She raises herself up on her elbows and stares at me, as if debating what to say. “I want to.”
Half her trust is better than none. “It’s a start,” I say. We can only move forward from here. And for the first time in my life, I’m determined to put a woman’s needs above my own.
Chapter 12
I postpone my plans to move in with Macey because Craig invited me to San Antonio this weekend. It saves me from breaking the news to Robyn. She’s so high-strung, overly protective—irritatingly mother-like. She won’t like it, and I’m not looking forward to the conversation. But I’m excited to get out of town. We’ll visit the River Walk, the Alamo, maybe catch a concert. I don’t care what we do. I’m meeting Craig at his house. If I can convince him to ride on the back of my bike…
I pull into his driveway, hopeful. His Mustang looks freshly waxed. I roll my eyes. That car is his mistress. I know the feeling; I love my bike. Craig’s shiny set of wheels kills my idea for a long bike ride with him. I climb off, then remove my helmet. I look around. John is watering his lawn. He smiles and waves. I can only imagine what he’s thinking. I give him a quick hello and head for the open garage.
“Craig?” I step inside. “Anyone home?”
“Inside¸ baby,” he calls.
He’s in the kitchen, putting drinks in a small cooler. “Hey,” I say, walking toward him.
“Right on time.” He looks me over. “Did you park your bike in the garage?”
“Not yet.”
“Where’s your suitcase?”
“You mean duffel bag?”
He grins. “I’ll be done in a second. Need anything?” He dries his hands on a towel, drops it on the counter, and then opens his arms. “Come here.”
I’m eager to feel those strong hands on me again. We hug—sigh—nuzzle. We haven’t made love since the hotel. My idea. I wanted to spend some quality time together first. We’ve been on three dates. Dinner, a movie, and tennis in the park.
“How are you?” he asks.
“I’m good.” I really am. I haven’t heard from Estevan and I’m starting to get into the groove at the Den. “Where are we staying?”
He lets go. “The Hilton Palacio del Rio.” I’m thrilled. “Don’t worry,” he says, “I have everything planned. Let’s go.”
San Antonio is a two-and-a-half-hour drive from Corpus. We make it in two. Traffic is heavy on Loop 410, but we arrive at the hotel in under forty-five minutes. Everything is within walking distance. The hacienda-style hotel skirts the San Antonio River. It’s beautiful today, bright sunshine and a slight breeze, 80 degrees. We grab our bags and head to the lobby.
Craig deals with check-in. “Craig and Marisela Hanson,” he says, offering his ID and credit card. “I know we’re early, but if we can get settled…”
I’m stunned that he made reservations for us as a married couple. Further demonstration of his willingness to try. He gets the key cards and we take the elevator to the third floor. He opens the door. It’s a suite. We drop our bags on the floor. The living room has a big-screen TV, a chair and ottoman, and a leather sofa. French doors open into the bedroom. There’s an oversized king bed and a balcony with a river view. It’s stunning.
I step outside. I could get used to this. He slinks behind me and wraps his arms around me. I lean back, resting my head against his chest.
“Happy?” he asks.
“Completely.” I check my watch. It’s ten thirty in the morning on Friday. I’m sure there’s a ton of things to do before nightfall. I’m thinking shopping at the boutiques for stylish clothes. My wardrobe still needs some help.
“Brunch?” he asks.
We hit the River’s Edge Café and Patio. Like the hotel, the restaurant is hacienda-style, with beige and green stucco walls and Saltillo tile. I’m surprisingly famished. I drink three cups of coffee and eat a fruit salad and toast. Craig is watching me closely while he polishes off his eggs and bacon. “What?” I ask, dabbing my mouth with my napkin.
“Nothing.” He smiles seductively. “I enjoy watching you eat.”
I feel a tiny stir between my legs. Here we go again. With one look this guy snags me. I swear I’m losing it. I gaze into his caramel-colored eyes. He has the prettiest, longest eyelashes I’ve ever seen on a man. And perfect teeth. I squirm in my chair.
“Something I can help you with?” He knows. Damn him. He’s been with so many women nothing escapes him. Nothing.
I smirk. “Maybe.” The formal courtship is over—I want to make love.
