by Susan Arden
He moved his chin, brushing against her cheekbone, and she longed to raise her mouth and kiss him. The intoxicating scent of him infiltrated her senses, just as it had done when he first kissed her, spreading over her body, inside and out. Would she ever be able to get that fragrance out of her head? She gripped his shoulders, unable to stop herself from melding with him.
“Gillian,” he whispered. His voice was a warm breeze unlocking her heart. Or had she imagined the husky sound of her name on his lips?
He swung her around, and she had no time to think. Surprised, and wanting to remain standing, she kept her body pressed snug against Stephen. The music and his fingers pressing into her back unraveled protests that he was all wrong for her. But then, he stopped moving and they stood on the dance floor cinched together. Unmoving except for their heartbeats and breathing. Not one step. Gillian leaned back, and his eyes locked onto her gaze. The music continued, but they remained in place on the dance floor. His hands moved down to her waist.
The expression in his eyes told her he wanted her. He moved his hips a smidge to the left and there was no mistaking his erection. His hardness protruded into her belly, barely above her pubic bone. If she lifted up on her tippy-toes, just a couple of inches upward, she could make their bodies fit together. The space between her legs pulsed with an ache to feel him there. She bit her lip, unable to decide what to do.
“I swear, you do that for a second longer and I’ll take you outside. Haul you back around the alley and finish what we started the other morning. Don’t tease me, Gillian.”
“Why would I do that?” And that’s when, without considering her next move or the repercussions, she ground herself into him. Just like before, she couldn’t help herself around Stephen.
“Christ, woman.” His hands were on her hips, holding her steady.
His brows came together, clouding his gorgeous face. Then she realized he was holding her off of him. Maybe he was teasing her.
The room became unbearably stifling, and she blurted out, “Did you bring me out here to get next to Lori?”
He released a puff of air through his nostrils. “No. Why would you think that?”
“Keeping your perimeter safe, for one thing.”
He lowered his eyes, his gaze drifting down her body, the corners of his mouth pulling upward. “No, darlin’. I’m trying not to give in to temptation. I am very, very interested in what we’ve got going on. But you’re complicated, and I’m not a nice guy.”
“I’m not complicated. And yes, you are a nice guy. Cory brought me a donation. You didn’t have to think about our recital.” Her breasts brushed against his chest. The buttons of his shirt rubbed against her nipples, releasing ripples of pleasure deep in her belly, making her come apart. He made her want to be wild. More and more, the seams of her good intentions were coming undone as she stood there pressed against his hard body.
“My sister wastes money like it’s water. I heard that you were having a dance for your students. No sense in shoveling the contents of her room into the burn pile. It bothers me how much she spends and throws away. Two birds, one stone.” He brought her body firmly against him, and started moving again. This time he was fully erect and he wasn’t trying to hide his interest. “Sweet Jesus, Gillian.”
His hands traced up along her body, all the way to her face. He cupped her chin, tilting her mouth up to meet his, and he took possession of her lips. The feeling blanketed her like a summer breeze, warm at first, then demanding, and she was helpless to fight him or herself. His tongue thrust into her mouth and she opened her lips, uncaring if others noticed.
Each time she kissed Stephen, the force fed something deep inside her, a secret yearning that struggled to get free. His tongue caressed her lips, and she returned his kiss with a fervor that she didn’t know existed. The taste of his mouth, the feel of his body, and the way he nipped her mouth, as though he were letting her know he was in charge, were more than anything she’d ever fantasized feeling.
At that moment, she was certain that had Stephen stepped away from her, she would have face-planted onto the dance floor on gelatin legs. Same as the first time he’d kissed her—she was breathless. When he pressed a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth at the end of this sensual assault she moaned his name.
“You’re driving me crazy.” He grazed his forehead over hers.
If that’s the direction he was headed, she wasn’t far behind. His body, his hands, and his mouth worked her over good. “I’m right with you,” she whispered.
