A Crazy Kind of Love

by Maureen Child

  “Right. But they play hell with a tan, let me tell you.”

  He wasn’t listening.

  He bent his head and slowly, carefully, gingerly, kissed her scars, tracing the frail outlines with his tongue until she felt herself melting into the mattress.

  Oh God, no one had ever done that.

  Most guys, once they’d remarked on the scars, would ignore them or try not to look at them. Mike knew all too well just how ugly they were. And it was always a difficult moment when a man first saw them.

  Wouldn’t you know Lucas would be different about this, too?

  He kissed her again and she felt his breath against those scars that had been a part of her for so many years. And an aching sweetness built up within her.

  No one had ever touched her so deeply with such a feather-light caress.

  “You don’t have to—”

  “What?” he murmured. “I don’t have to admire your badge of courage?”

  “Stupidity, more like,” she said and looked wildly around the room. She hadn’t counted on this. Hadn’t counted on him being so . . . nice.

  He lifted his head to look at her. “You survived. Isn’t that what counts?”

  “I guess,” she said, tearing her gaze from his. There were too many emotions in his dark eyes. Too many things she didn’t want to face. Didn’t want to think about, much less talk about. “But look,” she said and winced at the overly cheerful note in her voice. “There’s an upside to carrying those scars.”

  He leaned on one elbow and propped his head on his hand. “What’s that?”

  She blew out a breath and once again shifted her gaze to the ceiling, away from his. Her fingers plucked at the lacy spread beneath her and a part of her brain thought that maybe, hey, they should pull the duvet back before they ruined it, but then she was just stalling. She caught her runaway train of a brain, took a deep breath, and said, “Um, I don’t know if you’re carrying condoms on you . . .”

  He slapped his naked hip and felt around as if looking for pockets. Then he grinned. “Not on me, but—”

  She laughed. “Right. Right. Well, the thing is, I’ve never really said this to anyone before, but—” She shifted her gaze to his and stared at him. “If you can swear to me that you’re healthy, then we don’t have to worry about condoms.”

  “What?”

  “Weird conversation, I know, and usually, I’m like the poster girl for condoms and safe sex and, hey, get away from me with that thing if it’s not wearing a hat—” She took another breath and held up one hand when he started to speak. “Sorry. Babbling. I do that. Anyway, the deal is, with you, tonight, I’d like to try it without the condom—I’d like to feel you inside me and—”

  “Whoa,” he said, shaking his head.

  “See.” She lifted her voice to interrupt and shout him down all at once. “That upside I mentioned?”

  “Yeah?”

  Upside.

  Pain stabbed at her and Mike winced slightly at the familiarity of it. She had to treat this as an upside. Otherwise, she’d drive herself insane with regrets and misery.

  Forcing a smile she didn’t quite feel, she said softly, “I can’t have kids.” A tremor of old pain rocked through her like a lazy tide slapping onto shore. She’d grieved so long ago for the family she’d never have, that the pain now was more of an echo than a sharp jolt. Yet still, it had the power to stun her with sorrow.

  She took a breath. “The accident and the surgery and all, and well—you don’t need to hear the details, do you? I mean, who would want to? I sure didn’t—” She took a breath. “Babbling again. Anyway, what I’m trying to say is, I’m totally safe.”

  “You’re sure?”

  Unfortunately.

  “Yep.” She swallowed hard against the personal hurt and disappointment that had been a part of her life since she was sixteen and woke up in a hospital to see a doctor’s long face and empathetic eyes. “My shop’s permanently closed.”

  Lucas looked at her for a long minute and Mike held her breath, hoping to hell he didn’t ask any more questions. If he realized that this was the reason she’d tried to escape Carla when the woman was so excited about being pregnant, she hoped to God he wouldn’t bring it up. And oh yeah, please, God, don’t let him say he was sorry.

  Having some guy look at her like she was a little less than female was always a big turn-on. If Lucas gave her that look, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to stand it.

