“Having a former navy SEAL and a U.S. Army vet running the place probably helps with that,” she offered as their salads arrived.
“Maybe. It was that way with my granddad, too—he didn’t take any guff from anyone. I’m carrying on his tradition. It’s always been a family kind of place.”
“You were close with him?”
“Growing up, yeah. He was a huge influence on me. Told me stories of the battle at Normandy, and a few other major skirmishes in the Second World War that he was in.”
“Navy?”
“No, army. But he definitely turned me on to the military at a young age.”
“Your father serve, as well?”
“No, his life was the ranch. Still is.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” she said, digging into her salad plate, and he did the same.
“What about you? What did your parents do?”
She paused, and he remembered his vow not to dig into anything painful in her past.
“If you don’t want to—”
“No, that’s fine. My dad was a cop, and my mom took off when I was seven. My brother was older, and did his own thing. We were never too close, that’s pretty much all there was to it,” she said, shrugging and not meeting his eyes as she focused very tightly on buttering a piece of her bread.
He reached over, covered her hand with his. “I’m sorry you had a tough time of it. We don’t have to get into it.”
She took a breath, but was smiling when she looked up.
“It’s okay, but I’d just rather talk about you. There’s not much to say about me. I left home, tried college, went through a string of jobs and relationships, and now here I am. End of story,” she said, shrugging again.
“What did you study in college?”
“Just liberal arts at first, you know, like everyone else who has no idea what they want to do,” she said with a smile.
“Ever think of going back?”
She looked away, then grabbed her glass of wine and took a sip.
“What about you? College, or did you go straight in to the SEALs?” she asked, changing the subject back to him.
“I went for basic training, and then I did my college through ROTC, and I joined the SEALs after that.”
“What did you study?”
“Engineering. I thought it might come in handy for operations and if I wanted to find some other job in the military after I was done with special ops. It’s no help whatsoever in running a bar or fixing your plumbing, however,” he said with a grin, wanting to put her at ease.
“Lisa said something about your dad’s birthday tomorrow. Shouldn’t you be over there helping, instead of out with me?”
The server interrupted them as their dinners arrived, giving him time to kick himself. He had completely forgotten to invite her to the party, though he had meant to mention it over the last few days.
When the server left, he shook his head. “I did what they needed me to do this morning, so no worries there. They have a lot of people on hand to help. But I do feel like an ass for forgetting to tell you—I meant to, but with one thing and another I’ve been busy, and—”
“It’s no problem, Ben. It’s a family thing. I understand, I didn’t expect—”
“It is a family event, but it’s hardly a family party. It’s one of the summer’s big things around here, and you are definitely invited. I even mentioned you to my parents, who insisted I invite you, but I dropped the ball,” he said, hoping she realized he was telling the truth and not just inviting her after the fact.
“That’s nice of you, but I don’t want to intrude,” she said, placing her napkin on her lap and slicing into a piece of succulent-looking chicken parmesan.
“You’re not. This is completely my fault.”
“Well, if you’re sure,” she said, smiling at him softly. “I don’t have a gift for your father, though.”
“He doesn’t let anyone bring gifts—he doesn’t want them, he just likes the excuse to throw a big bash, seriously. It would be his gift if you come and have a good time,” he said, reaching to take her hand and stroking his thumb over the soft center of her palm. “Will I see you there?”
She smiled in a cute, kind of slanted way that he loved, and nodded. “Sure. But I’ll bring something. Maybe we can at least pick up a card or your father’s favorite whiskey or something on the way home.”
Ben stopped stroking her palm. “How did you know my dad likes whiskey?”
“Just a guess. I saw some in your house, and figured you had to get your tastes from somewhere.”
“Good guess. He does like a few of the upscale brands. I’ll go in with you on a bottle. He’ll love it.”
“I can afford it now, Ben. I’m doing great with tips. Stop treating me like I’m some starving urchin you took in off the street,” she said a little testily, drawing her hand back.
“Joanna, I didn’t mean it that way. I don’t think of you that way at all.”
She set her fork down. “I know. I’m sorry, too. I’m just…wound kind of tight tonight, you know?”
The look she gave him was molten, and he knew what she meant. He was wound pretty tightly as well.
“Maybe we can have this packed up in a doggie bag to take back, and some dessert along with it?” he suggested.
Desire flickered in her eyes, and she nodded. “That sounds like a great idea.”
An hour later, they were walking through the door of his house. Ben wanted to slow down, to pour her a glass of wine, set the lights or do something other than jump her the minute the door was closed, but he didn’t need to worry about it, as things ended up.
As soon as the door was closed and he’d set the bag of takeout on the kitchen counter, she was on him, stealing the breath from him as her kiss told him in no uncertain terms what she wanted, and he was more than happy to give it to her.
6
“I LOVE YOUR HAIR,” HE SAID, winding his hands through it, burying his face in her neck before returning to her mouth.
With one gulping breath, they sank back into each other again.