Chapter 3
Of all the lame-brained ideas, coming to Ladies’ Night at the Diamond had to be the worst. He knew she’d be there. His sister went there, like most of the young women in town, and it was the one night he firmly avoided Old Towne Annona. This was the night that, if he went out, it was all the way to Clarkesville. Or better yet, he more than likely stayed in, avoiding contact with the younger crowd who might venture into the big city. These were the women who liked to believe they were on a wild adventure; but really, they were scouting for a boyfriend. And he wasn’t boyfriend material.
Yet knowing Gillian would be there left him no choice. And he had to go and find her.
Ever since kissing her and touching her, he’d been mesmerized by the fantasy of doing it again. That had been the first day. He’d sought to exorcise her from his memory and had ridden Clavo, his spirited quarter-horse, instead of taking his truck to meet up with his team suffering a monster hangover. No matter how hard he rode, or how many holes he jackhammered, it was her face, body, and voice that kept cropping up in his mind.
That night, he’d started detailing his fantasy of what he’d enjoy doing with Gillian. Christ, he imagined taking her, thrusting into her, tasting her pussy. His dick didn’t care that it was pure fantasy as long as he kept coming up with his own versions of what he’d do next.
Visions of his hands on her body, lifting her shirt, rubbing his hands over her high, firm breasts assaulted him. He imagined sucking on her nipples, teasing her until she called his name. His hands running down her body, opening her knees, sliding between her slender thighs, and then a thrust so deep he’d join them together, making her yell his name. Her moans filled him, cut him, and pried open a part of him he’d kept locked. He’d groaned, lying in bed and jerking off to the image of Gillian Sinclair. Her flaming hair, her glittering eyes, and the sassy remarks she threw like darts.
The next morning, inside the shower, Stephen soaped his body, and he’d wound up with a full hard-on from his bath-house fantasy of her. He knew something had to be done. One last fantasy. Hell, she was his friend’s sister, and this last twenty-four hours had gotten out of control in a mess of hot fantasies.
He’d gripped himself, aiming to be done with this nonsensical fantasy girl, and he handled himself hard, pumping into his palm over and over. If he could come forcefully enough, a damned powerful jet, he believed then he’d be free of her.
Gillian kept appearing in his mind, the feel of her slick pussy against his fingers, and that piercing. It was the metal bar piercing he kept thinking about, the way it felt to run his thumb over her erect clit; yeah, that one recollection made his need for her riot.
“Oh, baby,” he’d murmured, God knows how many times in two days. His hips gyrated forcefully, his cock a granite column; the veins were ridges beneath his fingers, and he thrust into his own hand, knowing the prickling at the base of his balls meant he was close. Rocketing, he swore as a stream of cum jettisoned into his hand.
He yelled so loud, his voice shook the cabinets and echoed inside the bathroom. His whole body spasmed as though he’d taken a beating. He leaned against the shower wall, steam surrounding him and hot water pouring over him, washing away his seed, but not his raw desire.
“I’m fucked,” he swore, acknowledging that his ache to do this for real with Gillian had only heightened.
The subsequent day was no different. He’d awoken with a stiff pecker and jerked off in bed, then ag
ain during the day when he couldn’t take thinking about her for a second longer. For the last two nights, when he was at the end of his rope, he’d gone in search of relief, but each woman became a redheaded vixen with a pink, fresh mouth. He’d tried to fuck her out of his system, but ejaculating brought no satisfaction. Only a hollowness that burned him.
Who was he fooling? He hadn’t taken a deep breath since the swipe of his finger across Gillian’s warm, wet folds. The second he’d come into contact with that metal bar piercing her hood, he was imprisoned by a raging lust and hunger for one woman.
He tried to imagine what it looked like, and kept hearing the whimper from her mouth when he’d touched her. Then he’d thought, what if another guy got the chance to experience that silky feel of her? So far, he vacillated between craving her and frustration in not having her.
