Flying High
Page 12
He drew back, cupping her cheeks so that he could gaze at her beauty, tunneling his spread fingers into her hair and placing a tender kiss on her full lips. “I missed you,” he whispered.
“It’s only been an hour.”
“I still missed you.” He kissed her again. She tasted of sweet chocolate and dark passion. A man could lose his senses in a woman like her. But Striker was determined to make this night last. “I hope you’re not tired.”
She shook her head.
“That’s good to hear. Because I’m not leaving you for a long, long time.”
He stepped away to look at her, taking her hand to maintain their physical connection. He shook his head in wonder. “Man, I have good taste.”
She grinned, smoothing one hand down the front of the camisole. “I agree.”
“I meant in women,” said Striker. “Though the outfit’s not bad, either.”
Her smile widened.
“I have a fantasy,” he said, lifting her hand to kiss her palm.
Her delicate eyebrows rose, her expression turned to a mixture of trepidation and interest.
“Not that kind of a fantasy,” he chuckled, kissing her fingertips one at a time. “Though I’m sure we can come up with something later.”
He reached down and tugged the big comforter off her bed. He turned, leading her by the hand toward the balcony door. “Come on.”
“It’s cold out there,” she protested.
“I’ll keep you warm.”
He slid the glass door open and they stepped through the threshold onto a breezy balcony overlooking the silver beach and the shifting, black ocean.
“Brrr,” she shivered.
He sat down on a padded lounger and spread his legs, motioning for her to sit in between. “Trust me.”
She sat, fitting her bottom between his thighs. He quickly covered them both with the comforter and wrapped his arms around her.
“See?” he whispered in her ear, reveling in the feel of her smooth curves.
“This is nice,” she sighed.
The ocean breeze caressed their faces. The roar of the waves surrounded them. And a billion stars winked around the high, half moon.
Striker idly caressed her silk-covered stomach. He kissed the top of her head, breathing in the citrus scent that took him back to the day she’d washed his hair and that first mind-blowing kiss.
The second his lips had touched hers, his universe changed forever. She was his frame of reference now, the kisses by which he would judge all the rest. He should probably consider the implications of that.
But not right now.
Maybe later.
She softened against him, her bottom sinking deeper into the V of his legs. He tried to focus on something else, like the stars or the waves or the wind. They’d make amazing love before the night was over, but he wanted the buildup to take hours.
He was feeling a little guilty. Twenty hot minutes on the bathroom counter wasn’t exactly his most stellar performance.
He tipped his head back, focusing on the sky.
“When I was a boy,” he said. “My family used to take vacations at the beach. Derek, Tyler and I would sleep on the front porch. And the sky looked just like this one. Big, endless, full of mystery.”
“I used to wish on the stars,” she said.
“What did you wish for?”
“Money mostly. Even as a kid, I knew we were poor. But sometimes I’d wish for toys, new clothes, candy.”
Striker’s heart contracted and guilt crept in once again. He’d had a five-bedroom beach house, while she had wished for candy.
“Is there anything you want now?” he asked, vowing to get it for her if it was within his power.
There was a smile in her voice. “This week? For Allan to love my contract.”
Okay, well, Striker would work on that one.
“For this moment? Nothing.”
His arms contracted around her. “But we’ve got all these stars. It’s a shame to let them go to waste.”
“Then you come up with something,” she said. “What would you wish for?”
“Right now?” That was easy. “For time to stop.”
Erin sighed. “That would be nice.”
“Look at that.” He pointed to the sky.
“A shooting star. Do we wish on it?”
“We could. But I think it’s a satellite.”
Her body moved against him as she laughed. “Tell me another wish.”
“What kind of wish?”
“Something important. What do you want out of life?”
“World peace.”
“That’s too easy. Smaller. Something for you?”
Striker thought about that. “Family peace.”
“Yeah?”
“Mmm, hmm,” he said.
“There are problems in your family?”
“I think there are problems in every family.”
“Tell me about yours.”
“That could take all night.”
“Give me the highlights.”
“Okay. My dad and I don’t get along. It upsets my mother.”
“Why?”
“She hates to see us fight.”
Erin gave him a light elbow in the ribs. “Why don’t you get along with your dad?”
“He wants me to do everything his way.”
There was a smile in her tone. “Let me guess. And you want to do everything your way?”
“I compromise.”
She nodded against his chest. “Sure you do…Mr. Ultimatum. Your poor father.”
“If you’d ever met Jackson Reeves you wouldn’t pity him.”
“Striker, I’ve only known you three days and I feel sorry for anyone who has to go up against you.”
“I let you change everything about me.”
She tipped her head to look him in the eyes. “Let’s keep this in perspective. You bought a suit.”
“You cut my hair.”
“Only because it needed it.”
“My father is unbending and unreasonable.”
“You ever try to look at anything from his perspective?”
“I don’t have to. He does that all by himself.”