Instead of following through, Craig throws two twenties on the table, stands, walks over to me, pecks my cheek, and says, “Let’s take a walk.”
I’m stunned. He’s turning down an opportunity to have sex with me? Really? The café is located in the hotel lobby. We could be upstairs in under two minutes. “Come on.” He grabs ahold of my arm and makes like he’s dragging me away.
“All right,” I agree reluctantly.
We leave the hotel, cross South Alamo Street, and walk to the Tower of the Americas. I haven’t been here since I was a kid. There’s an observation deck with panoramic views of the city, a theater, and a restaurant. Craig pays admission, then we ride the elevator 750 feet to the top. I smile as we get out. There are kids running around, some shoving quarters in the telescopes. I imagine Robyn and Garrick bustling about, trying to keep up with their future brood. Craig grabs my hand and we stroll around the deck, pausing to read historical plaques and admire accompanying photographs. I stare out the windows, loving the skyline.
“I’m glad we’re here,” I say.
Craig peeks around, then pulls me to a spot with fewer people. He draws me into a deep kiss, his tongue thrusting inside my mouth. I rise up on my toes, my tongue matching the urgent strokes of his. He cradles my face with his hands, then draws back. “Might need to cool down a bit—we’re in public.” His eyes narrow. I understand. My body is on fire, too. We finish the tour by spending two dollars’ worth of quarters in one of the telescopes. Craig tells me where to aim the lens and we take turns looking at notable landmarks.
Half an hour later, we’re at ground level again.
“Shopping?” I ask, hoping he’s the kind of guy who carries bags without complaint.
He shrugs. “Where do you want to go?”
I take a brochure out of my purse and point at the map. “The Rivercenter Mall.”
Three hours later we’re back in our hotel room. I have two bags from Macy’s and one big one from Victoria’s Secret, where I think Craig purchased me nearly every shade of matching bras and panties he could find. I stash the bags in the bedroom closet and join him on the couch. He hands me a chilled bottle of water he must have taken from the fully stocked minibar.
“Drink up,” he advises, “we need to stay hydrated.”
Hydrated for what? Bright sunlight floods through the terrace door in the bedroom and spills into the living room. I shiver, then suddenly register the temperature of the room. It’s not because the AC is set high. Craig is staring again—similarly to the way he watched me eat, but we’re in private now, so his gaze wanders freely down my body. I’m wearing skinny jeans and a form-fitting half T-shirt. My stomach is visible, my tattoo in full view. He’s obsessed with my ink and piercings. His fingertips lightly trace the thorn wreath around my belly button. I inhale sharply. Just the slightest touch from him steals my breath—my sanity. I’m so enraptured I can’t move.
“Lift your hands.”
Startled by the rumble of his voice, I do.
He takes my shirt off. “Lock your hands above your head.” His eyebrows rise. “Your skin is flawless, Marisela.” He growls as he leans in and nips my left nipple through the thin lace of my underwire bra.
Ripples of pleasure permeate my body. My hands instinctively come loose, but he quickly encircles my wrists with one hand and returns them above my head. I want to touch him, bad. He kneels between my legs. Then he angles his head and his tongue swirls around my belly button.
It takes every ounce of control I have to stop myself from burying my fingers in his dark hair. My legs quake. Within seconds he’s unbuttoning my pants.
“Up,” he says.
I raise my bottom off the couch a few inches.
He slides them down to mid-thigh. I’m wearing lacey purple panties. I hear him breathing and I see his hands tremor as he removes my tennis shoes and socks, then pulls my jeans off. I stare at my freshly painted toenails—Blazing Red No. 662. I need a distraction. Shit. Craig clasps my thighs and pulls me on top of him. He reaches behind my back and unsnaps my bra. It falls off. He buries his face between my breasts. I throw my head back, savoring the sensations that rip through my body with every lick, stroke, and bite he gives. My nails dig into his shoulders as I clamp my ankles behind his back. Even though he’s dressed, I feel heat radiating off his body.
