by Gina Wilkins
He watched her throat move as she swallowed hard. He knew she was worried, but she was making every effort to hide her fear. And he admired her more because of it.
“Won’t he recognize me?” she asked, her voice only a bit huskier than usual.
Blake studied her new look—the copper curls, the uptilted eyes, her pouting red mouth and seductive black dress. As stunningly beautiful as she looked this way, he was still partial to the Tara he’d always known.
“He won’t recognize you,” he assured her.
She turned back to the mirror. “I do look different,” she murmured.
“You look fantastic,” he assured her, taking a tentative step closer to her. “No more or less beautiful than before, only different.”
“I only hope I don’t screw up and put you—put us both—in more danger.”
Blake reached out to place his hands on her shoulders—her mostly bare shoulders, he couldn’t help noticing. “You’ll do fine.”
“But I don’t know what I’m doing.” She seemed compelled to try to make him understand. “I haven’t had any experience at this. It isn’t something I feel qualified to do.”
Every word she spoke told him more about her deepest insecurities, and about the doubts that had plagued her since the senior partners at her law firm had cravenly refused to stand behind her. Why was it always so important to Tara to be an overachiever? To never make mistakes? To be fully in control of every situation?
How could he help her understand that being slightly imperfect only made her more human? More appealing, as far as Blake was concerned.
He raised his hands to cup her pretty, worried face. “You can do it,” he assured her. “I believe in you, Tara McBride.”
She reached up to cover his left hand with her right. “Thank you.”
Impulsively, he kissed the tip of her nose. “You’re welcome.”
He didn’t release her. She didn’t draw back.
“I’m still mad at you,” she murmured, though she didn’t look particularly angry. In fact, she was looking at him in a way that made his knees weaken, even as other parts of him grew stronger.
“No, you aren’t,” he answered, hiding the beginning of a smile.
Her mouth twisted wryly. “Well, I’m trying to be.”
It really should be a crime for her to wear this dress, Blake mused as he glanced down, only to find himself admiring the porcelain-pale, inner curves of her breasts. He couldn’t help wondering if she wore anything beneath the dress. And he wanted very badly to find out.
He had nothing to offer her, he reminded himself again as she tilted her face a bit closer to his. At least, not for the long term. But for tonight...
Tonight he was willing to give her anything she wanted.
BLAKE’S HANDS were so warm, so strong around her face. Tara felt the calluses on his fingertips, the ridge of a small scar on his palm. But, most intriguingly, she felt the faint tremor that rippled through them when she moved a half step closer to him.
There was a special feminine pleasure to be found in causing a strong man to tremble.
She tried to remember that she was annoyed with him. But at the moment, she couldn’t recall quite why. She could think of nothing but how good it felt to be so close to him. To have him looking at her as though he wanted to devour her. The same way she was probably looking at him.
Blake believed in her, as no one else had lately. Even Tara herself.
He thought she was beautiful. He’d said so even before her dramatic makeover. It had been a long time since anyone had called her beautiful. A long time since it had mattered to her.
Blake had only to smile at her—the way he was now—to seduce her. And she was getting tired of fighting him. Tired of fighting herself.
She wanted him.
She’d never wanted anyone else like this, and couldn’t imagine that she ever would. There couldn’t possibly be another man like Blake.
Experimentally, she rose on stockinged tiptoes to brush a kiss across his mouth. Her eyes remained open. She watched as his darkened.
He wanted her.
The old Tara would have made a prudent retreat at this point. The sensible, logical, cautious—and often lonely—Harvard-educated attorney didn’t take foolish chances. She wasn’t sure that was true of the new Tara—the one with the copper curls and seductress mouth, the one who had been living on the edge of danger for an entire weekend. The one who could make Blake tremble with a kiss.
This new, more daring Tara wanted to experience life more fully than she had before. Maybe even take a few risks.
She kissed him again.
Blake dropped his hands from her face to haul her so tightly against him that she could hardly breathe. Tara didn’t complain. Why would she, when it felt so very good?
There wasn’t much of a back to the dress Stephanie had put her into. Tara felt Blake’s hands on her bare skin, which only made the rest of her crave his touch. She closed her eyes and sank into his kiss, implicitly telling him that she wasn’t going to fight either of them tonight.
Blake kissed her until she was clinging to him, uncertain whether her legs would support her if she let go of him. He drew his head back only enough to murmur, “I promised myself I wouldn’t take advantage of you.”
“Then let me take advantage of you,” Tara whispered and pulled his mouth back to hers.
Blake seemed to have no problem with that.
Still deep in the kiss, Tara reached between them to unfasten the top button of Blake’s green cotton shirt. And then the second. By the time they came up for air, she had the shirt unbuttoned and pulled from the waistband of his khaki slacks.
She spread her hands over his chest, easing the shirt out of the way. He was beautiful, she thought in avid appreciation. Sleek, strong slim. She leaned forward to place a fleeting, openmouthed kiss on his chin, and then moved lower, kissing a line from his throat to a spot in the middle of his chest. She felt the muscles quivering beneath his skin, the effort he made to be still and let her explore as much as she liked.
