“Wait,” she said when he started crawling over her.
For a second it seemed the moment would turn awkward. But when London went on her knees in the middle of her double bed and started dragging her dress up her thighs, Marc stood and began undressing. She hurried to yank the thing off her, wanting to see all that brawn appear as he stripped.
London didn’t mess with her bra and underpants but instead remained on her knees, watching as first his shirt fell to the floor and next his jeans. My God! Her mouth was no longer too dry. Instead she was sure she would start drooling. Muscles rippled and bulged everywhere. There wasn’t a man anywhere who could compare with this vision of perfection. Eye candy be damned! Marc King fell into a category of one when it came to ultimate sex appeal.
“You’re going to torture me, aren’t you?” Marc asked, completely naked when he climbed onto her bed.
London didn’t understand the question and wasn’t sure she could answer if she did. His cock was thick and long and as hard as the rest of him. It protruded from his body, looking as if it tried stretching to reach her before the rest of him did.
“All of this lace is keeping me from the parts of you I’ve been fantasizing about all week,” he growled, slipping his finger under her bra strap and dragging it down her shoulder.
She understood and grinned, relaxing on her back and stretching her legs, then sliding them up his thighs. “You don’t like them?” she asked, running her fingers over each well-defined muscle in his arms. Roped muscle twitched under her fingertips. He was more than aroused and not as in control as he wanted her to think.
“Sweetheart, I love how they look on you.” He lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her.
He took his time with the kiss, too. London rubbed his arms, feeling him tremble as he held himself over her. She pressed her legs against his thighs. Body hair tickled her and brought her to a feverish state. The more she touched him, the more her skin became oversensitized.
As she slowly learned his body, he made love to her mouth. Every time they kissed it was even hotter than the time before. She loved his mouth, the skills he possessed, the way his tongue danced around hers. When she was sure he’d push her over the edge just by kissing her, he moved his mouth, placing kisses on her cheek, her jaw, and then down her neck.
Marc eased her bra straps off her shoulders and moved the lace cups from her breasts. He raked his teeth over a nipple. She swelled with eager anticipation as sparks of need shot down her middle until her pussy was just as swollen and hungry for his attention.
London arched into him. She cried out when he latched onto her other nipple. He took her on a ride so exhilarating, so incredibly perfect, she damn near floated off the bed.
In spite of his size, he eased his body over hers, never putting too much weight on her, and shifted his weight without her moving. Marc leaned on one arm, now simply adoring her body, and dragged his fingers down her middle until he cupped her pussy. London jerked, coming off the bed. Her underwear was still on yet he almost made her come, again, with his skilled fingers and meticulous attention.
“I want to learn every inch of you,” he said, taking his time easing his fingers under her lace underwear. “I want to know which parts make you moan and which push you over the edge.”
London had thought the splurge a good one when she’d bought the matching bra and undies. Now she quietly cursed them because he took his time, enjoying the material and coaxing it down her body. She wanted her underwear gone, wanted him inside her. When she tilted her head, meeting his gaze, her look must have told him as much.
Marc’s slow smile simply added more oxygen to the flames already burning fiercely inside her. “The torture will be worth it. I promise. We’re going to explode together.”
“Who’s tortured?” she whispered, her voice raspy. She narrowed her gaze on him when his grin broadened. If he thought he would drag her into a state of erotic bliss where he would control her and make her beg for release, he would soon learn differently.
“My dear,” he began.
London rolled to her side, facing him, and reached between them. She couldn’t stop herself from hissing in a breath when she wrapped her fingers around his thick, long cock. He was really large. But as well, she also proved he wasn’t in as much control as he professed, which gave her odd pleasure.
Marc’s eyes rolled as he bit his lower lip. “London,” he hissed, dragging her name out and then making a sound in his throat that wasn’t quite a growl and was almost as deadly sounding as a male cat purring.
She switched her attention from his face to his cock in her hand, stroking and squeezing. His body stiffened as he grabbed her arm, almost pinching her skin. It was as if he needed to hold on, which was right where she wanted him, where he’d had her a moment before.
There was incredible pleasure in taking control. The pressure inside her continued tormenting her, but it was accompanied with intense satisfaction as she watched him grit his teeth and tilt his head back.
London almost laughed when he damn near pounced off the bed, throwing her to her back and coming over her.
“Hold on,” he groaned, leaving her there and sliding off the bed.
She was pretty sure she’d never seen a man make such quick work of pulling a condom out of his pants pocket and sheathing himself with it.
“You’re thoughtful,” she said.
“As long as you don’t think it presumptuous.” His sheathed cock danced at her entrance, teasing the crap out of her.
“Not at all,” she whispered, wrapping her arms and legs around him.
When Marc slid inside her London swore fireworks exploded. He filled and stretched her, his size a perfect fit. London moved underneath him, allowing him deeper access. Marc hit that spot and it took her over the edge.
“That’s it, sweetheart. Perfect,” he groaned, running kisses down the side of her face while building momentum.