I’m hot and wet for him. I want to move to the bedroom, but he’s not done. I arch my neck, resting the back of my head against the edge of the couch. I think we share an affinity for leather furniture. He lifts both of my breasts to his mouth and kisses them so softly, so reverently, I gasp. My nipple piercings are susceptible to the slightest touch. He knows it. Craig grazes the tips of my barbells with his tongue. My slit tingles instantly. Is there a direct connection? A hypersensitive nerve that runs from my breasts to my crotch? He does it again. My hips jerk. I’m grinding against his stomach. I can’t stop.
His hands drop between my thighs. “Unhook your feet, baby.” I lift my head and stare at him. There’s infinite desire in his eyes as his hand invades my panties. I’m fascinated by the large size of his thumb. I watch as he inserts it inside me—warmth spirals up my body. Oh. My. God. His fingers tease my clit at the same time. I ride his hand unrestrainedly. He’s ruthless.
“I can’t, Craig. I’m—not—ready—to—come…” My verbal refusal does nothing to constrain my physical response.
He captures my mouth with his. His probing kiss only increases the urgency of my orgasm. I’m on the edge already. A faint pulse starts; body tremors follow. He rips his mouth away from mine as his hand runs up my spine. “I smell you,” he whispers in my ear. That’s all it takes to set me off—a few naughty words whispered in that velvety voice. It’s explosive—a week overdue. And my deprived body doesn’t hold back. I scream. He quiets me with another possessive kiss, biting my bottom lip, thrusting his tongue into my mouth.
He gently removes his hand. I collapse against the couch—completely spent. With a wicked grin he runs his fingers underneath his nose, then licks his thumb. He’s so dirty. So male. “Why’d you do that to me?” I groan.
Craig can’t help himself. He’s arrogant sometimes. “Because I can, and I wanted to.” He stands. I see the huge bulge in his pants. It’s his turn. “Turn around, baby.”
He likes taking me from behind. I think he’s in love with my ass. I’m reluctant, because I want to see the satisfaction on his face when he peaks. “Bedroom,” I say.
He shakes his head, already pulling down his jeans. “On your knees, darlin’—you owe me after punishing me for a week.”
Before I can move, he’s naked and beside me. His big hands clasp onto my hips and he flips me over. I’m on my knees, my ass hiked in the air, fisting soft couch leather. I feel so helpless in this position. Vulnerable. He positions himself. The tip of his cock presses the slick folds of my opening. I’m crazy wet with anticipation. I lick my lips. He pushes inside me a few inches. He moans deep in his throat and stops. He’s torturing me.
Inside, now.
Spank. He smacks my left butt cheek. It stings a little. He taps the right cheek. Again—both sides. “Ouch.” Once more. I glance over my shoulder. He stares at me. “Now,” I say. I love our caveman communication during sex.
His nails dig into my hips again, anchoring me in place. Then he impales me. I love the feel of my insides stretching to accommodate him. I brace for impact by spreading my hands wider on the couch. He pounds into me. Over and over. Minutes later, unabashed pleasure drives us both to completion. After his body quits shaking, he pulls out with a huff. I twist around; I want to see him. He’s sweaty and breathless.
“What are you doing to me?” he asks, leaning against the sofa. He spreads his arms wide. I crawl onto his lap and he cradles me, my head resting comfortably against his chest. “There’s nothing ordinary about this relationship, Marisela.” I feel him shake his head. “Nothing,” he mutters.
I shut my eyes. I love to feel his steady heartbeat against my cheek, the warmth of his embrace. I snuggle deeper. I’m falling—quick. I’m not sure what to do about it. I can’t tell him. And I don’t know if he feels remotely the same. I hope he does—I pray he does. I can’t handle another failure.
—
I regard the tiny body in my arms. Marisela Gonzalez is the most delectable woman I’ve ever held. Soft in all the right places—except her heart. My feelings are growing exponentially. It feels right—natural for her to be here. Anywhere with me. I know it’s only been a couple of weeks, maybe three. Hell, I can’t remember. Her rhythmic breathing makes me want to fall asleep. I check my watch. I made reservations for us at one of the best restaurants on the River Walk—Biga on the Banks. Three hours until dinnertime. Maybe a quick nap? Is she already asleep? I tighten my hold on her and slowly stand up. She mutters something and I smile. We’re both exhausted. I walk to the bedroom, pull back the comforter and sheets, then lightly deposit her on the mattress. She hardly stirs when I pull the blankets up.
