Her Man Flint

by Jerri Drennen

  His jaw dropped further. Talk about pride taking a beating, and she looked rather pleased by it.

  “Why are you the only woman whose ever told me this?” A determination to get to the truth egged him on.

  She arched a brow. “Maybe they didn’t want to hurt your feelings. Maybe they were just too embarrassed to discuss it. I mean, how would you broach the subject. ‘Flint, you really suck in bed.’ It’s a touchy issue.”

  Flint rubbed his chin thoughtfully, contemplating what he could do to make her admit to lying.

  He grabbed her by the arms and pulled her close.

  “If what you say is true, than you’ll have no problem with me kissing you. After all, I’m supposed to be inadequate at doing that too, right?”

  Her eyes grew wide, no doubt worried he’d know she lied. Smiling, he leaned in to show her what he thought of her claims. Their kiss would prove he wasn’t lacking in any area, especially in the art of love.

  Chapter Twelve

  Her plan to get even had backfired the moment his lips touched hers. They were warm and gentle, causing a flutter in the pit of her stomach. Her legs turned to Jell-O. If he continued this wonderful assault, she was going to be completely under his spell—a bewitchment that could cost her more than just her pride.

  His hand slipped behind her neck to draw her closer, deepening the kiss, which sent her senses soaring.

  His tongue played at the crease of her mouth, and as she opened to allow him entry, he retreated, leaving her lips, to place warm, steamy kisses to the base of her throat. Her breath caught in her chest. What did he think he was doing?

  His tongue slid up her neck, then he capturing her earlobe between his teeth and little tingles shot down her spine.

  Her body chose that moment to rebel against any common sense her mind might have still had, distilling a strangled moan of pleasure from her throat, and urged Flint on.

  His hands roamed upward, traveling over her waist to settle on a breast, brushing his thumb across its nipple, puckering it.

  Adriana’s body blazed as intense need filled her. Her hands laced behind his head to draw him closer, taking in his wonderful musky scent. It was like an aphrodisiac, driving her to the point of no return.

  She wanted him, needed him to make love to her. To take her to the realm of ecstasy only Flint could.

  Her hands slid under his sweater, wanting to feel his flesh next to hers. Body next to body, soul connected to soul.

  Tugging frantically, she yanked, trying with little success to pull it up. Flint took hold of her hands and placed featherlike kisses on her knuckles, his eyes devouring hers.

  “I’ll do it.” His voice was deep and husky as he pulled the sweater over his head.

  Breathing became laborious for Adriana. His well-toned chest was a sight for her sore eyes. It had seemed like a lifetime since she’d admire him, even though it had only been months.

  The man was like a chiseled statue, sculpted from a woman’s dream—at least hers. Every muscle ridged to the next. His stomach, a piece of art in itself, lined in a symmetrical formation, flat, with black hair curling around his belly button—dark, course hair that led down into his trousers.

  She swallowed hard, knowing what she’d find there. Her mouth went dry with anticipation. Flint was all man, in every sense of the word.

  Adriana tried desperately to hold back, but her body wouldn’t have it. Her fingers spread gently across his chest, feeling each muscle jump under her touch. His nipples stood erect, awaiting her attention. She stared into his eyes, now smoky gray with desire, and lost all semblance of her self-control. There was no turning back. She had to be with him.

  Flint had only intended to prove to Adriana that her words were false, but one kiss and his plans were forgotten. All he could think about was her warm, supple body next to his. She stirred his blood, sent it coursing through his veins in wild abandon. He wanted her more than anything—more than anyone.

  When she’d gotten flustered with his sweater, he couldn’t help but smile. After stripping it off, he watched her green eyes turn jewel-like, staring at him in awe—a look that almost sent him to his knees.

  It took all his self-control not to just throw her to the floor and drive into her. But he couldn’t do that. Her moans of pleasure were what he was after. To hear her call out his name as she reached orgasm. But more than anything else, he longed to hear her say those three little words.

