He reached out, cupped her shoulders with his hands. “Don’t do this. If you don’t want to be with me, say so. But, dammit, don’t play games. Not now.”
“I don’t want to be with you. Okay? Is that what you wanted to hear?”
“I want to hear the truth.” His eyes were dark and angry. She felt the press of his fingers, knew the tension that was building inside him because it was inside her, too. “Say it. Say that you want me.”
“You’ve no idea what I want, Liam. You—”
He kissed her. Not hard. She’d have fought him, if he had. He kissed her gently, his mouth moving lightly over hers.
“Say it,” he whispered. “Let the world tilt, sweetheart. Let it happen.”
Jessie’s heart thudded. How could he know her so well when he hardly knew her at all? He brought her hands to his chest. She could feel his heart racing under her fingers. A honeyed weakness was spreading through her bones. It would be so easy to do…
“Let go,” she said sharply. “Damn you, let go of me!”
He did, so suddenly that she stumbled back. “To hell with it,” he growled.
“Oh, that’s nice.” Her voice trembled. She grabbed her bag and stepped around him, heading for the door. “You can’t get what you want so you say to hell with it?”
“You’re the one who’s not getting what you want, because I’m not about to deliver.”
“What are you talking about?”
Liam grabbed her again and backed her against the wall. “You’re a coward, Jessie. You’re so afraid of behaving like a real woman that you want me to do it all. What did you have in mind, huh? Am I supposed to turn into a villain? Maybe you’d like me to play at being some kind of Don Juan, a guy who can talk a woman into bed even if she keeps saying she doesn’t want to be there.” He let go of her. “Well, I won’t do it. You cast the wrong guy in the part.”
Her hand whirred through the air and cracked across his cheek. His head snapped back; he cursed and grabbed her wrist before she could hit him again…and then she was in his arms, her mouth pressed hungrily to his, her fingers knotting in his sweatshirt as his fingers tangled in her hair.
“Jessie.” He caught hold of her face and brushed her mouth with his. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“It was my fault. I was afraid, Liam. Not of you,” she added quickly. “Never of you. I was afraid of the way you make me feel.”
The look on his face made her breath catch. He swept his hand down her back, lifting her into him, watching her eyes darken as he pressed against her.
“Tell me how I make you feel,” he said thickly.
“As if…” Her jacket fell to the floor and his hands, his hard, exciting hands, slid under her T-shirt and over her skin. When he cupped her breasts, her voice broke. “As if—Liam. Make love to me. Please, please, pl—”
Liam kissed her, swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed.
CHAPTER FIVE
WHAT HAD STARTED in the garden would end here. They’d known each other for little more than twenty-four hours. Still, as Liam drew Jessie to him, he felt as if he’d waited all his life to make love to her. He wanted to tell her that, but she reached her arms up to him and sighed his name, and words became meaningless.
All that mattered was touch. And taste. And scent.
He kissed her gently, moving his lips over hers, waiting for her mouth to soften and cling to his. When it did, he slipped his tongue between her lips, groaning with pleasure at the honeyed sweetness he found waiting for him. Her arms tightened around him, her body arched against his, and he rolled her beneath him, caught her bottom lip between his teeth and eased the small hurt with a kiss. Jessie moaned softly, and the need to take her pounded through his blood.
Slow down, he told himself, slow down. He’d been a gambler most of his life and understood that when you bet on the toss of the dice, you put your money on today. Only a fool would bet on tomorrow, or think that far ahead. Right now the wheel of fortune had spun and the little red ball with his number on it had dropped into the slot. That was all he’d count on but, if he was very lucky, he could make the moment last.
He tunneled his hands into her hair and swept it back from her face. He kissed her temples, her eyelids, her throat as she arched against him again. Lord, she was beautiful, especially now, as the wildness he’d sensed in her from the beginning burst free. Little sounds were breaking from her throat; the musk of arousal rose from her skin. Such silky skin. Such hot, golden skin.