It only took her a moment to unbutton his cuffs and push the shirt off his shoulders. She removed it very slowly, letting her fingertips trail along his biceps as she uncovered them.
Blake swallowed audibly.
Tossing his shirt aside, she slid her arms around his lean waist and pressed close. She touched her tongue to his nipple and felt him shudder in response.
“So much for willpower,” Blake muttered.
Moments later, Tara’s borrowed, sexy black dress was lying on the floor at her feet. She blushed as she stood in front of him in nothing but a tiny scrap of strapless black bra, bikini panties and thigh-high black stockings. The undergarments were her own, the ones she’d worn beneath the black dinner suit Friday evening. The stockings were a newly opened pair of Stephanie’s, who’d pointed out that bare legs hardly matched the sleek, sexy dress.
The next thing Tara knew, she was being lifted in the air, high against Blake’s chest. It was the first time in her life she’d been literally swept off her feet, picked up and carried to bed in true romantic fashion. She might have even said at one time that she wouldn’t appreciate such a gesture, that she wouldn’t want to be carried, that she preferred making her own way to bed.
She would have been wrong. She enjoyed every minute of it.
Blake laid her on the bed, then sat beside her to kick off his shoes. Lying against the pillows, Tara ran a hand up his back, pausing at the thick ridge of puckered skin beneath his left shoulder blade, the scar she’d felt when he’d kissed her that morning.
“This looks serious. How did you get it?” She wanted to know everything about this man who was so different from anyone she’d known before.
“It’s a bullet wound,” he replied bluntly as he lifted the right leg of his khaki slacks. “I was shot in the back by a man who was stalking one of my clients.”
Tara swallowed a sudden knot in her throat, watching mutely as Blak
e unstrapped the knife sheath he wore on his right calf and set it aside.
Definitely unlike any man she had ever known before, she thought with a mixture of nervousness and fascination. That must explain why he excited her as no other man had before.
Blake stood and unfastened the button of his slacks, then hesitated as he searched her face intently. “Second thoughts?” he asked.
By way of an answer, she reached up to release the front clasp of the strapless bra. The scrap of fabric landed on the nightstand, partially covering his knife sheath.
Blake nearly fell on his face in his hurry to get out of his clothes. Tara was giggling when he tumbled onto the bed beside her. He smothered her laughter with his mouth.
Blake lowered his head to her breasts, nuzzling gently against her, teasing her with nipping kisses and quick flicks of his tongue. Tara inhaled sharply, the movement pressing her more snugly against him. She buried her fingers in his thick golden hair, whispering his name—the only name she knew for him. “Blake.”
He kissed her again, his tongue delving deeply into her mouth. His talented fingers kneaded her breasts, slid down her stomach, then slipped between her legs to stroke the tiny, dampening triangle of black lace. Tara arched into his touch, a gasp escaping her. How could he bring her this close to the edge with only a touch?
Blake surprised her by rolling to his back, pulling her on top of him.
“You’re the one taking advantage, remember?” he asked her, his grin both roguish and challenging.
Her eyes widened. She became suddenly aware that she was lying on top of him, wearing nothing but panties and stockings, that he was waiting for her to do something...well, exciting. And Tara McBride simply wasn’t an exciting person.
At least, the old Tara McBride hadn’t been.
Experimentally, she undulated against him. Her silk-covered legs slid seductively against Blake’s bare ones.
She heard his quick intake of breath, and her eyes narrowed again.
Maybe this new Tara McBride wasn’t so unexciting, after all.
She kissed his chin. His throat. His chest. And then she slid downward and pressed a damp kiss right next to his navel. His stomach contracted sharply. She felt him grow and swell against her abdomen, proving that her tentative efforts to arouse him were as successful as she’d hoped. She planted another kiss on the tender skin an inch below his navel.
“Um...Tara...” He caught her chin with his right hand, just as she worked up the nerve to ease lower. “It’s sort of been a while for me.”
She smiled in delight and pulled his hand around to her mouth, pressing a kiss into his palm. “For me, too,” she admitted, though she stopped short of telling him that no one had ever made her ache the way she ached now.
And then, just to prove she could, she ducked away from him to brush her lips across his swollen flesh.
Blake made a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a laugh, and then he hauled her upward. “You do like living dangerously, don’t you?” he accused her as his arms closed around her.
She could have told him that she didn’t like it at all, but that would have been the old Tara speaking. Blake’s mouth covered hers before she could say anything.
The world shrank to this one bed, this one man. Tara didn’t think about the past or the future, didn’t worry about their differences or their circumstances, no longer feared that she wasn’t exciting enough or daring enough. She didn’t think at all, but allowed herself to act on sheer instinct. Blake seemed to approve wholeheartedly.
He made love to her until she quivered and cried out each time he touched her, her skin so exquisitely sensitized that she felt that she would leap right out of it if they didn’t end this soon. She was vaguely aware when he paused long enough to grope for the pants he’d left lying by the side of the bed. She waited impatiently while he ripped a foil packet open with his teeth. And then she helped him don the contents, her hands more eager than skillful.