Erin pulled one of his hands out from under the comforter. She kissed his knuckles. “You are a stubborn man.”
“Then how come you always get everything all your way?”
She flipped over, balancing on her knees, leaning against his chest. “You think I get things my way?”
“All the time.”
She smiled secretively and walked her fingers up his bare arm. “Why don’t we just test that, hmm?”
The last thing Striker needed at the moment was a test that involved full-frontal Erin teasing him.
“Why don’t you tell me about your family, instead?”
“You’re not getting off that easy,” she said.
“I told you about my dad. It’s your turn.”
“Are you going to get stubborn about this?”
“I’m not stubborn. Now tell me about your family.”
She shrugged. “Okay. It was just me and my mom. She died the year I graduated high school.”
“Oh, Erin. I’m sorry.”
“It was ten years ago.”
He kissed her forehead, suddenly wondering who in the world took care of Erin. Did she have close friends? Where did she spend Christmas? Who took care of her when she was sick?
He couldn’t imagine life without his mother, his brothers, even his father.
He had a sudden urge to take Erin home and introduce her to everyone. Maybe his mother could fuss over her for a while. Maybe that would help.
Even as he wished for it, he knew it was impossible. This was a stolen moment out of each of their lives, and it was all they had. He focused in on the brightest star in the sky and wished that time would stop.
It didn’t.
Striker knew it hadn’t because the wind kept blowing, the tide kept rising, and Erin s
uddenly snapped up the armrests on the lounger, and they reclined with a jolt.
“Hey—”
“Hey, what?” She wriggled up his body until she was lying fully on top of him.
“What are you doing?”
Then she sat up and let the comforter slide off her shoulders. There was a gleam in her eyes. “Since you’re so sure I always get things my own way…” she said and stripped off her camisole.
Striker sucked in a hard breath as he drank in the sight of her half-naked body glowing in the moonlight. Angel didn’t begin to describe her.
She shimmied out of the skimpy shorts and settled astride him, her bare thighs contrasting with the dark gray of his slacks. Her hair framed her face in a golden halo, her pink-tipped breasts rose and fell with her breaths. Her waist nipped in, impossibly tiny, and her hips flared out, thighs surrounding his hips.
Striker wrapped his hands around her waist, absorbing the feel of her warm, silky skin. “Okay, now this is turning into one of those fantasies.”
“Good.” She leaned down to kiss him. “Julie told me I should try seducing you.”
“She did? When?”
“Last night.” Erin rubbed her cheek against his. “We sat up late drinking brandy and cussing you out for walking away from me.”
“I’m sorry.”
She shrugged. “I can honestly say, I’m over it.”
Striker smiled. “I can’t believe I ever said no to you.”
“Neither can I, quite frankly.”
He laughed. “Just for the record, I’m not saying no now.”
She pulled back to eye him up and down. “First the seafood fork, and now this? You learn fast.”
“I do try.”
She sat up straight and stretched her arms over her head, lifting the back of her moonlit hair, trailing it through her fingers. Her nipples hardened in the cold and Striker’s body went to full arousal.
“The wind is very sexy, don’t you think?” she purred.
He wanted her.
Fast.
Hard.
Here.
Now.
He gripped the lounger arms, reminding himself of his vow to take it slow, hoping for the strength to hold back. “I’m all for sexy,” he said, voice strained.
She smiled, running a fingertip in a figure eight pattern over the front of his dress shirt. “You know, I’ve never made love outside.”
“You haven’t?”
She shook her head, blinking her deep brown eyes. “You want to be my first?”
Striker clenched his jaw, hard. If she kept this up, her first time outside was going to be over in the blink of an eye.
She reached for his belt, flipping open the clasp, popping the button beneath.
He grabbed her wrist. Willpower was only going to take him so far.
“Problem?” she asked.
He shook his head, trying to sit up and get things back under control. The lightning round earlier on the bathroom sink notwithstanding, women didn’t take care of Striker. Striker took care of women.
She placed her hand firmly on his shoulder and pushed him back. “My turn,” she said, her voice sultry in the darkness.
“What’s turns got to do with anything?”
With her free hand, she reached for his grip on her wrist. “I’m seducing you, remember?”
He knew he shouldn’t let her budge that hand. But he gave up his fingers, one at a time, as she slowly, deliberately pried them away from her wrist.
Then she pulled down his zipper, knuckles grazing the front of his boxers. He gasped out loud. This was crazy.
She loosened his pants and took him into her hand. His entire blood supply crested in a rush.
Before he could react, or even get his brain to acknowledge he was in big, big trouble, she straddled him, taking him inside her, surrounding him with tight, fiery heat.
His body jerked against her. “Are you—”
“How’s the fantasy going so far, flyboy?” she asked, rocking against him once and nearly sending him to the moon.
He grasped her hips, intending to hold her still. No way was this going to happen again.