“Liam,” she whispered, and kissed him, her mouth taking his mouth, her breath mingling with his breath. She slid her hands under his shirt, laid them against his chest. His body clenched like a fist. Slow down, he told himself again, slow down….
And then he stopped thinking.
He grasped the hem of her T-shirt and tried to pull it up, but the thin cotton tore apart in his hands, exposing her to him. She wore a sheer bra, the color of her skin. No lace, no silk, bows or ribbons, nothing but the lush roundness of her breasts and the tawny satin of her nipples.
The room swam out of focus. He bent to her, smoothed the tip of his finger over her breasts, kissed them, licked them. Jessie cried out, moaned his name as he kissed her and swallowed her cries.
He reached for the front clasp of her bra. Her hands, cold as ice, locked on his wrists.
“Wait,” she said shakily. “Liam, please wait.”
His body told him to ignore her plea. His mind, or maybe his heart, said something different. I’m afraid of what you make me feel, she’d said, and he’d reacted by ripping her clothes off.
He groaned, rolled over and threw his arm across his eyes. “Jessie,” he said when he could trust himself to talk. “Sweetheart…”
He reached out to her but she moved quickly, clutched the blanket around her and stood up, facing away from him. “I’m sorry,” she said stiffly. “I know you’re disappointed.”
Liam got to his feet. Gently he peeled the blanket from her hands and dropped it to the floor. “Jessie,” he said again, and drew her back against him. Her body was rigid against his; he knew she wanted him to let go. Instead, he put his arms around her waist. “I’m the one who’s sorry, Jessie. Can you forgive me?”
“There’s nothing to—”
“There is.” He turned her in his arms, stroked her back, pressed kisses into her hair. “I came at you with all the finesse of a sex-starved water buffalo.”
She made a little sound, half sob, half laugh, against his shoulder. “How do you know how a sex-starved water buffalo would behave?”
Liam smiled. “It’s something about males, I guess. Show us a beautiful female, we lose our cool.” His voice roughened. “Especially if she touches some special place inside us.”
Jessie lifted her head, leaned back in his arms. “Have I?” she whispered. “Touched something special inside you? Because—because that’s how I feel about you, as if you’ve reached into me and—and…” She sighed and buried her face against him again. “And that’s crazy. We don’t even know each other.”
“We will, though. I promise.” Gently he scooped her into his arms. She looped her arms around his neck and sighed.
“You must think I’m an idiot.”
“What I think,” Liam replied as he made his way across the room, “is that we’ve damn near broken the how-long-can-a-human-being-stay-awake record.” Jessie laughed. It was a real laugh this time, a wonderful sound, and Liam grinned at her. “You like that, huh?”
“You made it up. There is no such record.”
“Well, if there isn’t, there should be.” He kissed her, then jabbed the light switch with his elbow. Velvet darkness swallowed the room. “Okay,” he said briskly, “here’s the plan.”
“The plan?” Jessie swallowed. Liam was heading back toward the bed, washed in ivory moonlight. “Liam?” She hesitated. “I think you should know…I mean, if you think it’s the light—if you think turning it off will—”
“I know that, sweetheart.”
He laid her on the bed and stood over her. She caught her breath as he pulled off his sweatshirt. He was beautiful. The hard, masculine face. The broad shoulders. The wide chest and narrow waist.
“What I thought,” he said huskily, “was that we’d get some sleep.”
“I won’t be able to sleep,” she said quickly. “I’m too—too—”
“Let’s try, anyway.” She heard the thud of his sneakers as he kicked them off. His hands went to his waist and he opened his belt, undid his zipper. The denim rustled as he stepped out of his jeans and stood before her, clad only in a pair of dark boxer shorts slung low on his hips. “The thing is, I can’t sleep with the light on.” A smile curved his lips. “Or with most of my clothes on, either.” The mattress dipped gently as he sat down beside her. Jessie could hear her blood beating in her ears.
“Liam,” she whispered.
“Shh.” He took her hands, brought them to his chest, and she caught her breath at the feel of hot skin, tight muscle, silky hair. “That’s not so awful, is it?”
