by Nancy Warren
As though he’d read her thoughts, he upped the excitement level a notch as his masterful lips opened hers and the wet heat of his tongue invaded her mouth.
Never had Tess used her lips and tongue and teeth for such effortless communication. Here, where they spoke without words, the dialogue was perfect.
He slid to the floor, pulling her with him and they clutched at each other, embracing as intimately as two fully clothed adults could. They rolled into a pool of light cast by the desk lamp.
He reached for the top button of her blouse, but she grabbed his hand. “The bedroom,” she whispered.
“Your wish is my command, princess,” he said, the sexy humor in his tone transforming the hated nickname into a lazy endearment.
She chuckled to herself. Here she was thinking of him as a jungle beast while he thought of her as a princess. They definitely had their fairy tales skewed.
Feeling suddenly shy and a little foolish, she led him by the hand into her bedroom, hoping like hell he wouldn’t mock the Louis XIV bedroom suite with its delicate gold-and-white accents. It had been part of her great-grandmother’s estate and she loved the whimsical romance of the bed with its faded painted cherubs cavorting in all their chubby nakedness on the headboard. After spending a day in bed with a cold and a copy of Victoria magazine, she’d fallen in love and immediately ordered a dainty white eyelet duvet and matching pillows, bolsters and cushions along with heavy Egyptian cotton sheets that were pure bliss to sleep on. She’d never once regretted the extravagant purchase—until now, when she saw the room through his eyes.
Darn it. She should have left well enough alone and stayed in the living room.
But then again, this was only one night, why shouldn’t she have a few things her own way? That cheap living room carpet was scratchy as well as stained. It lent itself to quick, dirty sex, while this room added a reverence to the act. Even a one-night stand achieved elegance when carried out in such tasteful surroundings.
While the romantic surroundings increased her pleasure, they seemed to have thrown a bucket of ice water on her companion. He gazed with frank awe around the room. “I feel like I’ll be taken out by the palace guards and beheaded if I so much as touch the hem of your gown.”
“I gave the guards the night off. I think they’re swimming in the moat.”
He rubbed a lacy eyelet frill between strong, tanned fingers. “You sure about this?”
If he asked her one more time, she was going to say no just to be ornery. Of course she was sure. Her whole body cried out for fulfillment and she was fed up with reassuring him on that point. It was time to take matters into her own hands.
Without a word, she pressed up close to him and grabbed the open collar of his shirt. Keeping her gaze on his, she yanked the shirt open and was rewarded by the explosive popping of the entire row of metal snaps. “Very sure,” she whispered, putting a hand to the carved musculature of his chest.
It was warm, so warm, the hair both crisp and soft between her stroking fingers, and from the way he sucked in a breath as she touched him, she knew he wanted this as much as she did. Her own feminine power gave her confidence, and with a saucy smile, she eased the shirt off his shoulders.
He let her pull it down his arms and lay it neatly on a nearby chair. She’d seen lots of movies where impatient lovers tossed clothing all over the floor, but she could never bring herself to be so untidy.
Her dry mouth flooded with wetness. He was gorgeous. His torso fit and taut with just the right amount of hair, trailing to a coy arrow pointing to the bulge inside his jeans. But she made herself wait. She only had one night, she wanted to savor every moment. She started by concentrating on the warm tawny flesh above his waistband, the way his chest rose and fell rhythmically.
“Where did you get this?” she asked breathlessly, touching a dark bruise just beneath his ribs.
“Boxing,” he replied in a voice as dark and husky as sin itself.
With a trembling hand, she reached for his belt, but he stopped her.
“My turn.” The slow and lazy seducer was back. He ran just a fingertip along her collarbone, dipping in the middle and then trailing lower until his finger traced the dainty lace of her bra.
Tess had experienced two serious relationships in her life, but with neither of those men could she recall ever feeling as excited as she did at this moment, fully clothed, with this man’s single fingertip tracking gooseflesh across the tops of her breasts.
Her heart leaped as he reached for the first button of her blouse and slowly slipped it open. Not even the virginal princess of the fairy tales had ever been treated with such reverence by her prince charming, she mused, as he undressed her with exquisite deliberation. Each button was a ceremony, each inch of flesh revealed, a celebration. He not only watched his own progress through half-lidded eyes, but every new bit of bared flesh had to be stroked, or touched, or kissed.
She recalled her earlier assumption that he’d be fast and greedy in bed, and acknowledged that she’d been way off base. He didn’t treat her like fast-food takeout, but like a succulent gourmet feast to be lingered over and savored.
When at last he had her free of her blouse, he tossed it to the floor. She barely noticed.
He seemed to think carefully on what next to remove—her bra or her jeans. She was tempted to reach forward to tackle his belt buckle once more, but instinctively she felt it would spoil his game, so she waited and let him do this his way, knowing she’d get her chance later.
Her breasts weren’t particularly large, but they went out of their way to be noticed, the nipples pushing against her bra, throbbing for his touch. But at the end of what seemed an eternity, he bypassed her chest completely and slipped his fingers into her waistband and unsnapped her jeans. The slow hiss of a zipper followed, then he dropped to his knees in front of her, taking her jeans with him and leaving her in the matched set of silky sea-green bra and panties.