But she rocked, and he let her. In fact he helped her. He gripped her hips and drew her against him, rocking her back, once more. And once more. And once more again.
This was way too fast.
This was way too one-sided.
But he couldn’t stop.
Sweat popped out on his body. Reason ceased and sensation took over as his blood reached the boiling point.
He knew he was being unforgivably selfish, but her sweet little body was taking him places he’d never been before. He strained toward her, starting to lose focus.
She reached back and gripped his thighs, arching toward the sky, calling his name out over and over again.
He lost the battle, and a starburst of color lit up the moon.
ERIN AWOKE TO SILENCE. Without opening her eyes, she knew Striker had left the bed. She’d been subconsciously aware of his broad, warm body all night long, and now there was only empty air.
She opened her eyes and blinked against the bright sunshine. Trying not to feel disappointed, she turned to face his pillow.
Her heart started to pound.
He’d left a single red rose lying across a folded note on his white pillowcase.
She sat up, curling her legs beneath her and tucking her hair behind her ears. She tentatively reached for the note, telling herself she could handle it if he’d left the island.
Last night had seemed so dreamy and magical that for a few hours she’d allowed herself to believe there was more between them than a fling. But in the cold light of day, she realized that thoughts like that were dangerous.
Striker was Striker. She knew his past. She knew his reputation. She couldn’t let herself hope for anything more that a weekend romance. He was leaving today and that was that.
She unfolded the thick sheet of paper.
Erin,
You looked so peaceful and beautiful, I couldn’t bring myself to wake you. But there was something I had to do. Come and see me at 17 Main Street. Hurry. I miss you already.
It was signed with a bold S across the bottom.
Part of her wanted to tuck the note against her chest. The other part wished he’d stop acting like he was her boyfriend.
They weren’t in a relationship. It was just a weekend. In fact, it would have been much better if the note had said “Thanks for the memories, see you around, babe.” This quasi-romantic stuff put her off balance. She was in danger of wishing for things that couldn’t be.
She lifted the rose and inhaled before she realized what she was doing. Its scent was sweet, its petals perfect.
She had to admit, the man sure knew how to give a great fling. No wonder he never struck out.
She slipped out of bed, determinedly leaving the rose behind as she padded into the en suite. The entire time she showered, she told herself she didn’t have to go see him. Just because he’d asked, didn’t mean she had to rush to his side.
She could back off now, keep it cool for the next couple of hours. Show him she was keeping things in perspective. Maybe he wouldn’t even come back to the beach house.
Well, she supposed he’d have to pick up his clothes at some point. But that would be quick. Fifteen, twenty minutes, tops. She’d give him a sophisticated goodbye, let him know she’d had fun, and that would be that.
She could do a classy goodbye for fifteen minutes.
ERIN TOLD HERSELF it could easily have been curiosity that brought her to 17 Main Street. It didn’t mean she was pathetically trying to take advantage of every last second with Striker.
And she was definitely curious as she wandered up the driveway of the private home. She wondered who Striker could possibly be visiting on Blue Earth Island. As she grew close to the house, she heard voices from the open garage door.
She altered her course, peering in at a bright red-and-silver airplane.
He caught a glimpse of her, did a double take, and his eyes lit up as though she had just made his day. He abandoned the workbench to head toward her.
“Hey, sweetheart.” He dropped a slow kiss on her mouth. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
As she blinked into his warm, welcoming blue eyes, she realized she’d made a big mistake in coming here. The man had charm down to an art form. If she wasn’t careful, she’d get swept right up in the fantasy.
“Sleep well?” he asked, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead.
She nodded, steeling herself against his touch. It was like he said, he was an uncouth bohemian with charm. This was all part of his practiced hound-dog routine, and she wasn’t the first or last woman who would melt from it.
While she tried to get her heart rate back to normal, he gestured to the plane, grinning like a twelve-year-old.
“Look what I bought,” he said.
For a second there, she thought he meant the plane. She glanced around at the tools and airplane parts scattered around the garage. “What?”
He pointed straight at the plane. “Well, half of it anyway.”
Erin glanced up at his beaming expression. “What are you talking about?”
He just smiled wider.
She couldn’t believe it. “You bought half a plane?”
“That’s right.”
“But…” What was he thinking? How could he afford it?
An older man appeared through the side door. “Molly’s already spending the money,” he chuckled at Striker. “She’s on the phone right now, making plans to go visit Ben.”
He stopped talking when he saw Erin.
“Roger,” said Striker. “This is my friend, Erin.” He gave her a significant squeeze around the shoulders. A squeeze that told Roger they were more than just friends.
Unfortunately, it also managed to convince a small part of Erin they were more than just friends. She had to stop letting herself react to his meaningless words and gestures.
“Hello, Erin,” said Roger, coming forward to shake her hand.
“Nice to meet you,” she said automatically, still recovering from Striker’s intimate squeeze, and scrambling with the fact that he had bought a plane—on impulse, apparently.