  Her hands fastened on the waistband of his pants, and Flint knew it was time to take control.

  He clasped her hands together with one of his, and brought them above her head then buried his face in her neck, kissing, sucking, inhaling her sweet-flowery scent. God, he could take in that smell forever. With his free hand, he found the hem of her sweater and tugged it up and off. He explored her soft skin with his palms as he trailed kisses across her cheek until he reached her lips.

  This time, he allowed his tongue the pleasure of her mouth, tasting, discovering all her sweetness. Flint needed to see all of her and released the front clasp of her bra, watched as it sprung open to allow his hands to roam freely over her breasts. A moan escaped her, driving his body to almost painful proportions.

  Pulling back, he dropped down onto his knees to the bearskin rug and held out his arms to her. “Come here, Dray,” he rasped.

  She stared down at him for a moment, longing clear in her eyes. She was questioning if she should. Knew if she came to him, there would be no turning back. She sighed, then knelt beside him, placing the back of her hand gently over his face. Flint held his breath and time stood still.

  Unable to hold back any longer, he pulled her into his arms and felt her soft, pliant body accept his. Their lips met, gently at first, but as passion took hold, their need flourished, blazing into a fire that only the two could extinguish.

  Flint’s lips left hers, trailing down her neck to settle on her breast, taking it into his mouth, tasting, wanting nothing more than to give Adriana pleasure.

  Slowly, he brought her down onto the rug, his tongue continuing it torturous assault over her stomach to come to an abrupt end at the band of her jeans. He looked up into her face and found her eyes closed, a blissful look on her face.

  With a tug, he released the button of her pants and unzipped them, then pulled them down her long, slender legs. Her red silk panties went next.

  She lay completely naked, her creamy-white skin a contrast against the dark-brown of the rug. She opened her eyes and watched as he removed his pants. Desire burned in her gaze—the same desire he was sure reflected in his own.

  Then, with determined lips, Flint trailed warm, wet kisses over her body, leaving her moaning, begging for him to take her. His hands caressed her inner thigh, kneading gently, yearning for her, but wanting to prolong the sweet torture. His lips moved slow—very slow—until Adriana’s hands came down to encompass him, and his control shattered.

  Forcing her legs open, he thrust hard into her and found her hot, wet and ready for him. Flint could think of nothing but the woman lying under him, and what he felt when he was inside her.

  He tried to keep a slow, steady pace, but she wouldn’t allow it. She wrapped her sultry legs around his waist and arched up to meet his invading thrusts.

  Moments later, she screamed out his name in climax and spasmed around him, causing his own powerful release.

  He collapsed on top of her, his breathing erratic, his body sated. He felt connected to this woman—his woman.

  With care, he rolled to his side, taking her with him, content to hold her like this forever. All he could ask for now was her confession of love, but he was afraid to profess it himself.

  He closed his eyes, listening to the frantic beat of his heart. What was going on in her head? Was she afraid to tell him how she felt, or did she even feel anything for him?

  Minutes ticked by.

  The longer they lay there in silence, the angrier Flint became. Say something, damn it. His mind screamed for her to
say anything.

  He opened his eyes and glanced at her. She lay with her eyes closed, looking more than contented with the world. Her response, or lack of, rubbed him the wrong way.

  “So,” Flint said. “Did you fake that orgasm, too?”

  Adriana’s eyes flew open.

  “Well?” He pulled himself up onto his elbows, waiting impatiently for an answer.

  “Your ego never ceases to amaze me. What do you want me to say? That was incredible? You’re the man? I’ve never felt anything like it before?” Her emerald gaze shot fire at him. “What? What do you want to hear, Flint?”

  She pushed him away and grabbed for her sweater.

  “I just want you to admit you were lying when you said you weren’t satisfied by my lovemaking.”

  “Okay fine. Sex is incredible with you, but everything else about our relationship is—let’s just say—lacking.”