  She stared up at him in the moonlight and watched as he pulled away from her and stood up. Mike braced herself, and tried to read his eyes. But the silvery moonlight filling the room created shadows, not clarity.

  He pulled off his glasses, then undid his belt and stepped out of the rest of his clothes. Mike’s stomach jittered and her mouth went dry. His body was long and leanly muscled and more tanned than she would have guessed. Apparently this scientist didn’t spend all his time in the lab.

  Tossing his shoes and socks, he came back to the bed, kneeled beside her and looked down directly into her eyes.

  “Lucas?” She murmured his name and stared up at him.

  “Not interested in making babies,” he finally said, that half-smile tugging at his mouth again. “Just in making love.”

  She released the pent-up breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. He cupped one of her breasts and Mike sighed. “You wanna reach down and take my heels off for me?”

  He glanced down at the black sandals with the three-inch-high heels. Looking back at her, he winked. “Leave ’em on.”

  “Rocket Man, you are full of surprises.”

  “You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

  She cupped his face in her hands and smoothed her thumbs across his sharp cheekbones. “Then show me what you’ve got.”

  Jo stared down at the stupid textbook and wished she were anywhere but where she was.

  “It’s your own damn fault,” she muttered with a shake of her head. “If you’d had the guts to stick it out ten years ago, you wouldn’t be in this mess now.”

  But she hadn’t been able to stay at school.

  Not after . . .

  She jumped to her feet and stalked barefoot into her kitchen. She thought about pulling down the dusty bottle of tequila and blending up a batch of margaritas. But instead, she set up the coffeepot. If she started heading for a drink whenever old memories got too bad—then she’d have a whole new set of problems.

  “And that you don’t need.”

  The coffeemaker sizzled and popped and the hot water drained through the filter, sending the scent of freshly ground beans through the room. Outside, the night crouched at the windows and the wind slapped at the panes, rattling them in their frames. Rain spit from the sky in fitful bursts, as if it couldn’t decide whether to become a real storm or not.

  Jo hardly noticed. Arms folded across her chest, she leaned back against the kitchen counter and crossed her feet at the ankles.

  The house was too quiet.

  For a woman who’d grown up with two sisters and loud parents, silence could be an enemy.

  It made you concentrate on the little noises.

  The house settling.

  The tick of the clock.

  The groan of the wind.

  When the phone shrieked, Jo shot away from the counter, slapping one hand to her chest as if to hold her heart in place.

  Then, laughing at herself, she snatched up the receiver. “Hello?”

  “Jo, oh, thank God.”

  Instantly alert at the sound of her sister’s frantic voice, Jo’s fingers squeezed the receiver. “Sam, what’s wrong?”

  Minutes passed, drifting one into the other as Lucas took Mike on the most amazing ride of her life.

  Boy howdy.

  Never challenge a scientist.

  Although, she thought as he slid his palms along her body with the assurance of a master pianist stroking the keys, maybe a challenge could be a good thing.

  She tipped her head back int
o the mattress and stared up blindly at the shifting, moonlit shadows on the ceiling. Lucas’s hands were everywhere, his fingertips exploring every curve, every inch of her body.

  He touched her and she lit up inside.

  He tasted her and the fire within became an inferno. Lips, tongue, and teeth assailed her body and she gave as good as she got.

  She scraped her fingernails down his torso, flicking her thumbnail across his flat nipples until he groaned and flipped her over, pulling her body atop his. Then hands at her hips, he slid her up and down his length, meshing their bodies until the friction alone was soulshattering.

  She kissed him, taking his tongue into her mouth and delving his with her own, tangling them together in an erotic dance of temptation. Of expectation. Anticipation.

  His mouth was fabulous.

  And talented.

  And . . .

  He broke the kiss and trailed his tongue down the length of her throat, sliding his hands between their bodies to tweak her nipples.

  “You’ve got some moves on you, Rocket Man.”

