Trouble

by Ann Christopher

  Ecstasy.

  God, his skin was luscious. Smooth. Warm. Salty-delicious.

  When she slid her open mouth up the side of his neck to his ear and sucked his lobe, he made a noise that was half groan, half choking laugh, “You were made for me, Dara.” His hand found hers and fitted it to the hard, hot, heavy ridge in the front of his pants. “See what you do to me?”

  She gripped and rubbed him eagerly, desperate to explore.

  He gasped, stiffening.

  A wondrous sense of power ran through her. She’d done this to him. She rubbed him again. “Do you like that?”

  Without warning, he hit his limit. His eyes glinted dangerously. “Don’t.”

  He grabbed both her hands and slammed them over her head, pinning them to the wall.

  Dara frowned. She didn’t like being interrupted but, on the other hand, his power and strength—his domination—thrilled her. She tested him anyway, trying to break free.

  “Let go.”

  Mike ignored this, switching her wrists to a single-handed grip Houdini couldn’t have escaped. His other hand, meanwhile, slid down her side to her thigh, finding the slit in her dress.

  She tensed, all the breath whooshing out of her lungs.

  A wicked light flickered on in his eyes.

  “Mike,” she tried.

  He didn’t pay her the slightest attention. His fingers glided slowly ...slowly ...under her dress and up the inside of her thigh, stopping at the edge of her panties.

  A strangled sound erupted from somewhere inside her. “Please,” she said, panting.

  He stooped until they were face-to-face, close enough for her to see how primitive and merciless his expression was.

  “You like torture?” he demanded quietly. “Is that it?”

  His fingers inched under her panties and skimmed her flesh. Barely.

  She whimpered, a needy little sound far beyond her control.

  “Do you like that, Dara?”

  His fingers touched her again, firmer now.

  She cried out, squirming.

  “I asked you a question.” His thumb found the center of her very existence and rubbed it, circling. “Do you like that?”

  “Yes!”

  “Should I stop?”

  The tension grew and grew. She pumped her hips, following where he led.

  “Please, Mike—”

  “Should I stop?”

  “No! I . . .”

  She shattered, crying out his name over and over again as the pleasure ripped through her with no beginning and no end. Her knees weakened, but he let her go and caught her around the waist before she could collapse in a puddle on the floor.

  Deep inside his arms, she held on tight, the thunder of his heartbeat comforting her as she caught her breath. After a while, he pulled back enough to look at her with his searching gaze.

  “Did you like that, angel?” he asked, unsmiling.

  Still feeling dazed, she nodded. “Yes. I liked that.”

  His lips turned up at the edges before he leaned down to kiss her, gently now.

  Incredibly, the tension in her belly began to build again, telling her how ruined she was and how thoroughly she already belonged to him. She welcomed the sensation and pressed her soft sex, still pulsing and soaking wet, against his rigid arousal.

  He groaned, cupping her butt hard as he ground against her.

  “Dara.” His hoarse voice whispered in her ear, spiking her even higher. “I need to come inside you.” His tongue traced the curve of her ear and she mewled with renewed pleasure. “Please, please, sweetheart. Let me make love to you. Please.”

  Her body a giant yes, Dara nodded and pulled him down again for another deep, urgent kiss. Mike increased the pressure on her butt until he lifted her off her feet. The deep slits in her dress let her wrap her legs tightly around his waist, never breaking the kiss. Mike took the opportunity to run his hands up and down her bare thighs before he swung her around and effortlessly carried her down the hall and through the only door, into her softly lit bedroom.

  When he lowered her to the bed, she scooted back against the pillows and watched as he swiftly unbuttoned his shirt, his intent gaze glued to hers. He pulled his shirt off and the undershirt quickly followed. Then he kicked his shoes off and dropped his trousers, revealing black boxer briefs and a startling bulge that made her glad she was already sitting down.

