadn’t eaten—laundered the bed linen, scrubbed out the kitchen and phoned her father to tell him she was great and everything was going brilliantly. At least that wasn’t as much of a lie now as it had been in the last few weeks.
And now she was ready to move on. Almost.
She flipped Zane’s card over in her fingers. And stared at the phone. Should she call him? To say goodbye, and thanks? It seemed like the polite thing to do.
The heavy weight that she’d been busy ignoring all day rose up her throat. She placed the card by the phone, pulled the sketch she’d made of the hummingbird the morning before out of her rucksack and scribbled a note on the back in pencil. She then counted out twenty dollars from her purse and placed it with the sketch beside his card, her fingers trembling.
She stared at the meagre offerings, and knew she was taking the coward’s way out, but she simply couldn’t afford the luxury of a goodbye. It was always better to be self-sufficient. The blockage in her throat already felt suspiciously like an emotional involvement that had snuck up on her when she wasn’t looking—and she mustn’t pander to it.
Zane wasn’t responsible for her, she was responsible for herself—and while last night had been wonderful, it wasn’t only the sex that had been spectacular. The feeling of safety and security as she’d fallen asleep in his arms had been even more seductive, but she couldn’t afford to count on it, or him.
Hefting the rucksack onto her shoulders, she turned to leave, when the loud rap on the door startled her.
Zane. Bugger.
She debated pretending she’d already left, but decided that was too cowardly, even for her. She dropped the rucksack, and opened the door.
Her heart thundered as she stared at the man leaning casually against the doorframe, wearing dark trousers, a pristine white shirt and a seductive smile she knew only too well. The lead weight in her throat expanded alarmingly.
‘You didn’t call,’ he said.
‘I know. I didn’t have time.’
‘Yeah?’ He pushed away from the frame, his eyes fixed on her face for several potent seconds, before his attention strayed to the rucksack—and the sketch and money she’d left by the phone. He brushed past her, the spicy scent she remembered doing strange things to her insides.
‘What’s this?’ he asked, picking up the sketch and then flipping it over.
She closed the door—and realised her clean getaway was history.
After reading the note, he glanced at her rucksack and the small pile of crumpled bills again. Then the narrowed gaze returned to her.
‘Thanks for the picture—it’s really cool,’ he said, the tone measured, but she could see the muscle twitching in his jaw. ‘But you’re gonna have to explain the rest.’ He held up her note. ‘Were you about to run out on me?’
&n
bsp; Shame mixed with the hormones raging in her belly, making her voice come out on a husky whisper. ‘I told you I was leaving today. I didn’t think you really wanted me to call you.’
His brow shot up, the muscle clenching tight. ‘After what we did last night? What kind of jerk do you think I am?’
She flinched at the show of temper, but worse was the shadow in his eyes. Had she hurt his feelings somehow? She hadn’t intended to, hadn’t even thought she could. But the truth was, she hadn’t even considered his feelings.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t think…’ She stared at her toes.
‘Damn it, Iona.’ The words came out on a soft sigh, the anger gone. ‘Just because one guy’s a deadbeat,’ he said, ‘it doesn’t mean we all are.’
She nodded, feeling about two inches tall.
He cradled her cheek in one rough palm and her thoughts scattered.
‘Where were you planning to run to?’ he murmured as his hand tugged through her hair and brushed the curls behind her ear.
She shrugged, trying to gather the will to pull away from his touch—and that piercing blue gaze. ‘I figured Monterey? I need to find a cheap place to live and a job.’
‘Accommodation in Monterey’s not cheap. And why would you go looking for a new place to stay, when I told you that you can stay here for free?’
‘But that was before…’ The blush crept up her neck as his hand trailed down and settled on her collarbone.
‘Before what?’
She pushed out a breath. The yearning to stay and take him up on his offer was so intense it was almost painful. But with the intense yearning came the kick of panic. She shouldn’t want this, and certainly not this much. They weren’t a couple, they weren’t even an item, they were a one-night fling and wanting it to be more than that was dangerous—because it implied an intimacy that went way beyond sex. ‘Before last night.’
