by JoAnn Ross
"No." There was no point in lying. Finn reminded himself that they were both adults. They knew how the game was played. "It doesn't." He drew in a deep breath, "There's something you should probably know about me."
"I know everything I need to know."
"Not everything. You don't know why I'm here. In Blue Bayou."
She glanced back over her bare shoulder. "You didn't come home to go fishing?"
"I hate fishing. I came home because I didn't have a choice. I'm working off four weeks suspension, for beating the shit out of Ronald Lawson."
He could tell she was surprised by that. "When you arrested him?"
"No. When he tried to escape from the hospital where he's being mentally evaluated. It admittedly wasn't the right thing to do, but it was damn satisfying. Then things got political and"—he shrugged— "here I am."
"That's not right." He assumed she was referring to his lapse in control. But it was her turn to surprise him. "That you were suspended for keeping a killer off the streets. Personally, if I were the Director of the FBI, I would have given you a commendation."
"I suppose that's only one of the reasons why you'll never be FBI Director."
"It's just as well," she said on a slight sigh. "Since I can't imagining explaining such a career change to my parents ... So, is that all? No confessions about beating little old ladies with rubber hoses for operating unlicensed bingo games in nursing homes? Or hauling in people for not paying library fines?"
"The FBI doesn't arrest citizens for overdue library books. And I don't believe I've bludgeoned any old ladies in, oh, at least six, maybe eight months."
"I'm ever so glad to hear that." As the last lace was undone, she turned around. "And now that we've cleared the air, I certainly wouldn't object to your kissing me."
He gathered up a handful of fiery hair as soft as thistledown and felt himself growing hard when he imagined it skimming over his thighs.
He'd been walking around in a constant state of arousal since she'd landed in Louisiana. Need was eating away at his insides. The sensible thing to do would be to shut up and satisfy both their lust and curiosity, so they could move on.
"No strings," he said, wondering which of them he was warning.
"No strings," she agreed, her voice as breathless as his was roughened. "We'll keep things physical. Enjoy this time together and each other; then when it's over, we'll both move on."
"The Bureau makes us get yearly physicals," he volunteered. "I had mine a couple months ago. Everything was okay. So you don't have to worry about any sexually transmitted diseases."
"I had to get one for the studio insurance. Same here."
"Okay. So, now that we've taken care of the health disclosure issue, let me make absolutely sure we're both on the same page, here."
"For heaven's sake, Finn." Her frustrated sigh ruffled a curl that had fallen over her eye. "If you make every woman jump through hoops like this, I'm amazed you get any sex at all."
"Not every woman is looking for a long-term relationship."
"I'm off to Kathmandu in a few days. How long-term can this be?"
Good point. "Okay, so what you're saying is that you're willing to have hot, steamy sex with me for as long as you're here in Blue Bayou, then when the film wraps, we'll just shake hands and you'll trot off to Nepal. No harm, no foul."
"Did anyone ever explain that not every conversation has to be an interrogation? Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying. Except for one point."
"I knew it." Here came the but, the loophole in her argument.
"If we're going to be having all that hot, steamy sex, I think a good-bye kiss would be more appropriate than a handshake. We're both adults, Finn. We're unattached, I want you, and you want me. I may be an actress, and I might have grown up on a commune, but inside this Bond Girl body is a very levelheaded woman."
"The Bond Girl body is dynamite." He touched his lips to hers and drew forth a sigh. "But it's the woman inside it that's been driving me crazy." After all, it was the damn wondering that was causing the tension between them. Since sex could never quite equal the fantasy, it was only logical to get it behind them. "I'm going to have you, Julia. And when we're done, your head is going to be anything but level."
She grinned at that. "Promises, promises." Touched her hand to his face. "Does this mean we're finished negotiating the terms of our brief, hot, sexual affair now?"
"Yeah. I guess so." She was making him feel a little foolish for trying to do the right thing.