  “I keep telling you . . .” He grinned up at her.

  “But I’ve got a few of my own,” she countered and pushed herself up until she was straddling him.

  “Show me what you’ve got,” he murmured, grinning up at her.

  Mike laughed, hearing her own words thrown back at her. “Buckle your seat belt, buster, I’m about to give you a ride like you’ve never had.”

  She went up on her knees and looked down at him. His brown eyes were glassy, hazy with need, with hunger, and she loved it. Loved seeing his desire for her.

  Straddling him, she swayed, as if to music only she could hear, and let the moonlight spotlight her. She ran her hands along her own body, up and over her belly, past the twinkling diamond in her navel and up her rib cage.

  He ran his hands over her thighs, all he could touch, and watched her hungrily.

  She took that hunger and fed it. Sliding her hands higher, higher, she cupped her own breasts, let her head fall back while she played with her nipples, squeezing, touching, tweaking.

  His grip on her thighs tightened reflexively and she felt the imprint of each of his fingers like tiny candle flames pressed to her skin.

  Her body quivered, tingled, and hungered.

  She kept swaying over him, lowering herself just enough to skim her center over the very tip of his hardened length.

  He gasped each time she dusted past him, leaving him wanting more. But still she teased him, pushing him as high as he’d taken her moments before. Her hands on her breasts, her fingers at her nipples, she slowly, slowly, slid her hands higher, up her chest, along her neck and into her hair.

  She lifted the curly blond mass off her neck and writhed above him, rocking her hips in silent invitation.

  “Damn it, that’s enough,” he growled, and reached for her, slamming his hands onto her waist.

  “Not nearly enough, Lucas. Not nearly,” she crooned, tasting each word, caressing each syllable.

  “Now, Mike,” he muttered thickly.

  One look at his eyes and she knew she’d taken him as far as she could without destroying both of them. The need in her own body quickened.

  “Now,” she agreed and slowly, lovingly, lowered herself onto his length. She took him inside, inch by tantalizing inch, drawing out the pleasure for both of them until she felt as though she were about to burst.

  He clenched his teeth and dug his fingers into the flesh at her hips, holding her down, pulling her hard against him, pushing himself higher, deeper inside.

  Mike groaned and moved over him, grinding her hips against him, creating a delicious friction that sparked new flames within. She lifted both arms high and stretched, arching her back as she moved on him, rocking, swaying, setting a wild, fierce pace that thundered in the silence around them.

  Cool ocean air rushed into the room, dazzling their hot bodies with the sweet kiss of the chill night. Moonlight played on their naked skin and shifted shadows around the room.

  But all Mike could see was Lucas.

  His eyes.

  Watching her.

  His jaw tight, rigid with control.

  She felt his body inside her, aching, pushing, stroking, and she wanted him higher, deeper.

  He dropped one hand to the spot where their bodies joined and Mike held her breath, not sure if she could stand one more sensation ricocheting around inside her.

  Then he touched her, and she knew if he didn’t keep touching her, she’d scream. He caressed that one, tender, fragile spot that held so much fire. He stroked her and she whimpered.

  “Lucas . . .” Panting now, gasping for air that wouldn’t come, she groaned his name again, helplessly caught in a whirlwind of her own making.

  “Let go,” he said, his voice harsh, strained. “Damn it, Mike, let go.”

  “I can’t . . .” she laughed shortly, but it ended on another groan as she shook her hair back from her face, moving on him, riding him, rocking him.

  “Don’t want it to end,” she admitted, licking her lips, feeling the challenge in speaking at all when every ounce of concentration she had was focused on what was happening to her body.

  He touched her harder, stronger, stroking, coaxing.

  “God, Lucas,” she shrieked. She heard the highpitched tone of her voice and winced, but couldn’t help it. “Oh God, Lucas. Don’tstopdon’tstopdon’tstop . . .”

