He smiled at that, then dropped the kickstand, and slapped the bike’s seat, and she wondered what that hand would feel like on her ass. Then he lifted his head, and smiled at her. She returned that smile, as he walked past her, arm brushing hers in the wide doorway. As she started tugging the door closed, she caught a glance of the license plate, just as the shadow of the door took it away from her sight. That radar, that went off before, when he said he was just on a road trip to the Pacific, pinged again, but she didn’t know why. Then the whiskey-gravel of his voice was in her head, and she lost that thought.
“So, about that offer of a room.”
The door screeched again, as she pulled it shut, and for a split second, a rush of jumbled thoughts flew through her head. She wanted him, in her bed. That was a no-brainer. She wanted him to stay. If he tried to leave before morning, she’d sure as hell hear him. And if he stayed all night, then maybe...
The door latched, and she turned the lock, ensuring his bike was safe for the night. Then turned around to face her drifter.
“About that room.”
They were under the garage’s bright outdoor light, and she knew it made her look sickly, and washed out. It was too bright, even in its faded orange glow, to say what she wanted to say. So she turned back toward the bar.
“The room’s upstairs. Clean linen. A warm blanket, if you’re inclined to sleep with the windows open, and if it cools off. Bathroom down the hall. Clean towels...”
When her foot crossed over into the shadow of the bar, she turned and put her hand on his chest, looking up into those dark eyes. “Or there’s always my bed, if you want company.”
He didn’t answer, and for a minute she wondered how long it would take to pull her boot out of her mouth, and kick herself with it. But in the moonlight, he reached up, his hand finding the curve of her jaw, this time, his strong fingers trailing down to the hollow of her throat.
“So that’s what I do to you? Make your heart beat like thunder?”
She had no answer to that, because he had his finger on her pulse, knew exactly what he was doing to her. She was ready to bolt in embarrassment, and she started to pull her hand away, but he reached up with his other hand, grabbing her, before she got too far out of his reach.
“This is what you do to me.” He put her hand back on his chest, over his heart. And she felt it too, the thump of him, beneath the stretch of black cotton, matching her heart, beat for beat.
“I didn’t know men got like that, all fluttery in the chest.”
His laugh was low, just this side of gentle, heading toward rough. “Is that what you call it? All fluttery?”
“Sounds a little silly, I guess.”
“It’s not silly at all,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “And this is what else you do to me.”
His mouth came down on hers, cutting off whatever she was going to say. He tasted of whiskey, and the touch of his lips on hers said more than words ever could. His mouth was warm and mobile, moving over hers, speaking without words. He growled against her lips, and his wordless kiss told her exactly where he was going to spend the night.
He was still holding her hand, his fingers still resting at the base of her throat, when the first fat raindrops splashed on her face. The coolness against her skin did nothing to put a damper on the heat swirling through her body. There was a distant rumble of thunder, and another raindrop hitting her arm. Somewhere in the distance, a coyote yipped, and was answered by its mate.
But the drifter didn’t move, didn’t flinch, to either the rain, or the coyotes. He did deepen the kiss, leaning closer, so her breasts pressed against his chest, flicking his tongue against her lips. Her cheek brushed against the stubble on his face, a counterpoint of prickly sharpness, contrasting with all the smooth, sensual heat surrounding them. Either way, the warmth of his body did something to her, mixed with the intensity of his kiss, with the touch of his tongue against hers, now that she’d parted her lips, and met his tongue with hers. The touch of his body did something to her deep inside that made her want him with an intensity she’d never felt with any man before.
Then the sky split with light, so bright that she saw it behind her closed eyes. The crack of thunder came a second later, and the heavens opened up and poured rain on them. By the time he let her go, they were soaking wet. It made no sense to run the few yards to the pub, and when they walked in, she saw Ember standing at the end of the bar. The main lights were out, only the backlights of the bar, giving out their neon glow.