"Good. And since we don't have any Krispy Kremes handy, how about sealing this deal with a kiss?"
Since he was only human, and male, Finn finally surrendered, deciding to take Nate's advice and just take what he'd been craving for too long.
He covered her mouth with his as he carried her into the bedroom, then stood her beside the same bed in which his grandmother had been born. The bed his mother had been conceived in. The bed a horny teenage Finn had brought girls to, where they'd enthusiastically rolled over the mattress, eagerly learning the basics of sex, but none of the subtleties.
He'd gotten better over the years, more skilled, less selfish, more caring of his partner's needs and desires. But never had anything felt so perfect, so right, as being in this place at this time with this woman.
Instead of the usual fumbling of zippers and buttons, and shirts that got caught up on eager arms, their undressing was like something from the movies, all soft fades and slow dissolves.
"It smells like a garden," she murmured as he laid her down on the mattress.
"That's because it's stuffed with moss and herbs."
She smiled up at him. Sweetly. Endearingly. Looking, he thought, almost like the young girl he imagined must have driven all those farm boys to distraction. "I like it."
"I'm glad."
Since he'd been standing on the edge of this towering cliff for too long, Finn had imagined whenever he'd pictured this moment—which he had, too many times to count—that he'd just dive in headfirst.
But now that the moment he'd tried like hell to avoid was finally upon him, Finn found that he didn't want to hurry. He wanted to draw things out, to pleasure them both.
He drew her to him, stroking her hair with one hand, while the other cupped her exquisitely lovely face. His lips brushed feathery kisses against her lids, which fluttered shut at his touch, then against her cheeks, and that soft, fragrant place behind her ear.
He touched his mouth to hers, moving back and forth, tasting, teasing. All his edgy hunger faded as he allowed himself to bask in this gentle, undemanding meeting of lips, mingling of breaths.
Time slowed. Then seemed to stop. The past spun away, back into the mists; the future seemed a lifetime away. There was only now. Only her. Only him.
Julia lifted her fingertips to his mouth, tenderly touching his lips. Exploring the harsh lines of his face, skimming over his hair.
Outside the wind moaned, the rain hammered on the tin roof, and thunder grumbled. Inside there were soft sighs, low moans and murmured words.
He nuzzled at her ear and wondered that any skin could be so silky. Nibbled his way across her smooth bare shoulders, then licked a wet path down to her breasts and brought the blood simmering to the surface.
"I want to know what you want." His words vibrated against soft skin. She was so soft. So sexy. So impossibly tempting. "What you need."
"You." She slid her hands down his chest, her fingers skimming though the scattering of dark hair that arrowed down to his cock, which felt as if it might erupt at any moment. "Oh, God, Finn, I want, I need, you."
"We'll have each other soon enough, chère." Determined to maintain control, he caught her hand and continued on his leisurly, erotic journey. His mouth grew hot, his hands possessive. "But meanwhile . . ."
Having been ready for fast, flaming sex, Julia found herself falling under the spell of his slow, sensual exploration. He was scattering kisses over her stomach, the inside of her thigh, the back of her
knee, which, amazingly, seemed to be directly connected to other, more vital body parts.
She should have known a man like Finn, who focused on the smallest detail, would be thorough. His hands and mouth were everywhere, caressing, feasting, an agonizingly slow journey from her lips to her toes, discovering hidden, secret flashpoints of pleasure. And everywhere his lips touched, he left tormenting trails of fire and ice.
She couldn't bear it much longer. Julia's body craved; her heart hungered. When he pressed his mouth against the heat between her legs,the keen edge of his teeth scraping against the ultra-sensitive flesh, his tongue diving deep, she felt a flood of hot moisture and moaned.
Hungry for him, desperate to taste him as he was her, with a greedy sense of wonder, Julia pulled away, just long enough to shift position on the soft fragrant mattress so they mirrored each other, hands shaping the swell of hips, hungry mouths closing over straining shaft and bud.