I kiss her cheek, then walk to the terrace door. I close the heavy drapes. The room goes dark except for what light creeps in around the edges of the curtains. I stride to the bathroom, close the door, then flip on the light. I grab a washcloth and turn on the hot water. I take a quick sponge bath, towel dry, then join Marisela. I could spend a year in bed with her. She’s an incredibly eager lover. A beautiful contradiction. Angel and devil woven together to form the perfect woman. I think I’m in love.
Chapter 13
Craig and I walk arm in arm down the cobbled path that borders the San Antonio River. Nothing is more beautiful at sunset than the River Walk. I adore the colorful lanterns hanging from storefronts, the Spanish architecture and mosaics, patios filled with happy patrons, and the flower beds—even some Japanese tea gardens with fountains. I walk slowly, admiring the roses. Suddenly, Craig pulls me inside a jewelry store in the Rivercenter Mall. I’m nearly tapped after my shopping spree at Macy’s. And I’m not the best window-shopper; I don’t enjoy looking at things I can’t afford.
He leads me to a display case. I stare at the silver and turquoise. I’ve always admired Southwest jewelry. This particular collection is from New Mexico and very expensive.
“See something you like?” he asks.
I hide my shock. I don’t want him to buy me anything. “All of it,” I laugh.
“Can I show you anything, sir?” the salesclerk asks politely.
Craig nods, then points at something. My heart rate spikes. The clerk slides the glass cabinet door open and picks up a bracelet. He hands it to Craig. “A wonderful piece.” It’s an inlaid royal-purple sugilite and silver cuff bracelet.
He examines it closely, then turns to me. “Come here, darlin’.” I stand next to him. “Give me that pretty wrist.” He smiles. I offer my hand and Craig kisses it before he slides the bracelet on.
I admire the craftsmanship, but I can’t let him buy it.
“We’ll take it.” Craig pulls out his wallet.
“Twelve hundred dollars,” the clerk says. “Would you like a box?”
“No.” Craig gazes at me. “She’ll wear it home.”
I swallow. It costs nearly as much as I make in a week. I can’t help staring at it. Purple is my favorite color. How did he know that? I’m suddenly self-conscious and feel a major blush creeping up my cheeks. I can’t forget Craig’s confession after we made love this morning.
What are you doing to me?…There’s nothing ordinary about thi
s relationship.
He’s right, I think despairingly. Surrendering to feelings I don’t understand doesn’t make it any easier to accept. Craig is slowly thawing my heart, even though I know his past.
When he’s done paying for the bracelet, we hold hands and leave the store. I stop and gaze up at him. “Thank you. It’s beautiful.” It’s the first time a man, other than my father, has bought me jewelry. My stomach is in knots.
He takes his sweet time answering me. “You’re beautiful.”
I’m wearing the black cocktail dress Macey picked out for me in Corpus. It’s the sexiest thing I own. The fitted bustier-style top is fringed with black Austrian crystals. The short skirt is all lace, with a small slit in the front. My hair is swept into an elegant updo. His thumb brushes my cheek. I inhale, my body tingling all over.
We walk a few blocks, cross one of the stone arch bridges that allow access to the other side of the River Walk, then stop outside the restaurant. Golden sunlight reflects off the river as the sun sets. I peer through the restaurant windows. It’s charming. We go inside. We’re greeted by a hostess at a podium. She checks the reservations list, then takes us upstairs. Craig reserved a private dining room. Our table is arranged in front of a small stone fireplace with a pleasant fire. Handblown glass pendant lights provide a sophisticated atmosphere. The bay window overlooking the river is the best surprise. There’s an open bottle of Champagne waiting for us.
Craig pulls my chair out and I sit down. He speaks with the hostess for a minute, then she disappears. He joins me at the table. Once again he’s astonished me. Such thoughtfulness and attention to detail—his generosity—I’m amazed. He cradles my hand is his. “Does this qualify as a formal date?” he asks.
I open and then close my mouth. Is he serious? He kisses my hands. This is a little too close to heaven for me. “Why?” I ask. I don’t mean it the way it sounds.
Seduction Page 10