Rising, he whispered, “You are all the high school girls a guy like me dreams of, but doesn’t have the guts to approach.”
“Too bad. You’re the guy we secretly want to be with,” she confessed. “The bad boy who makes his own rules.”
He began to caress her shoulders and arms, slipping his hands down her back until she felt the telltale give of her bra being unhooked.
It fell to the floor and he cupped her painfully eager breasts in his hands, molding and pulling them until the peaks ached with pleasure. Then he bent and took each pink pebble in turn into his mouth, sucking and licking until she was beyond restraint.
She reached for his belt buckle and in hot, fumbling moments had the thing undone and his jeans unsnapped. Her hands were trembling, and damp with the excitement that gripped her, making her clumsy and inept.
He finally took over and peeled off the jeans and his briefs in one go. Then, in a single, smooth motion, he divested her of her panties.
As he stood once more in front of her, her breath caught. Again, the contrasts of dark and light caught her attention. His erection, pale and proud, springing from the dark hair. The tanned flesh of his hand against the pale globe of her breast, the black swath of hair caught behind one ear and the white gleam of teeth.
Even as she stared at him, she realized he was staring as intimately at her. She was aware of two impulses. One, to spring into bed and pull the covers over her naked body. The other, to reach forward and touch him.
It was a short contest.
She had just one night and she wanted to experience everything with him, honestly and bravely. There was no fear of him rejecting her for being too forward, for her breasts being too small or for any number of other reasons she could come up with, because they’d already agreed there was no tomorrow. No wondering if he’d call, wondering what he was thinking, wondering whether she wanted him to call. If maybe she should call him. None of that was going to happen, and it was amazingly liberating.
With a little smile of pure pleasure, she reached forw
ard and circled him with her hand.
He sucked in his breath sharply as she caressed him.
An echoing pulse throbbed in the very heart of her, persistent and frantic. She wanted him inside her body as she’d never wanted anything in her life. Right now not even a Pulitzer could compete.
After a moment he pulled her hand away with a groan. “Baby, it’s going to be a pretty short story if you don’t lay off.” And with that, he pushed her gently onto the bed.
She twitched the duvet back and the smooth cotton sheets caressed her naked flesh as she snuggled over, leaving him room to join her, which he did, leaning across to kiss her with a new intensity. In spite of the slow pace, or maybe because of it, she felt the passion that had been building relentlessly threaten to explode. She was burning, needy and restless, and he acted as if he had all the time in the world. If he hadn’t hastily pulled her hand away, she would have thought he was inhumanly in control of himself. Only the knowledge that he was better at faking it than she was kept her from begging him to take her now.
But he was in no hurry. All the places his hands had been, his lips now followed. Not just her breasts were bathed by his tongue, but the lines between her ribs, her belly button—which made her giggle helplessly—her hipbones, her thighs, and finally, blessedly, her very sex.
She was helpless, enslaved by his tongue. He built her up gradually, teasingly, until she was mindless with sobbing ecstasy, pitched off a cliff where only her own sighs of pleasure followed.
She sat up, still throbbing, needing more. Every part of her trembled, including her lips as she kissed him, wet and tasting of her. She tried to straddle him.
“Wait,” he cried in a strangled voice. “In my jeans…”
Dimly, she realized what he was after and opening her night table drawer, pulled out a condom and handed it to him. Once he was ready, she settled herself on his lap, easing the fullness of him into her body.
With legs and arms wrapped around each other, they rocked back and forth, slowly at first, then with increasing urgency. His eyes had darkened to cobalt and the fierce gentleness of his gaze frightened her in its intensity. She kissed him to block out the knowledge that she’d lied to herself; for her this could never be a one-night affair. He compelled her and attracted her as no man ever had. And his power to move her both terrified and aroused. The sex might be just for tonight, but she knew her feelings for him had changed forever.
As the furnace was stoked once again, she could no longer analyze what those feelings might be any more than she could control them. She could only let the feelings swamp her, wave after wave, until, sweat-slippery and gasping, they cried out together, clinging like drowning lovers.
MIKE OPENED HIS EYES slowly, conscious of an unaccustomed feeling of well-being. He stretched, and the fatigue in his muscles made him think he’d been over-doing it in the boxing ring.
Then he became aware that things were askew in his normal universe. The sheets were too smooth to be his. Some lace thing was tickling his cheek, and he sure as hell didn’t have anything in his bed that smelled like flowers. Never at his best first thing in the morning, it took a moment for the truth to sink in before he jolted fully awake, remembering.
The scent of flowers came from the woman sleeping beside him. Her head on the pillow inclined toward him and there was a smile on her slightly parted lips. He felt his own follow suit as he watched her sleep. His little Ice Princess had surprised and delighted him last night. Once that ice melted, she was hot and exciting, yet she made love with a kind of sweetness that tugged at him.
Panic socked him in the gut as the memory of the soul-searing intimacy they’d hit in one night came rushing back. They’d been at it like damned rabbits, but each encounter had seemed to bring them closer. It was the craziest thing that had ever happened to him.