Marc had skills that added to his growing list of qualities. London took all he had, coming again and again, knowing she’d gone way too long without really good sex. And to think this man had been around her all week. When they finally exploded, both of them coming at the same time, there wasn’t any doubt in her mind she would want to do this again, and soon.
*
In spite of how sated Marc was, spending the night with London was probably pushing it more than they should. He wanted to see her again, be with her again, and have sex daily with her, if not more. Why the hell did the perfect woman for him have to be halfway across the country from where he lived?
“Want to take a shower?” he asked, keeping her with him when he rolled to his back.
“You can take a shower.” She sounded so sated. “You’ll see why when you go into my bathroom. I doubt it’s big enough for both of us.”
Again, he wouldn’t push. Although when he entered the bathroom he had to agree with her. Maybe she would have showered with him if she’d had a larger tub and shower. As it was, he had to duck in order to get the shower spray to hit his head.
He reminded himself this was a vacation. He would return to L.A. sooner than he wanted to think. They would be smart to take it slow, not spend so much time together that they’d get too attached. It would be easy to do with this woman. London did something to him. Marc didn’t want to hurt her when he left. And he didn’t want to get hurt.
Odd, in all the relationships he’d had over the years, Marc had never worried about getting hurt himself.
“Late-night munchies?” London asked when he found her in her kitchen.
Her hair was more tousled than he’d ever seen it and she wore pajama bottom pants and a tank top that hugged her slender body. London shoved hair over her shoulder as she held up a cookie.
“I’m completely satisfied in every way,” he told her, bending over to kiss the top of her head. “What are you doing this weekend?”
Marc hadn’t planned on asking her out again tonight. If they weren’t going to get to
o involved, they were better off flirting when they saw each other at the lodge and simply hooking up every now and then for sex. It was a perfect plan except he didn’t want to wait until Monday to see her again. And he didn’t want to wait that long before he fucked her again.
“Working,” she told him, standing and plopping the rest of her cookie into her mouth.
“I thought you said you worked Monday through Friday.”
“I do. Technically I have two jobs. It’s a separate business that hires me to do the tours. On Saturdays and Sundays I usually do several of them.”
“No wonder you’re in such incredible shape,” he said, pulling her against him and kissing her.
“What’s your excuse?” She searched his face as she asked, dragging her fingers over his chest lazily.
“Being an oversized brute runs in the family,” he told her, knowing he was still dodging her question as to what he did for a living. It was force of habit, and often smarter if no one knew he was a bounty hunter.
“Your father and brother are as big as you are?” She looked surprised.
“Yup.”
“Is your mother really big, too?” she asked.
“Nope. She’s about your size.” He grinned at her stunned expression. “Believe me, she runs the fort. Size isn’t everything, sweetheart.”
“It doesn’t hurt,” she said, grinning, and leaned into him for another kiss.
It sounded like a compliment, so he decided to take it as one and not press the issue by asking her to elaborate. London walked him to the door and didn’t say anything when he unlocked the dead bolt.
“Hopefully I’ll see you sometime over this weekend,” he said, pushing open her screen door and stepping out on her front porch.
“I’m sure you will.” She hugged herself when she stepped outside with him.
He would have scolded her for coming out in the frigid cold when she barely wore anything. She’d done it to him. But selfishly, he wanted one more minute with her. More than likely the sooner he got away from her, spent his time doing something else, the quicker the intense feelings plaguing him right now would fade.
Marc glanced down, enjoying how her tank top didn’t quite reach her pajama bottoms. Her bare tummy was flat and hard. Her nipples puckered against her tank top. And my God, all that thick black hair toppling over her shoulders and down her back added to a picture of perfection. It was on his lips to tell her how beautiful she was.
“It was a perfect night,” he said instead, figuring that summed up about everything. Something on her porch floor caught his eye and he started for it.
London noticed it at the same time and moved faster, squatting down and grabbing a small package.
“I don’t remember that being there when I got here,” He tried looking at it, but London almost threw it into her house.
“I’m sure it was,” she said hastily, again wrapping her arms around her chest but this time scowling at the floor. “I don’t have the best mailman in the world.”
“Are you sure?” Marc looked around, spotting her mailbox attached to the side of her porch. It was definitely large enough to hold a package that size. He remembered her with a similar package her co-worker Meryl had brought her. “Do you want to see what it is?”
London’s gaze was definitely guarded, if not haunted, when she met his. “I will. You better get going,” she added, obviously unwilling to open it with him there. “Please be careful driving back.”
“All right.” He studied her a moment longer before forcing himself to quit trying to analyze something that was probably nothing. Stepping into her, he kissed her, then hurried down the stairs, waving over his shoulder. “See you soon!” he called out.
Chapter Four
London thought for sure the walking tours would take her mind off the second package that had shown up on her front porch Friday night. Marc didn’t seem too concerned by it, which was what she hoped for. Until she figured out who was sending the pictures she wasn’t going to talk about them to anyone. Especially not a stranger. She’d known Marc a week, had incredible sex with him, and unfortunately that still qualified him as a stranger. She didn’t even know what he did for a living.