  “Come, Mike,” he urged her, voice soft, low, intimate and husky with the want she felt pulsing around them. “Come now and we’ll do it all over again.”

  “Promise?” She laughed and wept and groaned at the same time as the first tremor shot through her system, stealing what was left of her breath.

  “Promise,” he ground out, pushing his body hard into hers. “Now go over, damn it, and take me with you.”

  She did.

  And while she wailed his name and shivered atop him, Lucas followed blindly over the precipice and tumbled with her into a black void filled with stars.

  “I’ve never met a more hardheaded woman,” Lucas said, minutes, hell, maybe hours later, when he finally managed to find his voice again.

  “Mmmm . . .” Mike practically purred as she lay bonelessly on top of him. “Stubborn,” she murmured. “I prefer stubborn.”

  His hands slid up and down her back and then down to her behind, touching, caressing, squeezing. He couldn’t seem to touch enough of her. He’d seen every inch of her body now and all he wanted to do was start over at the top and work his way down again.

  He’d never felt like this with anyone else. Before tonight, he’d never imagined himself not only laughing during sex, but arguing, for God’s sake—and having to badger a woman into an orgasm by promising her another.

  A promise he intended to make good on as soon as the paralysis faded.

  She wiggled against him and his body leaped into life again.

  Okay, so much for paralysis.

  “Damn, Rocket Man,” she whispered and lifted her head to look down at him. “You’ve got some great hands on you.”

  He laughed.

  Again.

  “You’re not so bad yourself,” he said and rubbed her behind, just to watch her close her eyes and purr again.

  She dipped her head to kiss his chest and something inside him quickened.

  His heart?

  He pushed that thought away fast.

  This wasn’t about hearts.

  This was about flesh.

  Lust.

  Grade A lust, but lust, pure and simple.

  It had to be.

  Anything else was just unacceptable. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—do love again. Down that road lay nothing but misery.

  “So,” she said when she raised her gaze to meet his one more time, “I remember someone promising me another ride on the love train.”

  He grinned. “Is that right?”

  “Damn skippy,” she said, smiling down at him. “Trust me, without
that promise, I’d still be riding you like a bronco in a rodeo, dragging that moment out forever.”

  “You think so?” God, she had him panting again.

  “Oh yeah, I’ve got great control.”

  “Now see,” Lucas said, flipping her quickly onto her back and looming over her. “You say something like that to a scientist and he’s forced to prove or disprove that theory.”

  Her mouth curved and, God, it was a great mouth.

  “So what? Like a contest?” she asked. “See who can hold out the longest?”

  “Please.” He snorted, enjoying himself tremendously. Mike Marconi was definitely one of a kind. “You wouldn’t stand a chance against me.”

  Her smile widened, and just for a minute or two, Lucas let himself drown in the blue of her eyes. Then she wrapped her fingers around his erection and gave him a gentle squeeze and he went temporarily blind.

  “We’ll see about that, Rocket Man,” she said and slid her fingers up and down his length in delicate strokes.

  As she touched him, he cupped her center, and watched her eyes roll back as his fingers manipulated her sensitized skin. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. He saw each dazzle reflected in her eyes. Felt her climb, felt her tension mount, felt her control.

  And he knew she was stubborn enough to hold on forever to keep him from “winning” their little game.

  Shifting over her, he tasted her nipples again and again, suckling, drawing deep on the tender flesh until Mike moaned and twisted beneath him, arching her body into his mouth, silently demanding more.

  He gave her more. Over and over again, he tasted every inch of her body, and when he’d finished, he flipped her over onto her stomach and kissed his way down her spine. She moved like a satisfied cat, stretching and sliding beneath his touch, moving into his hands, groaning and moaning.

  Lucas smiled against her skin and used his hands to caress her body while his mouth sent her higher than she’d been before. Not enough, he told himself and wondered if he would ever have enough of her.

  She looked at him over her shoulder and licked her lips. “Lucas . . .”