  Dara stared, not bothering to hide her awe. Smooth, broad, sculpted shoulders tapered to the hard slabs of his chest. Every well-defined muscle of his belly rippled as he joined her on the bed for another kiss.

  It took half a second for his hands to move to the zipper between her shoulder blades and ease it down.

  The sound startled her, reminding her of another dress, another zipper, another man.

  That man’s voice barged its way into her head, intruding where it wasn’t welcome and should’ve been long forgotten.

  Let me make love to you, Dara.

  She shoved the voice far away and tightened her arms around Mike as he settled on top of her.

  “I need you, angel,” Mike whispered. “I need you so much.”

  I need you, Dara.

  Mike eased the dress away from her shoulders as she wriggled to help him. The dress slid to her waist.

  “Ahhh, Dara.” Mike buried his mouth between the cups of her strapless black bra. “Dara.”

  Dara.

  The remembered voice’s sudden insistence turned her body to an iceberg—hard and cold.

  Mike stilled immediately and raised his head to look at her with unfocused eyes.

  “What is it, sweetheart? Did I hurt you?”

  Dara pulled away from him, which wasn’t easy because he didn’t want to let her go. Vibrating now with thwarted desire, painful memories and a rising panic she could barely manage, she scooted to the edge of her bed and ran her hands through her hair.

  There was no way she could tell Mike that once, long ago, there’d been another man, another night, and another morning after. And there had been pain and betrayal and broken promises.

  And Mike hadn’t even made her any promises.

  She turned to him helplessly.

  He waited, his concerned eyes wide. “Tell me, sweetheart. What is it?”

  “I ...I can’t,” she whispered, barely keeping her head above the embarrassment that seemed so determined to drown her. “I’m so sorry! I ...I didn’t mean to lead you on! But I’m not ready for this.”

  Mike took a deep breath, and she felt him very firmly leash the passion he’d let run free moments ago. His face strained and tight with the effort, he cupped her cheek and pressed a lingering kiss to her temple.

  “Is this your first time?”

  She shook her head.

  Mike took a good look at her face. Which gave her a clear and unsettling glimpse of the sudden smoldering fury in his expression.

  “Did someone ...did someone hurt you?”

  “No! I mean ...not physically. It was a long time ago.”

  The darkness left his face as he pulled her close and pressed her head to his chest.

  “It’s okay, angel,” he said soothingly. “I understand. Shhh.”

  Dara clung to him, praying he didn’t hate her now. God, she was such an idiotic mood kill. He was probably very sorry he’d let himself get so aroused by a silly and inexperienced girl who couldn’t decide what she wanted.

  “I’m sorry,” she said again. “God, I do want you.”

  “Don’t apologize. Shhh.” His arms tightened and he rocked her. “There’ll be other nights.”

  “Yeah?”

  Pulling back, she stared up into his face to make sure he meant it.

  Sleepy half smile. “Hell, yeah.”

  Relieved, she blushed and grinned, which added up to an embarrassing simper than Mike didn’t seem to mind. His intent gaze locked onto her face, never blinking, hardly breathing.

  Finally he let out a serrated sigh. “I don’t know how you do t
hat.”

  “Do what?” she asked, bemused.

  “Get more beautiful every time I look at you.”

  God, the things he says, she thought, her smile dissolving inside a renewed wave of heat.

  They stared at each other, the air between them all but humming with a renewed charge of electricity. Dara opened her mouth, but since the things she was most likely to say included a rash I love you and the equally foolish I changed my mind, let’s make love, she shut it again.

  He frowned. “What’s going on in there?” he asked, tapping an index finger to her temple.

  Pressing a palm to her forehead, she closed her eyes and shook her head. “You’re going to think I’m crazy.”

  “Try me.”

  She opened her eyes and hesitated, her attention drifting down the length of his body, lingering on the dusting of hair between his flat nipples ...the hard ridges on his belly ...the rigid package between his legs that hadn’t been addressed.