At least this was her last tour of the weekend. Heading into the lodge, she hung around with some of the guests and enjoyed small talk or tried to appear like she did. Part of her couldn’t wait to get home to a hot bath. The other part of her dreaded returning home, where she knew she would mull over all the pictures sent to her. She had one more activity, dinner at Meryl’s family’s house, then her obligations would be done. Finally breaking away from the guests and letting them continue to chatter among themselves, London couldn’t help glancing around to see if Marc might be nearby. When he wasn’t, she grabbed her coat and headed out.
As the week dragged on, London hoped she would think less about the pictures. Instead they seemed to distract her from almost everything she did. Every night when she got off work and drove home, she half-expected to find another package and blew out a sigh of relief when one wasn’t there.
This had to stop, she told herself after changing into her pajamas and warming up some soup for her supper. If she wasn’t obsessing on the pictures, it was Marc. She slipped the newest silk rose he’d given her in with the others and watered the flowers he’d brought her the previous weekend. Then finishing up her soup, she made quick work of cleaning her kitchen and padded into her bedroom.
Maybe if she could figure out where the pictures came from or who was taking them, she’d quit stressing over them. A different tactic was needed. This whole time she had tried putting the pictures out of her head. It might give her more peace of mind if she gave them her full attention and tried understanding them.
London crawled onto her bed, memories of having sex with Marc flooding her thoughts for a minute. Doing her best to shove him out of her mind, she put the two packages in front of her on the bed and studied them.
“No return address. Same amount of postage,” she mused, focusing on the stamps in the corner of each package. “Both large manila envelopes.”
She flipped the packages over, noting whoever had mailed them had used clear tape instead of licking the glue to secure them. Nothing odd or unusual about how they were mailed to her, though. Other than the one showing up at her doorstep Friday night instead of with the rest of the mail. Had the first package shown up the same way?
“Crap,” London hissed, suddenly wondering if the second package had been delivered while Marc had been there.
It wasn’t that she didn’t want anyone knowing he was there. There really wasn’t anyone to worry about. Other than Meryl, who really was more of a friendly co-worker than a good friend, there wasn’t anyone in London’s life. She wasn’t opposed to having a best friend. There had been times when she’d craved such a person being in her life. Right now would be one of those times. Having someone to talk this over with, brainstorm and try to figure out the meaning behind it all, would be nice.
Her fingers were damp when she dumped the contents of each package out on her bed. The second group of pictures seemed to be more in focus than the first set.
“Why are you doing this?” she wondered, spreading the pictures out on her bed and staring at each one of them.
There were three eight-by-tens in the second package she’d received Friday night. All pictures were in color, one of her mother, one of her father, and the third a picture of the two of them together.
London figured it had been over four years since she’d last seen her mom and dad. She’d been in Chicago, working in a restaurant, and they’d arrived in town for a weekend. Life must have been good for them at the time, because they’d stayed at a nice hotel, taken her out to eat, and not asked for any money. They’d checked out without saying good-bye. London hadn’t batted an eye at that. That was how her parents were. The fact that they’d sought her out, in their eyes, was showing their love and affection. She tried remembering if either of them had h
ugged her during that visit. She didn’t think they had.
“What’s going on, Mom?” London touched the picture of her mother.
Ruby Brooke was grinning at the camera, as if she knew the picture was being taken. She held a large straw hat to her head, and the small dots of white in each lens of her sunglasses implied a flash had gone off when the shot was taken. Her thick black hair, which London wondered if she dyed, since there wasn’t any gray and she was past fifty, was pulled up under the hat, although several long strands blew free past her shoulders. She looked happy, relaxed, maybe even amused at whoever took the shot.
Jonnie Brooke also faced the camera in the picture of him. He had that same cocky, crooked grin he’d always had. London leaned forward, taking her time studying the picture. There really wasn’t much to see other than her father, his ornery look and stance the same as it was when she was a child, and the stretch of street behind him.
The third picture was taken inside. Her mother and father were in a restaurant, and there were other people in the picture, too. No one was at the table with them, but all tables around them were filled with people eating. Her parents were enjoying a meal, focused on their food, and possibly not aware the shot was taken.
So who would be taking pictures of her parents without them knowing? If it was the police, London doubted they would send her copies and not include a return address. She couldn’t decide if it was better or worse that there wasn’t a note with the second package.
“What have you two done?” she asked the pictures, but then laughed dryly at her question. What hadn’t her parents done?
Jonnie and Ruby Brooke were criminals. They were thieves. They were con artists. Name it and they’d probably done it. When London did the math and figured they were probably fifty-five and fifty-seven years old by now, she had to give them both credit for never doing time. At least not yet. London was twenty-five years old and her parents had run on the wrong side of the law her entire life. Whether those were good odds or bad would depend on who was asked.
Get Lucky Page 7