Torture. Pure, unadulterated torture. Sure, he’d been able to let her go that morning under the overarching truth that she was his friend’s sister. But the idea of another guy touching her sent waves of fire across his taut nerves.
Stephen had tried to put all thoughts of her dating life out of his mind. Impossible. The dudes around here, with one taste of her, might be too keyed up to let her pass, or suddenly ignore that no meant no. Some jerk would be putting out his best sweet-talking words, angling her into giving it up. He’d engaged in enough fast talk to women to know the odds were in the favor of alcohol…sweet or not.
He’d known, no way in hell was this going to be an easy situation to deal with. Forgetting Gillian hadn’t worked. He had few options except…even he had a hard time conceptualizing it. There was no other way but to go on down and wait for her at the Double Diamond that evening during Ladies’ Night.
Wednesday night became a target on the agenda, blazing within his internal clock. Minutes dragged between where he was and the point he’d get to see her again. All day he kept checking his cellphone for the time. By seven that night he’d showered and, for once, had considered what he’d wear.
Cranking his motorcycle, he revved the engine and double-clutched, tearing down his driveway, and taking the small hill with enough speed to catch some air. Out on the paved street he relaxed with the feel of the wind on his body and the early evening heat coming up from the ground. The ride gave him room to ponder what he’d do that night. Every thought centered on Gillian. Gripping his handle bars, he realized if he’d thought her name a hundred times by now he’d groaned it a thousand. Tonight he’d find out how one-sided this attraction was, and what his options might be.
Inside the Diamond, he sat at the bar with a view of the front door and the table that Cory had reserved. His sister had waved over to him and he’d told the bartender to put her tab on his bill, but to not let her overindulge. When the bartender asked him to define hard limits, he’d quickly understood that his sister and her friends were a pretty rowdy cluster. He’d almost fallen off his seat when Lori and her boyfriend came along, joining the other girls from the group.
Thank his lucky stars, Lori had shown up with a date, for he’d no idea of how that would have worked out. He didn’t have long to worry about the details. Letting his gaze wander around the place, he caught sight of a haze of cinnamon curls and his chest tightened.
Indeed, Gillian entered, and his heart slammed against his ribs. Her fiery hair had him clawing the bar. Long curls and waves spilled loose over her shoulders, and came all the way down to her waist. The memory of its silky feel between his fingers had him itching to wrap his hand in her hair for days. His eyes traced a path down her body to a short jean skirt, and he swallowed hard. Not much longer than those panties she’d bewitched him with. Was it days ago? Suddenly, it seemed like seconds.
Gillian tempted him to sit up and take further notice. And not only him, but every jackass in the place was watching her.
Those long slender legs of hers in cowboy boots, and a tight tank top hugging firm breasts, prompted him to do more than just sit there staring. Nope, he was ready to pounce. He’d commandeer the crazy train at the idea of another guy touching her. No way in hell was he going to sit there and watch this show. Especially when she’d caught him staring. He’d tipped his hat and held up his cup.
Gazing around the bar, he’d noticed several other men were emptying their beer mugs, staring in her direction. This was the preamble to getting up and asking a woman to dance. He inhaled, and put his hat on the bar. Just dance with her.
She’d agreed, and he took her to the farthest corner. Walking with her slender hand in his, in the beginning, he’d had a stern talk with himself that it was just flirting he was after. Just talking with her would be enough.
It was another story to actually dance with Gillian. He held her in his arms, her soft curves bumping into his body, and the way she pressed against him made thinking impossible. The smell of her skin matched his memory of her scent and tore into him. Gillian’s silky hair had him renegotiating his imaginary platonic terms, until he’d forgotten what he was after other than her mouth and whatever else she was willing to share.
After kissing her, he knew if they continued to stay pressed against each other, he’d be off his rocker in less than a minute.
“Take a walk with me,” he said, thinking they needed to get away from the crowd, and what the hell did anything matter other than getting lost with her, anyway? For once, he was less than pleased his ride was a motorcycle with no backseat. He laced his fingers with hers, went over to the bar, and collected his hat.