“Harley, you scared the life out of me. I was just going...”
For the first time in Harley’s life, she saw Ember blush, saw it even in the dim light. And then behind her, she saw the tall, broad-shouldered form of Van, hanging back, waiting. Harley took a step into the bar, and the guy behind her didn’t so much stop, but rather he eased back, just enough to give her some space.
“The room at the end’s all made up, you know that, hon. It’s always there for you.” She smiled at Ember, then glanced past her, and caught Van’s eye, with a warning. Her voice dropped, just in case he didn’t catch her drift. “You too, but if you even think of breaking her...”
Ember reached out across the bar so quickly it made Harley jump. She set her hand on Harley’s arm. “No, it’s okay. Really.” She leaned closer, and just for a minute it was just them, two girls giggling over boys. “It’s really okay. But we don’t need the room. Not tonight.”
And then they were gone, shadows melting through the door to the back porch, and Em’s faint laugh finding its way back to Harley. Then the sound of Van’s bike roaring to life. She smiled at the thought of them leaving together, and then turned back to the man waiting for her.
“I just need to lock up.”
“I’ve got nowhere else I want to be right now.”
She held his gaze for a minute, and wondered where in the world he’d been all her life, and why in the world he was probably going to ride out of it tomorrow. She sighed, and went about her business of locking the door, and closing the windows. The drifter picked up his pack and jacket, and they met at the door to the hall that led to the stairs…the very stairwell that would take them out of this world, and into the next. He met her with a smile, and she hooked her arm through his.
“Let’s go to bed, drifter.”
Chapter Two
They came into the room slowly, like they had all the time in the world. There was little doubt about what was going to happen next, when he dropped his stuff on the floor, and she moved quickly to turn on the bedside lamp. Then he turned to her, unbridled desire burning in his eyes, as he pulled her into his arms, rain wet t-shirt against wet t-shirt. She’d shivered, not so much from the chill, but from the sensation of his hands on her curves.
“Probably a good idea to get out of these wet clothes.”
She had to agree. With those strong hands of his, that were so gentle, he reached down and took hold of the edge of her t-shirt. Obediently, she put her arms over her head, and he peeled the shirt up and over. It took a little bit of work to maneuver the shirt over her tangled mass of wet hair, and she breathed out a laugh against the wet shirt that covered her face. Then she was free of it, and looking up at him.
“There you are. Thought I lost you for a minute.”
She repeated his movements, taking the bottom of his shirt in her hands, but they both laughed, softly, as even with arms extended, there was no way she’d ever get that shirt over his head. With a single graceful movement, he pulled his own shirt off. He was all broad chest and tan skin, a trail of light brown hair running down the center of his chest, running lower, to a place she ached to go, but hadn’t been invited to, just yet.
He leaned down, and kissed her. His lips were chilled from the rain, but they heated up in seconds. The kiss wasn’t rough, but it held the promise of fire, of the animal inside him, coming out to play. Rain lashed against the window, thunder booming loud. It made her feel safe and cocooned, inside this
little room, with this strong, muscular man. She let him into her mouth this time without hesitation, met him head on, didn’t even consider for a second that they weren’t going to be equals in this wild dance.
Very slowly, he ended the kiss, lips lingering at the corner of her mouth. “I don’t know about you, but there is nothing as uncomfortable as wet jeans,” he said, as he toed off his boots. “Think you might help me out here?”
She laughed. “I’d be happy to, if you’ll return the favor.”
“Anything you want, ma’am. Or, I should say, Harley.”
Her fingers moved down to the button on his jeans. Head down, fingers suddenly shaking, she heard him take a breath, knew he was going to say something. Her fingers slowed, waiting.
“You never asked me my name, Harley. Any reason why?”
She went back to her work, with a little shrug. “I didn’t think it really mattered...” She didn’t know what she was thinking, if she was being honest with herself, but one thing she did know was that come morning, he’d be long gone. So why did knowing his name even matter? They both knew what this was – this thing between them – and making it into something it wasn’t was just dangerous.