No. Oh, no, it wasn’t. It was wonderful touching him. He was so alive, so real, so excitingly male.
His fingers were at the front clasp of her bra. This time she didn’t stop him. A languid heat was moving through her body. She could almost feel herself turning to liquid. When the clasp gave way, he drew the bra off and tossed it aside.
“I want to feel your skin against mine,” he said. “That’s all, I promise. Is that all right, Jessie?”
She didn’t answer. She couldn’t, but Liam seemed to understand her silence. He put his arms around her and when her naked flesh touched his, she caught her breath. He lowered his head to hers and kissed her. Desire, sharp and hot, began to boil in her blood.
“Let’s just get you out of some of this stuff.”
She sighed her acquiescence, sat up so he could undress her. When she had nothing on but her panties, he eased her back against the pillows and kissed her mouth, her throat, her shoulders. She closed her eyes and waited, her skin tingling, for the feel of his lips on her breasts.
This was what she’d dreamed of last night. This slow, scalding seduction. Liam in her arms. A burning ache, low in her belly. When he finally stretched out beside her, she turned toward him, trembling, every breath searing her lungs.
“Liam,” she whispered. “Liam—”
He put two fingers lightly over her lips, drew the blanket over them. Then he gathered her into the strength of his embrace.
She almost came apart at the first touch of his body against hers, the first awareness of his erection pressed against her belly. She waited for him to move against her, to strip away the last flimsy barriers that separated them, yearned for it to happen.
“Go to sleep, darling,” he whispered.
He stroked her back, kissed her temple. After a while, his breathing slowed. So did hers, but she knew it was meaningless. He was pretending and so was she. Neither of them would get any sleep, not pressed together like this, with their hearts beating in unison, her breasts against his chest. Nevertheless, his heartbeat steadied. Hers did, too.
He really had fallen asleep, she thought in surprise.
Moments later, so did she.
* * *
LIAM CAME AWAKE SLOWLY.
It was just before dawn. A pale pewter light was seeping into the room, and Jessie was still in his arms. She was asleep, cradled against him, and he fought back the desire to dip his head and awaken her with a kiss.
Only when she was ready. Not until then.
He put out his hand and smoothed a silken tangle of honey-gold hair back from her cheek.
The amazing thing was, he’d made it through the night. A smile angled across his mouth. What he’d pretty much figured was that lying with a half-naked Jessie in his arms would kill him. The first touch of her skin against his had almost been his undoing. He’d told himself to lie still, slow his breathing, convince her he was asleep. It must have worked because, eventually, she’d sighed and relaxed against him.
Holding her, keeping her safe through the night, wasn’t much of a price to pay for having her come to him without fear or hesitation.
The funny thing was that he’d never much liked to spend the night with a woman. Not that he was a guy who was into wham, bam, thank you, ma’am. He always held a woman after sex, shared her bed for an hour or two before getting up and heading home. If a woman asked him to stay the night, and most did, he said he was a restless sleeper. It wasn’t a lie. He almost always awakened sprawled across the bed, the blankets off and the pillows on the floor.
Liam drew Jessie closer.
This time, though, he’d awakened just the way he’d gone to sleep, lying in the center of the big bed, Jessie in his embrace, her head on his shoulder. Sometime during the night, she’d put her hand on his chest. It lay just over his heart. He’d moved a little, too. He’d thrown his leg over hers in what any shrink would surely have defined as a subconscious gesture meant to keep her with him.
Strange behavior for a man who preferred to sleep alone.
Maybe the simple truth was that sleeping alone wasn’t as important as waking up alone. Maybe he just didn’t want to greet the day with a stranger beside him, even if she wasn’t actually a stranger. He’d never been into one-night stands. The thing was, no matter how hot the affair, a man and a woman were forever separate entities, and making love to a woman was less intimate than sleeping alongside her. It might sound crazy, but it had always seemed logical—until now. He’d just slept beside Jessie, they hadn’t even made love, and he’d known her for all of—Liam lifted his arm, squinted at his watch. For all of thirty-something hours.