  She yanked her panties from under his butt, and proceeded to slip them on.

  Flint glared at her like she’d lost her mind. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, you’re an insensitive jerk. So, you know what to do to me between the sheets? How about the other twenty-three and a half hours that we’re out of them? There has to be more than sex between two people to sustain a lasting relationship, Flint.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Women.” He snorted and grabbed his pants.

  “Men,” she hurled back and stepped into her jeans. “It’s obviously too late for me to leave tonight, but first thing tomorrow morning, I’m out of here. Oh and, I’m taking the bedroom.” Adriana pointed to the rug. “You can have good old smoky, here.” Turning, she bolted into the bedroom and slammed the door behind her.

  Flint cursed, then threw his head back onto the rug and closed his eyes. Those were hardly the words he’d wanted to hear.

  But why had he expected her to be any different since they’d made love?

  A she-devil didn’t change, she just stuck the pitchfork in deeper. And as far as he was concerned, she’d gone as far as she was going with him.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Adriana held the tears at bay until she was safely behind the bedroom door, then she allowed them to flow.

  How could he have ruined everything? She’d been lying next to him, basking in the afterglow of their lovemaking, when he had to throw her words back in her face.

  “Did you fake that orgasm, too?” she repeated, wiping at her tears.

  Couldn’t he have just been content to cherish their time together? Why did he have to destroy the moment and any feelings she’d had?

  “Humph! Because his ego always got in the way, that’s why.”

  Adriana rubbed her eyes, determined to get far away from Flint in the morning. To hell with him and his arrogant, egotistical, sexy, magnificent damned body.

  She dived onto the bed and buried her head under the pillows.

  “Damn,” she cursed as his musky cologne filled her senses. How was she going to sleep with his scent all around her? Still on her skin.

  She picked up a pillow and tossed it at the door, then proceeded to repeat the action until there were no longer any pillows to throw. Then she threw back her head and squeezed her eyes shut, praying that sleep would come. Somehow she knew it wouldn’t.

  Frustrated, she got up and looked around for something to read. Anything to help her fall asleep.

  She opened the nightstand drawer next to the bed, and found a small picture on top of a handful of letters.

  Picking up the portrait, Adriana stared at the image of an exquisite redhead. She was the most beautiful woman Adriana had ever seen. Her eyes were similar to her own, maybe a shade lighter.

  She turned the picture over and found, “With love, Emily,” written on the back in beautiful, feminine script. Adriana was instantly intrigued.

  Who was this Emily? Had she meant something to Robert Morgan? If so, she’d have to rethink her first impression of him. If Robert was capable of loving someone. Was Flint?

  She shook her head. No. Flint loved only himself. Damn it. That made two of them. Her tears started again, then they were quickly replaced with anger.

  Adriana lay the picture down and looked at the letters held together by a piece of white string. The handwriting was the same as on the back of the picture. She debated on if she should read them, then decided it would be wrong.

  Placing the picture on top, she closed the drawer. Whoever this Emily was, it wasn’t any of her concern. That was Robert Morgan’s business.

  Instead of going to sleep, Adriana decided she’d go take a bath, then get her gear together so she could get on the road as early as possible. She wouldn’t even bother to tell Flint she was leaving. It wasn’t any of his business what she did or where she went. Not after the scene in the next room.

  Flint meant nothing to her.

  Who was she kidding? She loved that stupid lug lying in the next room on that itchy, animal lover’s nightmare of a rug, even after the dumb things he’d said.

  She shook her head. Somehow, she had to try to get over those feelings. He didn’t deserve her love.

  * * *

  Flint heard a door open and was instantly awake. He rubbed his eyes. He’d gotten very little sleep knowing Adriana was in the other room and livid, again.

  He combed a hand through his ruffled hair, feeling frustrated. She was always angry with him for something. This time it was her fault for not telling him what he wanted to hear. Three little words. That’s all she had to say. But, no, she couldn’t say them. “I love you,” Flint whispered. “Now was that hard?” Apparently too hard for her.