  Catching herself, she snapped her gaze back to his. “I don’t want you to think I’m a tease.”

  “But ...?”

  “Stay with me.”

  Amusement glimmered in his eyes as he rolled to his side, bent his elbow and propped his head on his hand. “Wow. Tough decision. I was looking forward to leaving your warm bed and driving home in the middle of the cold night so I could sleep alone at my house.”

  She laughed, but her attention was quickly diverted by the gleam of his skin and play of his muscles as he adjusted his arm.

  There was a pregnant pause.

  Scooting to her knees, she reached for her dress, which was scrunched around her waist, swept it off over her head—his breath caught audibly—and dropped it to the floor before stretching out alongside him and mirroring his position.

  His gaze turned speculative as it skimmed along her body.

  He put a big hand on her waist and, tightening his grip, pulled her closer. She tracked his movements, as enthralled by the sight of his darker skin against hers as he seemed to be.

  “Anything else on your mind?” he asked silkily.

  “Nope,” she lied.

  “No? You sure?”

  “Yep.”

  “Hmm.” His magical fingers circled her belly button, making her skin leap, before gliding up her torso and tracing along the curves of her breasts above the black cups of her strapless bra. “What if I told you we can do—or not do—anything you want, whenever you want to?”

  Determined as she was to keep her wits about her, it was becoming impossible, especially when he skimmed up her throat and gently brushed her lips with his thumb. Crooning with pleasure, she let her heavy head fall back. When his thumb tested the seam between her lips, she opened for him and sucked it deep into her mouth. Then she savored both his taste and his sharp gasp before letting it go, scraping it with her teeth as she did.

  His wet thumb went directly to the valley between her breasts and stroked it.

  She stilled, knowing he had to feel the strained rise and fall of her chest as her excitement grew.

  Just as she heard his breathing go harsh.

  Turning her head, she stared into his glittering eyes.

  He stared back, waiting.

  “Anything?” she asked.

  “Anything.”

  Easing closer, she skimmed her nose up his neck and zeroed in on his ear, where she nipped his lobe. At the same time, she hooked her leg around both of his and ran it up and down his powerful thigh. “Because you smell soooo good.”

  “I do?”

  “And I’m dying to touch you,” she added, removing her leg and slowly dipping the tips of her fingers beneath the front waistband of his boxer briefs. When she went lower and grazed the thick patch of wiry hair, he shuddered.

  “Then touch me,” he said.

  Dara paused, letting his anticipation build because she wanted to drive him every bit as wild as he’d just driven her. Wilder.

  When his muscles had gone rigid with the strain of waiting, she kissed him, licking her way deep into his mouth even as she fisted his hard length and began to stroke him up and down.

  Mike stirred.

  He would have rolled over and gone back to sleep, but his arms were full of sleeping, fragrant woman and, after the torture of the last few months, the moment was far too delicious to sleep through.

  Dara lay against his side, curled in tight, with a silky arm slung across his chest and her hair tickling his skin. Murmuring something indistinct, she held him tighter, he kissed the top of her head and held her tighter, and he lay there, his mind and body swelling with pure, unadulterated, skip-through-the-nearest-flower-filled-field-while-frolicking-with-fawns-and-butterflies joy.

  Finally, man. At long freaking last. Thank you, Jesus.

  This had been the best night of his life, bar none. The fact that they hadn’t technically made love didn’t even rate a footnote to his extreme, blissed-out state. The hand job she’d given him—the sight of Dara’s hands on his body—was a million times more satisfying that any sex he’d ever had, and a billion times more satisfying than the furtive whack-offs he’d been giving himself in the shower just so he could take the edge off seeing her at work.

  Only he’d gotten it wrong.