His thumb parted the sensitive pink folds, and pressed down at the same time he thrust his fingers deep inside her.
Her eyes flew open and she cried out his name as she shattered.
She was limp. Boneless. A hurricane could have swept through Blue Bayou and she couldn't have moved a muscle to save herself.
"I need to . . ." She couldn't think. Couldn't talk. Her fingers stroked his sex which was, like the rest of him, decidedly oversized. If her mind wasn't scattered into little pieces all over the floor, she might have been concerned about how on earth she was ever going to handle that. "You need to . . ."
When she lifted her head off his thigh and pressed her dry lips against the nobbed tip of his penis, gathering in the wet gleaming evidence of his readiness with her tongue, Finn fisted his hand in her hair.
"Don't worry about me. For now, just relax. And take."
How did he expect her to relax when he was creating such havoc in every atom of her body?
He shifted their positions yet again so she was lying on her back, looking up at him, wondering if she'd ever seen a more perfect male specimen. He was a large man, but had not allowed himself to soften. She couldn't detect an ounce of superfluous flesh on his body; he reminded her of Michelangelo's David that she'd seen in the Accadamia in Florence.
But this man was not marble. He was strong, hard muscle, dark skin that smelled of musk, rain, vaguely of horse, and male power. And for this stolen time together in Blue Bayou, he was hers.
He braced himself on his elbows and, looking into Julia's eyes, slowly lowered himself onto her, the weight of that magnificent body pressing her into the mattress. Julia loved the strength of his long legs, the beguiling power emanating from his every pore, the taste of herself on his lips as he kissed her—hard and long and deep.
He slid his fingers into her again, .widening her, preparing her. Then he rubbed his penis against her still tingling clitoris, first back and forth, then in tiny circles, refusing to stop even when she whimpered and begged for release. She twisted beneath him, hands gathering up fistfuls of sheet, inarticulate pleas falling from lips he was bruising with his kisses.
But there was no need for words. A Trappist monk, cloistered for a century, would have had no trouble hearing the need in her ragged voice.
Her climax lasted longer this time, like waves rolling onto the shore, crashing against granite cliffs.
"Beautiful," he said in a rough sound that was half groan, half sigh. "I could watch you like that forever." He bent his head, brushed his lips against hers as he took his cock in his hand and guided it into her welcoming warmth. The first touch of flesh against flesh was like an electrical shock.
"Please don't stop," she murmured when he paused. Her hair looked like tongues of flame as she tossed her head on the pillow. "I want you to take me, Finn." As lovely as those earlier climaxes were, and they had taken a bit of the edge off her hunger, she still wanted all of him. And now.
She closed her eyes and bit her lip as the broad flare of his penis pushed past the opening.
"Hell. I'm hurting you."
"Never." She exhaled a breath and pressed a palm against his lower back to prevent him from pulling out. "I love it." She arched her back, lifting her hips even higher and exhaled another deep, soothing breath. "May I please have some more, sir?"
He laughed, the sound rumbling from his chest like friendly thunder. "Since you ask so politely, how can I refuse?"
He pressed on, inch by solid inch, filling her, stretching her.
"Ah," he breathed as her body responded, wrapping around him like a greedy fist to draw him in even deeper. "You feel so good, baby. All hot and wet . . . Hold on."
His mouth covered hers in a hard, mind-blinding kiss as he thrust the rest of the way into her, all the way to the hilt. He was thick and full and vital, filling her body as he'd already filled her heart.
Finn stilled for a moment, giving her body time to adjust to the erotic invasion. "You okay?"
"Better than okay," she said in a pleased little sigh. "I've never felt so good in my life."
He smiled at that, against her mouth, and said, "How about going for a personal best?"
He began to move, rocking against her, slowly at first, then faster, harder, deeper, punctuating each thrust with her name.
This time they came together. Julia cried out against his neck; her legs tightened around his hips. She could feel his thighs go rigid, the contractions that convulsed inside her, his release, the spasms racking his body in a vigorous series of pulses.