Her fingers came to a stop, one button from the end of her little task. She let her eyes move very slowly up his chest to his gorgeous face. His mouth was easy, relaxed, patient. And his eyes...those eyes. They were enough to make her forget what he’d asked for a minute.
“Okay, so what’s your name?”
“Jericho Steele, ma’am.” That sexy smile was curving his lips again. “Very pleased to meet you.”
“Likewise, Jericho.”
“I just figured, you ought to know my name, so you can know what to scream out, when I’m making love to you.”
She felt her pulse race, and she looked up into his dark eyes. That sexy smirk was back on his face, the one that told her that he knew exactly how much she wanted him. Her fingers had undone the last button on his jeans, slipping between the edges of the denim, quickly, wanting him naked, and ready. The fingers of her right hand grazed against him, the mixed feelings of heat, and hardness, sending beautiful sensations through her body.
With a swiftness that startled her, he pulled her against him, her bra-clad breasts pressed against his chest, her nipples drawing up hard and tight, at the first touch of his bare skin, her hand pinned between them, curling around him. He claimed her this time, fully and totally, his mouth bruising against her teeth, as she opened to him, ready for whatever this was going to be.
His hands moved to her ass, grabbing her hard, fingers tensing against her curves, the heat of his hands sinking through the cold, wet denim, warming her backside. Now she knew what those hands felt like, and she wanted more.
His hands slid down her ass, down the backs of her thighs, his body bending, his mouth never leaving hers. The strength of his hands, the ease in the way he picked her up, startled her, thrilled her, sent her reeling for a minute, as he walked two steps, dropping her on her back on the bed, onto the faded patchwork quilt.
That broke the kiss, and she gasped up at him, as she looked up at him. And she got a good look, all the way from his eyes fixed on her, the parted lips, chest rising and falling just a little faster than it had. And lower, to the gap at the front of his jeans, where her hard work had freed him, to where he rose up, hard and expectant. A thud went off deep inside her, and it took all her will not to stare, although she didn’t think he’d really mind. With that same ease he seemed to have with everything else, he looked down at her, and smiled.
“Time for these to come off.”
He grabbed one boot, yanked it off her foot, did the same with the other, the thud of the second hitting the floor, seconds after the first. She knew what was happening next, and as he tugged at the legs of her jeans, she lifted her hips, hooking her thumbs through belt loops, and the elastic of her panties, giving him all the help she could in getting that wet denim off her body. She wiggled, and he pulled, and the jeans were off. She looked up at him, and grinned.
“You’re overdressed for the occasion, Drifter.”
Pushing up on her elbows, she had every good intention of reaching for him, either to help get out of his jeans, or just to touch him. She wasn’t sure, and in the end, it didn’t matter.
He shoved his jeans down and off, and then he was on the bed, knees between her legs. There was that hand on her cheek again, only briefly, this time, slipping around to cradle her neck, the back of her head, to bring her up to him, and his kiss a few seconds sooner, as if kissing her was the salvation he was looking for, that he needed right then.
His hips came down on hers with a force that pushed her back into the mattress, back down on that patchwork quilt. She reached up, arms around his neck, hanging on like she did when she was taking curves on a new road, in control, just this side of white-knuckles.
The rough touch of his knuckles ran up the inside of one thigh, harsher than she expected, since she was expecting something else entirely to be touching her there. His fingers found her first, brushing against her, testing, teasing. But that wasn’t what she wanted. She got her mouth away from him.
“No. As much as I enjoy that. Not now...not this time.” She’d have added a please, simply because she could feel the animal inside him, in the touch between her legs, the grip on the back of her neck, and it scared her just a little bit. But it sounded in her head like begging, and the last thing she wanted was to beg this man for anything.