“I love your arms,” she muttered against his mouth, sliding her tongue over his bottom lip, loving his taste as her hands delighted in the strong, corded muscles of his forearms, the thick mass of his shoulders.
At the moment, Joanna didn’t care about anything but having him. She was tired of fighting, tired of wanting and not having. To hell with complications. It was so much nicer to think about the big man pressing her up against the counter, and how, by some miracle, he made her feel delicate. Sexy. Feminine.
It was something she didn’t even know that she craved, until the instant Ben slowly slid down the zipper at the back of her dress, kissing her so softly while he did so that her toes curled.
And that was the miracle of it. She’d taken control, started this hot and heavy, but he’d turned it around, grabbed control back by being gentle, seductive.
“Like silk,” he murmured into her throat, nipping the flesh there and then kissing it as his hands ran over her.
She wanted him naked as quickly as possible, to return to the hard, pounding, mindless sex she’d decided to initiate.
Ben apparently had something different in mind.
She barely noticed as he maneuvered her away from the kitchen and over to the wide, antique divan that was on the other side of the room. She’d noticed it when she came in. It was a lush, sensual piece of furniture, clearly of Turkish or Persian origin. She’d thought it was a strange choice among the more standard, western furnishings of the rest of the ranch house, but then, nothing about Ben seemed to be predictable.
They stood in front of the divan, and she stopped his hand before he pushed the dress away. “Turn the lights off, or at least way down?” she asked.
She had covered up her scar, as usual, but she couldn’t risk him discovering it. “I like the dark, it makes things more intimate,” she added, meeting his eyes.
Actually, she loved the
lights on. She wanted to see everything he did to her, watch him, but it was a risk she couldn’t take at the moment.
He paused, but nodded. “Sure,” he said and moved over to dim the lights very low before returning to kiss her. He eased the dress from her shoulders. This time she didn’t stop him. The cushion of the divan gave beneath her as he lowered her down, never once breaking the kiss as he followed.
She imagined that she should be dressed in a filmy harem outfit, lying back on the luxurious cushion, ready to be taken by her handsome sultan.
“Too many clothes,” he muttered, undoing her bra. Her fingers responded in kind, pushing his shirt off and running her hands over his chest. Some women might like men’s butts or packages, but she was a chest and arms girl. A gorgeous male torso was all about strength and comfort.
For a second, they took each other in under the low, golden light in the room. He was beautiful, she thought, her heart slamming in her chest. Not overly built, but strong—clearly very strong. His hair and eyes were darker in the shadows. As he stared down at her with clear lust, looming over her with his powerful frame, she could easily imagine him a Persian king. And she was his slave.…
Her exploring fingers found a jagged scar over his right rib. A knife wound of some sort? She drew her fingers over it as he shuddered under her touch. As she discovered that it wrapped nearly all the way to the middle of his back, her soft smile faded.
“What happened?” she asked.
“Training accident. Got caught on a wire fence,” he said vaguely, and she knew he wouldn’t—or couldn’t—tell her more. She also doubted it had happened during training. She found another scar, something that felt a lot like hers—like a gunshot wound—low on his waist.
“This?”
“Not important,” he said, taking her lips in a hot kiss and erasing any more questions.
Lying back, she closed her eyes, envisioning the divan surrounded by draping silk tied with gilded rope. Relaxing, she let her arms fall back, her position receptive, open. They dispatched with the necessary disclosures quickly, and she was glad to know there was no need for barriers between them, wanting to experience him fully.
When she opened her eyes, she focused only on him, and saw heat flash in his expression.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
Did she dare share her fantasy?
“It’s this divan…it’s so exotic. I was picturing you as a sultan,” she said with a smile, hoping he didn’t think she was an idiot.
Ben leaned down close, powerful arms bracketing her on either side as he trailed kisses from her shoulder up to her jaw and over to her lips.
“I guess that would make you my harem girl. My slave,” he said, obviously very willing to play along.
“I guess so,” she said on a gasp, her nipples beading as his chest hair caressed them. She sighed, arching her back for more.
“Touch me, then, slave,” he said in a playful demand.
“Yes, master,” she agreed, taking a submissive tone, sliding her hands down that amazing chest to undo his belt and then working the snap of his jeans quickly. She enjoyed his approving growl as she slid her hand down inside and wrapped her fingers around the hot, hard length of him.
“Oh, yesss,” he hissed, pushing into her hand.
She paused briefly, encountering the soft foreskin covering the head of his cock before resuming her exploration, finding the touch that pleased him. He gasped, thrusting gently into her hand, closing his eyes, as if battling for control.
Touching him was very erotic. Joanna loved putting that look on his face. She wanted more. She wanted to see him lose it completely. Wanted to be the one who made him come. The slave bringing the master to his knees, she thought wickedly.
He groaned and pressed her back against the cushion, angling them so that she could continue to stroke him as he bent down and sucked a hard nipple into his mouth, flicking his tongue against it and making her cry out in return.
Far from being on the edge of losing it, he continued sliding into her grasp, hard as rock with control just as solid. Ben took his time, seducing her further with several long minutes of drugging kisses.