Thirty-something hours, and in all that time he’d phoned Bill exactly once and left a message that told him nothing. But then, how did you go about telling a man who was crazy with worry that he had nothing to worry about, because you’d not just found his bride, you’d run off with her?
Liam eased his arm from beneath Jessie’s shoulders and sat up. He took one last look at her, then pulled on his jeans and made his way to a small alcove near the patio where a rattan cabinet hid a minifridge, a stocked wine rack and an electric coffeemaker, ready to go.
He turned the coffeemaker on. That was one of the first things he’d changed when he bought Flamingo Island Resort.
“We don’t provide any food or drink in the villas,” the manager had told him with an officious little smile. “Most of our guests are honeymooners. They don’t want to be bothered with such things.”
Liam knew the officious smile probably was the result of the rumor that said he’d won the place in a game of poker. So he’d smiled pleasantly and pointed out that that was precisely the reason the resort would provide champagne, wine, coffee and tea, plus a basket of fresh-baked breads to be left on each porch in the morning.
“And by the way,” he’d added with a smile that was more than a match for the manager’s, “just so we understand each other, Mr. Edding, I didn’t win this place playing cards.”
Edding had paled. “No, sir. I never said—”
“Be sure you don’t.”
They’d gotten along just fine after that.
Liam took a bright red mug from the cabinet and filled it with hot coffee.
Two years had gone by since that day. Flamingo Island, always successful, had become a world-class resort. Liam had added two more properties to the string, and hadn’t played so much as a hand of poker in all that time. It had taken a while, but he’d finally figured out that a man couldn’t go through life gambling on everything.
Until he’d stood in the departure terminal at Sea-Tac Airport and decided to bet his honor against his need for a woman he knew he couldn’t have.
The hot tropical sun was rising over the ocean, turning the water to shimmering gold as he stepped out onto the patio. He sipped at his coffee, leaned his elbows on the sea wall and tried to figure out what to do next. A man of p
rinciple would call Bill and tell him everything. Good Lord, how could he do that? What was “everything,” anyway? What would he say? “Bill, I don’t know how to tell you this, but Jessie and I are together. We’re in our own private world, and she won’t be coming back to Seattle for a while.”
“Liam?”
He turned around. Jessie was standing in the doorway. She’d pulled on his sweatshirt but not her jeans. Her hair was a confusion of honey-gold waves. Her eyes were bright as the ocean, her skin as flushed as the morning sky, and he knew, in that moment, that he was never going to let her leave him.
“I thought I smelled coffee,” she said with a hesitant smile. “Liam? About last night—”
He was beside her before she’d finished the sentence. He swung her into his arms, kissed her, and she put her arms around his neck.
“I wasn’t ready last night,” she whispered. “But I am now.”
Liam carried her inside, lay down with her in his arms. He rolled her onto her belly, drew her hair away from her neck and pressed his lips to her skin. The scent of her rose to his nostrils, a delicious blend of flowers, salt air, and woman. Gently he eased up the sweatshirt, eased down her panties. He heard her catch her breath as he kissed the long curve of her spine, the dimple at its base before turning her over.
“You’re beautiful,” he said huskily, his eyes locked to hers.
She smiled. “You are, too.”
He laughed softly. “Men aren’t beautiful, sweetheart. Handsome. Magnificent. Muscular and altogether fantastic, yes, but not—”
Jessie grabbed his hair and dragged his mouth to hers. “I’ll give you all the compliments you want, later. But first…” She sat up, tugged the sweatshirt over her head and tossed it aside. “Look at me, Liam,” she said, “and tell me you like what you see.”
Like? There were no words to describe what he felt, looking at her. Her body was as beautiful as her face, her skin all flushed, her breasts high and rounded, the tips already beaded with excitement.
“I love what I see,” he said softly.
“Touch me, then.” She reached up, stroked her finger gently over his mouth. “Kiss me. Make love to me.”
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