He recalled the moment at her computer when he’d finally given in to the temptation to nuzzle the pale skin of her neck. He’d been distracted all evening by the way the delicate flesh played peek a boo through her hair like a flash of sexy underwear on a fully dressed woman.
It was supposed to be just a quick round of tension-relieving sex, kind of a reward to both of them for working so hard. Tension-relieving, it certainly had been. He doubted any of his muscles would ever move again, never mind tighten.
He gazed at Tess, her face soft and childlike in sleep. He couldn’t believe she hadn’t quibbled about the one-night business. Tess sure didn’t come across as the one-night stand type.
Maybe she was, and he’d missed all the signs. The idea wiped the smug grin right off his face. The thought of Tess Elliot doing the nasty with any guy she felt like just didn’t fit with what he knew about her.
No.
No. She was open, willing and inventive in her way, but he recalled a couple of times when her eyes had widened in surprise at what he’d done to her. He felt himself hardening as images of their night together crowded his mind. No. She wasn’t all that experienced. It must have been an exception on her part to engage in a one-nighter with him.
The frown stayed on his face. She better for damn sure have understood that he meant what he said. They were as far apart as two people could be in background, temperament, ideas about life. Everything.
A future together wasn’t in the stars.
Checking his watch, he discovered it was still early. As much as he wanted to wake her in a manner that would cause her responsive body to spasm around him and her patrician mouth to cry out with noisy abandon, he knew he couldn’t do it.
If they woke together, they’d eat breakfast and there’d be all that morning-after awkwardness that he did his level best to avoid.
He’d made his position clear. He’d offered her one night and one night they’d had.
Years of experience had perfected his technique at sliding out of bed without waking his companion, and his moves didn’t fail him today.
As he crept to the bedroom door with his clothes bundled in his arms, he sent her one last glance.
She lay where he’d left her, the half smile still there, the golden hair fanned in disarray, one creamy shoulder showing above the frilly white bedspread. He paused, wanting almost fiercely to kiss those smiling lips one last time.
She stirred and sighed and he slipped silently from the room, leaving his princess sleeping.
8
In Tastes of Passion the banquet symbolizes a slow courtship, each course increasing the intimacy between the lovers. If only men were as creative and patient off screen.
THE RADIO ALARM dragged Tess from the deepest level of unconsciousness. Her lids felt heavy and scratchy from sleep-deprivation and, with a shiver of pleasure, she remembered why. Opening her eyes, she gazed at the dented pillow beside her, where a single long black hair lay like a crack on a white china plate.
A furtive glance around the bedroom confirmed Mike had taken his clothes. She’d known he was long gone even before she’d touched the pillow beside her and found it cool. Absently, she picked up the single hair and ran it through her fingers.
She was aware of a hollow feeling in her stomach, somewhere between hunger and nausea.
He might at least have said goodbye. But why should she be surprised he’d once again exhibited the couth of a warthog?
With a sigh, she hauled herself out of bed, groaning on her way to the shower. She’d overdone it on some muscles that hadn’t been used in quite a while.
Deliberately, she forced her mind to the day ahead as she dressed and readied for work. But her thoughts kept skittering back to the previous night, making her hot and cold as shivers of remembered pleasure alternated with feelings of acute embarrassment. She’d been completely wanton, agreeing to a one-night stand with such alacrity he likely assumed she trolled singles bars regularly.
She’d also slept with Mike when she was working with him. Why? Her heart stumbled and she refused to think too closely about why a conservative woman who was far from promiscuous had agreed to a s
ingle night of sex.
It wasn’t smart, but it had happened. Now it was up to both of them to put the night behind them and get back to their joint exposé. Nothing had really changed between them, after all.
She leaned her head against the tile in the shower while hot water pounded her. Who did she think she was kidding? Everything had changed. She hadn’t known he could be so…so tender, so giving, so…athletic. She’d never known sex could be like that.
Why had she made love with him? Why?
Her body felt clammy even under the jet of water at the thought of facing him again. Climbing out of the shower she tried to pull her rattled thoughts together. But it was clear she needed a lifeline.
After rapidly drying off, she picked up her bedside phone and hit number one on speed dial.
“Hello?” Caro’s voice was perky and fresh, exactly how a best friend should sound. Tess breathed a sigh of relief that Jonathon hadn’t answered.
“Hi. It’s Tess. Can you do lunch?”
“I’m supposed to…” Some of Tess’s unspoken angst must have come through the phone line. “Is this an emergency?”
“New guy. Sex.”
“Right. Emergency. The usual place? Noon?”
“Yes. I don’t know what I’m making you cancel, but thanks.”
While Tess plastered concealer over the dark circles under her eyes, she tried to keep her mind on work, not on last night, as she pondered who might know whether Margaret Peabody was really having an affair with Ty Cadman.
The answer was smiling at her from a silver frame in the living room. Her mother, that’s who. She’d have to get her gossiping the next time they were together. She could have arranged lunch with her mother, but today heart-to-heart girl talk outranked investigative journalism. No contest.
Refusing to think about what she and Mike had started in this very room, she strode across the carpet and entered the tiny galley kitchen to put coffee on to brew.