“Oh, I wondered where it was,” she said, smiling.
“Never a good idea to leave it on the bar. I’ve come back before and had it filled with beer.”
Where the heck was this attraction coming from, that had him by the balls and mind? He’d vaguely wondered prior to getting there this evening how his feelings had evolved. Gillian had always been the skinny kid sister of Haden, his friend. But she wasn’t skinny any more, was she? His mind kept pointedly reminding him. Now he knew it didn’t matter. Down to his bones, inside his marrow, only one thing mattered. He wanted Gillian and had to have her.
“How old are you?” he asked.
“I’m legal, if that’s your point?”
“No, I just wondered and wanted to know if I was correct or not.”
He’d done the math and come up with twenty-two. He wasn’t exactly robbing the cradle. He doubted Haden would see it that way, but Haden wasn’t exactly Mother Theresa.
“Twenty-two. Were you? Correct?”
“Finally, something I got correct about you. I figured you were about a year older than Cory.” He squeezed his fingers with Gillian’s and led her out the back entrance.
It was the parking lot, people were coming and going. Couples were outside laughing and smoking and drinking. A whole other type of party was going down in cars. Several trucks and SUVs, even a few small cars, had people inside, the windows fogged up.
Once outside, the cool air cleared his head and made him realize this wasn’t high school. He surveyed the parking lot where several cars were rocking precariously. He needed something, but was at a loss to see a solution.
Stephen pulled her toward the side street. A block off of Main Street, they could walk down by the small shops, and he knew the diner would still be open. “How about a cup of coffee?”
“Coffee?”
“Or tea?” He tunneled his fingers through his hair, staring at her, and torn between wanting to find her car and pushing her against the side of the building. He wasn’t one for a public display of contact, but she’d already enticed him sorely on the dance floor and he’d gotten over being less than discreet. Standing here, with her soft, warm hand threaded with his, she tempted him to do things less than practical.
“I think we should talk. Don’t you?” He asked, stalling the urge to slam his mouth against hers just to hear her moan. The way her wide eyes glittered, and how she held her bottom lip between her teeth cut into his attempt to be a gentleman. His dick twitched, not once but a coup
le of times. Inside his jeans his crown rubbed against the back of his zipper. He had to get a grip on his desire to possess every inch of her skin in, say, the next heartbeat.
“Since when do you drink coffee or tea? Or talk. That’s not what you’re best known for. Is it?” she asked, her tone flaring upward.
“If you must know, that’s what I was drinking in there.” He cocked his head toward the bar. He hadn’t wanted to see her tonight drunk, and had no desire to drink himself silly. Yeah, he noticed the bartender’s expression when he ordered coffee, black. Had to wait while they made it since there wasn’t any brewed.
“Why aren’t you drinking? What…are you here watching over Cory?”
“No one watches over my sister. I’m not interested in getting a beer buzz going on tonight. No big deal. Don’t act like I’ve got some problem. Wednesday isn’t my night out, anyway.” He’d said too much. From her expression, she was quickly coming up with a question. Shit, he’d boxed himself in good.
“Pray tell, then, what are you doing out drinking coffee? Tonight? If you’re not babysitting your sister, then who are you watching over?”
“I just…felt like coming out for a while. I thought there might be a game on.”
“No use saving the shoes, you might as well roll up your pant legs with that one, McLemore.”
He inhaled, unable to lie to her face. “I wanted to see you again. And I sure as heck didn’t want one of these men taking advantage of you.” He swept his hand toward the parking lot, then abruptly turned, taking her by the arm, having decided he didn’t want her observing what was so obviously taking place in back of them.
The feel of her arm sliding between his fingers held his attention. Stephen peered up into the dark sky, uneasy with this need to protect her and, at the same time, possess her. This was foreign territory, and one not so easily navigated.