Blake stripped away Tara’s lacy bikini panties. And then he clutched her thighs, just above the tops of the silk stockings, and entered her with one deep, forceful thrust. Tara nearly came off the bed, arching beneath him with a cry of pleasure, her heels digging into the sheets, her hands going to his hips to hold him even tighter.
The sensations that shot through her were more intense, more powerful than anything she’d ever felt before. Her total lack of control over her emotions, her reactions—even over her own movements—should have caused her concern. She’d always been so very careful to remain in control. But with Blake, it simply didn’t matter. Oddly enough—considering everything that had happened lately—she felt safe with him.
And then he moved again, and she willingly surrendered what little sanity she’d retained.
10
IT WAS BLAKE’S TATTOO that reminded Tara of how foolish she’d been to think that anything had changed between them just because she’d given in to the temptation of his beautiful blue eyes and flashing smile.
The tattoo was on the back of his right wrist. Tara spotted it when he reached up to brush a damp strand of hair away from her face. She didn’t immediately see what it was, but just knowing it was there was enough to bring her back to reality.
What was she doing? Who was this red-haired woman who lay sprawled in such abandon in another woman’s bed, wearing nothing but a pair of black silk stockings? And who was this naked man beside her, who’d shared so little of himself with her, who had turned her life upside down by tapping out “shave and a haircut” on her apartment door? Who had somehow made her fall in love with him, even when she knew from the start that doing so was a mistake?
Pushing that thought to the back of her mind, she took his hand and turned it so that she could study the mark on his wrist. Blake didn’t resist.
Her eyebrows lifted. “What is this? A wolf?”
“A fox,” he corrected her, his expression a bit sheepish.
She could see it now, a tiny silhouette etched in blue, a sleek, stylized creature captured in full run. Crazy like a fox, she thought. As wily as a fox.
“I was just a kid when I got that. Nineteen, maybe. And more than a little drunk,” Blake admitted.
“Why a fox?”
He lifted one bare shoulder in a hint of a shrug. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“Oh.”
He smiled in response to her expression. “You pointed out, yourself, that I’m a bit...weird.”
“‘Weird’ was your word,” she reminded him. “I think mine was ‘odd.’”
She reached out and tugged at the hem of the sheet, covering herself with what she hoped was a casual gesture.
Blake slipped out of the bed. “I’ll be right back.”
He disappeared into the bathroom. Tara immediately stripped out of the thigh-high stockings and reached for the ice-blue satin bathrobe Stephanie had given her to wear earlier, during their hairstyling and makeup session. She felt somewhat more selfpossessed now that she was covered. She tied the sash tightly around her waist.
She heard water running in the bathroom, and suddenly she needed to get away from the wildly rumpled bed, the heedless scattered clothing, the man who would, at any moment, walk naked out of that bathroom door. She made a hasty exit from the bedroom, telling herself that she wasn’t really retreating—she simply needed something to drink.
Rummaging in Stephanie’s refrigerator, she found orange juice, tomato juice, grapefruit juice, canned sodas and designer water. She took out a soda, filled a glass with ice and poured the drink carefully, giving more concentration than necessary to the relatively simple task. She took a sip, feeling the bite of carbonated caffeine, and then she turned toward the doorway.
Blake stood there watching her, wearing nothing but his khaki slacks, his arms crossed over his bare chest as he leaned against the doorway, looking as though he’d been there a while. His golden hair was rumpled around his face, and she couldn’t help remembering how thick and l
uxuriant it had felt when she’d buried her fingers in it.
Since he seemed to be waiting for her to say something, she lifted the glass. “I was thirsty.”
He nodded. “I’m a little thirsty, myself.”
“What would you like?” she asked politely, taking a half step toward the refrigerator.
He shook his head and pushed away from the door. “I’ll get it.”
He pulled a can from the refrigerator, popped the top and tilted it to his lips without bothering with a glass. Watching his throat work, and noting the way the light gleamed on his bare chest, Tara felt her mouth go dry again.
Blake was undoubtedly the most beautiful man she’d ever known. She wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to look at him without wanting to touch him.
His eyes met hers, and she wondered if he could read her thoughts. But all he asked was, “Having regrets?”
She shook her head. “No. I wasn’t carried away by impulse, Blake. I knew what I was doing. What I wanted. And I have no regrets. Only—”
“Only what?”
“A lot of unanswered questions.”
He looked away from her. His gesture told her a great deal.
“You aren’t ready to answer them, are you?”
Blake ran a hand through his hair. “If you ask them, I’ll answer.”
He seemed to brace himself, apparently preparing to bare his soul one question at a time.
Tara had no intention of dragging anything out of him. Not his past, not his feelings, not even his last name. Unless he shared himself with her willingly, there was little point in it. “There’s only one question I want to ask now.”
He seemed a bit surprised, but he nodded. “All right.”
“Why did you come to my apartment Friday afternoon?”
“Because I’ve wanted you from the first time I saw you,” he answered gruffly. “Because when I found out you were no longer with the law firm, I was afraid you would leave town without giving me a chance to see you. Because, no matter how much I told myself I should, I couldn’t stay away from you.”