Moving down, he hooked his thumbs into the edges of her lace panties and pulled them off in a clean tug, throwing them out into the room. Leaning back, he took her in and clearly liked what he saw.
His eyes went directly to the back of her hip, settling on her tattoo.
“A tigress…perfect.”
She wanted to preen for him. Purr.
Which was not like her at all. Usually, Joanna took control. She didn’t play the sex kitten. But with Ben, she didn’t mind letting him take over. She didn’t want to be the way she was with everyone else, not with him. He shucked his pants, letting her see what she had so far only touched.
He stood, staring at her. “I should tell you something.”
She waited, holding her breath and praying for nothing to ruin this.
“I heard you last night,” he said, and she didn’t understand.
“Heard what?”
“Heard you getting yourself off in the shower. I didn’t mean to, but I was taking out garbage and you had your window open.”
“Oh,” she said, feeling her face burn. “I was thinking about you,” she admitted.
“I hoped so. I went back to my room, did the same thing, thinking about you,” he confessed, making her minor embarrassment turn into something else altogether. “If you are really my slave, will do you anything I ask?” he said next.
“Happily,” she responded, surprised to know she meant it.
“Do it again, so I can see. Touch yourself now,” he said, his hand going to his cock even as he told her to do the same. “But don’t come.”
Her gaze didn’t leave his as she lowered her own hand, the sharp sensation brought on by her touch immediately making her cry out and arch off the divan. Her senses went into overdrive from the wait, from watching him watch her.
“Please…I can’t hold off,” she said, lightening her touch before she exploded.
“Then let me help,” he said.
“Oh, yes, please,” she said appreciatively, eyeing his achingly erect shaft, and dying to know how he would feel inside her.
“I plan to take my time with you, slave,” he said in a soft, gentle way that brought out his Texas drawl and won her over completely.
“Whatever you say,” she said, sending him a sultry look, indulging her inner sex slave as she let her legs fall apart for him, inviting whatever he wanted to do.
She never would have imagined she would enjoy playing the submissive slave, but then again, she had never been with a man she could consider worthy to be her master.
His breathing became a tad rougher. She smiled up at him, beckoning him, feeling more powerful than she imagined a slave would. She enjoyed that, too.
Then his hips were wedged between her thighs, his cock brushing against the wet flesh of her sex and rendering her mute as he kissed his way down her stomach, then lower.
She would have protested the loss of his shaft from its very nice spot between her legs except that he quickly parted her with his hands and replaced the brushing strokes with his lips.
Slow, get-to-know-you strokes at first. Tongue only, lingering and exploratory, as if he were charting her responses, finding out what she liked, what made her writhe, what made her moan.
My master wants to please me, too, she thought in a haze of desire, letting the fantasy take over.
Then his fingers joined in, sliding into her, making her whimper with the need to come, but she was intent on making this heaven last as long as possible.
She lifted up on her elbows to watch, and he looked up, too. Her mind flickered at the sight of him there poised over her, those whiskey eyes hot and aroused as they met hers, his lips and skin slick with her wetness.
The look he gave her was primal, basic, masculine.
Possessive.
He dipped to take he
r with his mouth again, his eyes on hers as she watched. This time there was no fighting it, her entire body gave way to him as she spilled over with pleasure. She’d hardly caught her breath when he levered up over her, right where she wanted him to be.
JOANNA EXCITED BEN MORE THAN any woman he could remember. He rubbed his cock along her hot flesh, ramping her arousal back up again, making her ready for him.
“Now, Ben,” she demanded, and he paused. He knew she would enjoy being taken hot and hard, maybe even a little rough.
They could do that another time, perhaps.
He wanted them to soak each other up. He wanted to be under her skin. She was already under his. He needed this to be more than a physical connection, which stymied him, but he would think about it more later.
“This is so good,” he said softly, covering her, wrapping his hands in silken strands of her dark hair, taking in her face. “I want you,” he said against her ear in a slightly threatening tone, feeling her shiver.
“I want you, too,” she whispered, arching into him.
“You have the most gorgeous eyes,” he said, leaning in to kiss each one. “And a beautiful mouth. Do you know how many times I have thought about the things those lips could do to me?” he said, kissing her long and deep.
She moaned, trying to take him into her body, but he held back. She looped her legs over the backs of his thighs, opening herself more, arching up, pressing against him.
“Hey, remember who’s the master here,” he said lightly, with a strained chuckle.
He smiled at the frustration that mingled with desire in her eyes. As he slid along the slick space between her thighs, he wasn’t sure he could hold out much longer, but he wanted to make sure he had her attention—on his terms—when he took her.
Then she broke him, looking at him fully and simply whispering, “Please, Ben.”
“Oh, honey,” he said on an expelled breath, wrapping his arms around her and sliding home, sure and deep, as he kissed her. He swallowed the sigh of completion that fell from her lips and groaned again as she wiggled under him to adjust so he was buried even deeper.
Straight to the Heart Page 8