“Condom…” The word came out as a whisper, a last-minute reminder that they needed to be smart about this. She turned, fumbling in the night table, until she found what she was looking for.
Thank God, she thought. She had been too caught up in the moment, to even think about whether or not she had a condom lying around, but thankfully, she had one left over from…whenever the last time had been, so very long ago.
She carefully ripped open the top of the package, and held it out. Jericho took it from her outstretched hand, and then rolled it on, with ease.
“You ready, baby?” His voice was soft, and she heard the smile, before she saw it curve his lips.
That was the last soft thing about him. Minutes later, he was buried deep inside of her, sliding into her, like he’d been there before, and knew the road, but loved the ride, nonetheless. His touch, every movement, was deliberate, and just this side of reckless, and for a second, she wanted to be on a bike with him, arms wrapped around his waist, feeling the narrowness of his hips between her thighs, as she hung on, as he drove wildly, recklessly, and she rode. As he thrusted into her, she found herself giving up control, and just enjoying the feel of his weight on top of her body, his mouth roaming her neck, biting down gently.
She wrapped her legs around his hips, locking him to her, pulling him down to her, but she wasn’t going to give up anything right now. Passive wasn’t a word she knew, here or anywhere. She wanted the feel of his chest against her breasts, wanted the heat of his skin on hers. He arched away, just enough, to look down at her, in the soft light from the lamp.
“Seems to me, you’re the one overdressed now. But on you, here, like this. I think it’s probably the right thing to wear.”
For a minute, she had no idea what he was talking about, until she remembered that she was still wearing her bra, and that it was black and lace, her best, and she wondered what impulse had made her choose that one, out of the rest, on this particular day. The rest of the collection were faded and threadbare, plain and utilitarian, and a thousand times less sexy than this.
Before she had time to say anything, he dropped his head, and raised the hand that had been, just minutes ago, between her legs. He brought it up to her breasts, fingers tensing against her skin, against the soft rising globe of her breast, gently. But beneath that gentleness, she knew there were claws and strength, raw power held back, kept in check. She wondered for how long, or how close, that animal was to coming out to play. What that animal would do to her.
>
The forces of gravity, and being dropped on the bed, had gone a long way to push her out of the cups of the bra. It didn’t take him long to free one breast, fingers pushing the lace away so smoothly, she barely felt it.
But she did feel his tongue, tracing a small circle of heat on her damp skin. The fingers at the back of her head had loosened, and she raised her head to watch, as he lowered his mouth to her body, trailing a line of little kisses, and those tip-of-tongue circles, toward the rise of her breast, to the nipple that rose up, pink against cream, that waited for him.
He found it, but took it slowly, circling it for a moment. All that kissing and licking, sent little jolts through her, like the lightning outside, each strike hitting closer, and closer to her center. Each strike of fire rushing through her, to the place where he was deep inside her, moving slowly, moving to a wild, and steady rhythm of his own. It felt more like breathing, than sex, the slow, steady, barely-there movement of him, if he stopped would be a little like death.
Just as slowly, he formed his lips around that hard nipple, in a kiss. The kiss deepened, and she felt the soft heat of his tongue again, swirling over her sensitive bud. Teeth grazed against skin, teeth or fangs, she didn’t care.
She hadn’t touched him yet with her hands, but now she wanted to hold his head, cradle him, as he licked and kissed her breast. She reached up, fingers playing over his shoulder, the nape of his neck, up to where the short hair started on the back of his head. Every man she’d ever been with, back to the first, had worn long hair. Tied back in ponytails, or loose, or just long enough to run her fingers through, they’d all been the same.
But she was instantly mesmerized by the feel of short hair, almost stubble, under her fingertips. She traced the line of his skull, the rise and fall of his head, as he moved over her. Somehow it brought him closer, even though she knew that was crazy. He was as close as any man could physically be. But she ran her fingers over his head anyway, cradling him against her.
Run Fur Love (BBW Tiger Shifter Romance) Page 3