She didn't know how long they lay there, chest to chest, legs and arms entwined, hearts beating in unison, her body sparking with sharp spasms of aftershocks, listening to the rain on the roof and Finn's labored breathing against her neck.
If the world came to an end this very minute, she couldn't complain. Because she'd already been to Paradise.
"I didn't know you spoke French."
"I don't." He touched his lips to hers with a gentleness that belied the power he'd just brought to their lovemaking.
"My parents believed in widening horizons," she said against his mouth as he amazingly, started things stirring inside her all over again. "I could speak three languages before my tenth birthday."
"Good for you."
"My point is , , , oh, God, I can't believe what you do to me," she sighed when his hand trailed up her inner thigh. "Anyway, I know French. And you were speaking it."
"It's Cajun French." He gave her a surprisingly playful nip on the chin. "I was nearly eight when I started learning it, so it doesn't come asnaturally to me as it does to Jack and Nate."
Then there were all the years at the Bureau when he'd worked to rid his voice of any trace of his bayou roots, wanting, needing to fit the FBI's All-American prototype. Finn closed his mind to his work; determined that this stolen night be only about them. "It only comes out when I disengage my brain."
"You ought to disengage your brain more often, because I like it. It's sexy. And all those other things you said you were planning to do to me were pretty good, too." She ran a finger down the side of his face, dipping into the cleft in his chin. "Tell me some more."
"Why don't I just show you?" he suggested.
"Oh, good idea." Her arms wrapped around his neck, surrendering to the fantasy, to Finn.
Chapter 23
Although the idea had originally bothered him, Finn had wanted her from the beginning. And now he'd had her—again and again, and it had been better than he could have imagined. The problem was, as he lay with her in his arms this morning, listening to the bayou come awake outside, Finn idly wondered what it would be like to keep her.
Dangerous thinking, that. Impossible thoughts. The deal they'd made was for no strings. No commitments. And he was a man of his word.
"Well," she murmured as the bedroom began to light up with a rosy glow, "that certainly should have done it."
"Yeah." He touched his lips to the top of her head.
"These next days should be much easier, don't you think? Without all tha
t sexual tension between us?"
"Yeah," She had a little birthmark, shaped almost like a heart, at the back of her neck. Finn bent his head and kissed it.
"Where did you get that scar?" she asked.
"Scar?" He nuzzled his face against her breasts.
"The long, dangerous-looking one on the inside of your thigh."
"Oh, that." Since it wasn't his favorite subject, he skimmed the tip of his tongue across her nipple in an attempt to distract. "It's nothing."
"Finn." She arched her back, offering that creamy flesh to him even as she refused to drop the question. "I want to know."
"It wasn't anything." He switched to the other breast and felt her shiver beneath his mouth. "I just got in the way of a knife." He didn't mention that knife had been intended for the president, and he'd managed to get the would-be assassin before the guy could get to the protective ring of Secret Service guys.
She leaned back to look at him, breaking the warm contact. "You said you joined the FBI because you didn't need the adrenaline rush of being a cop, so I haven't thought about your work as dangerous."
"It's usually not." Neither was he about to bring up the Bureau's Hall of Honor for agents lost in the line of duty. "Sometimes things just happen."
"Things like being stabbed."
"Yeah." The mood had definitely changed, and not for the better. Sighing, Finn picked up his watch, which was lying on the bedside table. "It's getting late. I'd better shower."
"Would you like some company? After all, I was brought up to be an environmentalist, and saving the world's resources—like water-is very high on our agenda."
Finn was amazed at how little it took to make him want her all over again. "Well, if we're saving the world .. ." He scooped her from the bed and carried her into the bathroom. As the room filled with steam and his head filled with her, Finn decided there was a lot to be said for environmentalism.
* * *
The rape scene Finn had not been looking forward to watching was filmed just before they were to break for lunch.