  Taking a deep breath, Flint pulled himself up and looked into the kitchen where Robert now stood, cell phone in hand, talking to someone. His uncle frowned, said something, then closed his phone.

  Flint glanced out the window and saw the first signs of daylight filtering in through the window.

  “Robert, when did you get back?” Flint studied his uncle’s face, sure that something troubled him.

  “Just moments ago.” Robert paced the small kitchen, obviously upset.

  “What’s wrong?” Flint grabbed his shirt and joined his uncle in the kitchen.

  “I’m not sure if anything is. Well, that’s not true. When did Adriana leave?”

  “Leave? What do you mean? She’s in the bedroom.”

  “No, she’s gone. Don’t panic, but I found her car on the side of the road when I was coming back from Goose Lodge. I wasn’t sure it was hers at first, but after looking inside, I found her bag in the passenger seat. There was an empty shell casing in the floorboard, one, which looked like it came from a forty-five. Do you know if Adriana carries one?”

  Flint nodded. “Yes.” A huge lump formed in his throat. This had to be a mistake.

  “Footprints in the gravel next to the car indicated to me that there was some sort of struggle.”

  “Shit. What do think happened?” Flint paced now while images of his beautiful Dray skewed in a ditch somewhere bombarding him.

  “Why did she leave the cabin in the first place?” Robert studied Flint’s face intently.

  “We had a fight. She got angry. She told me she was going to leave this morning, but I never heard her get up.”

  “Why does this whole thing not surprise me? I left the two of you alone last night so you could try and work things out, not make it worse. I thought you’d use the Morgan charm and sweep her into your arms, then into bed.” Robert balled up his fists and glared at him. “What the hell happened?”

  “I did the sweeping thing, but I got a little windy afterwards, and she blew away.”

  “What? Is that supposed to be some kind of riddle? Tell me what the hell happened.”

  “Later? We need to find Adriana.”

  “You’re right, but when we do, you’re going to tell me how you managed to take a fool proof seduction plan and turn it into a world crisis.” Robert turned his back to Flint and headed out the door. “I’ll be in the ca
r waiting.”

  Flint threw on his shirt, grabbed his boots and rushed out of the cabin. Maybe Adriana was at a service station right now, gas can in hand, and this whole thing was nothing but a big mistake.

  * * *

  Adriana opened her eyes slowly, feeling as if she were floating on air. Her head hurt and her wrists burned. She tried to move her hands, but found they wouldn’t budge from behind her.

  Panic set in.

  Her eyes darted around her, and focused on two men who sat on the seat across from her, smiling, looking at something of interest in the vicinity of her chest.

  Adriana looked down to find her blouse torn and the lace-trimmed bra beneath exposed to the goons’ view. She tried to curse at them, but found her mouth too dry to speak.

  She attempted to rid herself of the cotton by swallowing, glaring at them the whole time. After her second swallow, she was able to talk. “Take a damn picture,” she spat.

  They both laughed, and continued to stare at her breasts. The bigger of the two turned to the other. “You think they’re real?”

  “Probably not. Breasts that nice can’t be,” the other said, studying them more closely.

  Adriana snorted. “You’re an asshole.”

  “Ooh, you’re pretty tough for a bitch that’s tied up. If I were you, I’d keep my mouth shut.”

  “If I were you, I’d have plastic surgery,” Adriana flung back.

  He raised a hand to strike her, but the other man grabbed his arm. “The boss said to keep your hands off. He’s got plans for her.”

  The goon glared back. “Yeah well, if she says one more insulting thing, I’m going to have plans, too.”

  The other man winked at her. “She’s just goading you. Ignore the bitch with the fake tits.”

  Adriana sneered while behind her back she worked frantically at the ropes. What was she going to do? Who did these thugs work for anyway? And what did they want with her?