  He’d told her she got more beautiful every time he looked at her, but that wasn’t what he’d meant to say. In his euphoria, he hadn’t found the words to express her sweetness and light, her effortless sensuality or the way he discovered new and ever more fascinating things about her every time he looked at her. He cared for this woman. Deeply cared for her. There was no getting around it, no acting like he didn’t, no wishing it away, no ignoring it, no pretending it was just lust. Not anymore. He admired her will and determination, her pride and strength. She made him laugh, comforted him, and infuriated him. And when he touched her ...

  He laughed shakily, still not quite believing the night’s turn of events and all the ways she’d amazed and thrilled him.

  That was the thing. He didn’t feel like he’d gotten to the end of the intriguing things she had to offer.

  Hell. He hadn’t even gotten to the middle of the beginning.

  Drenched in contentment, he rubbed her satiny back and thought about all the things they could now do together.

  He could take her out to dinner, for one, introducing her to all his favorite restaurants and him to hers. He could cook for her. She could bake for him. She did yoga and he’d always wanted to try it, so he could go to classes with her. He jogged, so she could come with him. Wait, did she jog? He’d have to find out. And then there were all the mundane parts of life that would be much more fun with her there: movie nights at home with takeout; sleepy weekend breakfasts at his favorite bistro; arguing over whose turn it was to cook and whose to clean up.

  And they’d have to discuss birth control. His supply of condoms hadn’t been a pressing concern lately, but now he’d have to invest in the biggest box he could find—

  A muted buzz disturbed his thoughts.

  Hang on. Was that a phone? Was that his phone?

  Frowning, he listened. Heard it again. Checked the lighted display on his watch: Two seventeen.

  Who the fuck would be calling anyone at this hour?

  Dara’s head moved fretfully and she murmured something indistinct.

  “Shhh. It’s okay,” he told her, rubbing her back. “Go back to sleep.”

  More incomprehensible murmuring.

  With a final kiss to her forehead, he cursed with regret and gently eased her off him and onto the bed. She immediately rolled to her other side, turning her back to him as her breath evened out.

  Mike got out of bed and dove for his slacks on the floor. A quick glance at his cell’s display showed both that it was Sean—Sean!—and that he’d received about ten texts in the last few hours, none of which he’d heard because he’d had his phone turned off during the gala.

  Moving as quietly as he could, he strode down the hall and into the kitchen.r />
  “Hello?”

  “Jesus, Mike! Where’ve you been at?”

  Mike froze, guilt and dread washing over him like the winning coach’s Gatorade bath at the Super Bowl. “What’s up, man?” he asked cautiously.

  “It’s Mama,” Sean told him. “She’s in the hospital.”

  11

  The second the elevator doors dinged open, Mike hurried out and strode down the corridor to the eighth floor information desk, resisting the urge to run.

  A woman looked up from her computer and smiled at him. “Can I help you?”

  “Yeah, I’m looking for my mother’s room—”

  “Mike,” called a voice behind him. “Down here.”

  Mike wheeled around and saw Sean standing next to an IV stand outside a patient room. Sean’s haggard face was a perfect reflection of Mike’s feelings: shocked; scared; helpless. Being back in a hospital with his brother was such an eerie reminder of tragedies past—their father’s long battle with cancer had seared its brand right across his heart, where it still burned—that, for a moment, Mike felt as though he’d stumbled into a time machine and been spat out in an era when he and Sean were united in youth and fear.

  So there was no hesitation when Mike strode up to his brother and embraced him in a back-slapping bear hug. Then they pulled back but hung onto each other’s forearms.

  “How is she?” Mike asked anxiously.

  Years seemed to have dropped off Sean’s face, reverting him to the scared little boy who’d scurried into Mike’s bedroom to hide under the bed during the monthly tests of the tornado sirens.

  “She’s hanging in there. The nurse was helping her to the bathroom, so I came out here for a minute to give her some privacy.”

  “What the hell happened?” Mike demanded, his racing thoughts veering into all sorts of nightmare scenarios, most of which involved Mama’s cancer spreading to every inoperable corner of her body and her rapid decline.