Trick Me, Treat Me

by Leslie Kelly

  “With you, I remember how much I like being daring,” she admitted, almost surprising herself with the realization. “I used to like to be wild. Living in that heart-pounding place between risky and downright perilous. Growing up, I wanted all of that, wanted to be just like Hildy, to have passion and excitement and danger be a part of my everyday vocabulary.” She stared at him, growing serious. “You gave that back to me, Miles. I wasn’t kidding when I said this has been the best time I’ve ever had. I somehow think I’ve been waiting to meet someone like you, so I could remember a part of myself I’d let slip away.”

  Though she’d never felt more self-aware, more certain, she couldn’t stop another shiver at one inescapable realization. This amazing man, who’d awakened needs within her that had long lain dormant, who’d reopened a part of herself she hadn’t realized had been closed off, still didn’t know for sure who he was.

  But Gwen knew. He was the wild, adventurous spirit she’d been unconsciously seeking her whole adult life.

  “You cold?” he whispered, obviously having felt her shiver.

  She shook her head, thrusting away the remnants of doubt. “I’m fine, it’s not that cold up here. Are you cold?”

  He nodded gravely.

  “Do you want me to dig through the trunks and find something to put on us?”

  “I only want one thing on me.” He pulled the elastic off the end of her braid and sifted the long strands of hair between his fingers. “You.”

  Miles ran the tip of his finger across her shoulder, trailing her collarbone, gently touching the hollow of her throat. They he moved his hand lower. Lower. Until his fingertips rested at the button of her jeans. “And there’s only one way I want to warm up.”

  Her heart skipped a beat as she went soft and warm, deep inside, from just the simple touch of his fingers. “Oh? How’s that?”

  “With body heat.”

  “Works for me,” she said, her voice nearly a purr.

  He unsnapped, then unzipped her jeans. Tugging her thin sweater loose from her waist, he began pushing it up. The cool air in the attic brought goose bumps to her chest, but her shiver wasn’t caused by anything cold. No, it was pure heat that had her nearly shaking. The heat of his stare, of his hands, of his breath. The way his fingertips brushed the skin of her belly, then her ribs as he tugged the sweater off. Then it was gone, and he began to toy with the straps of her lacy bra.

  “Mmm,” she moaned, wanting more than just that soft, delicate brush of his fingers.

  He complied, pushing the lace away, lowering the straps down her arms to release her breasts. “I think I’m going to like making love to you in the daytime,” he muttered hoarsely, his eyes studying every inch of her. “I couldn’t see you well enough last night.”

  She wanted him to see her. Wanted to drink in that expression of pure, male appreciation on his face. Unfastening her bra, she tossed it to the floor and moved closer, straddling his thighs. He groaned when she pressed her sex against his erection and slowly rubbed against it. The separation caused by their clothes was delicious torture and merely heightened the anticipation.

  He moved his mouth to her neck, then her throat, then, finally, to the curve of her breast. She tangled her fingers in his dark hair, wanting more, and cried out when he moved his mouth over her nipple. She jerked against him again, her jeans feeling even more tight against her sensitive flesh. And when he began to suckle her, taking one nipple in his mouth while he teased the other with his fingers, she thought she’d explode right then.

  “I think I had more orgasms last night than I’ve had in my entire adult life,” she admitted, giving herself over to the sensations.

  Sucking deeper, he surged up against her, mimicking the way they’d make love when their clothes came off. That was all it took to push her over the edge into a shattering climax that made her cry out with the pure, electric pleasure of it.

  He kissed her, catching her cry with his lips and tongue, then whispered, “Are we starting over, or does this still count as part of last night? It was after midnight, after all. This might be a day for the record books.”

  She laughed, her laugh turning to a hungry groan when he pulled his own shirt off, baring his strong, hard body. The soft sunshine spilling into the attic from the grated air vents cast lines of shadow and light across his golden torso, spotlighting the perfect ripples of sinewy muscle.

  She leaned down, nibbling that skin, running her tongue along his shoulder to his neck. Then lower, so she could taste one flat male nipple. His hands caressed her bare body to her waist, still toying with her breasts, then playfully dipping below the waistband of her jeans to teasingly caress her. Close. Very close to where she wanted him, but not going all the way, always coming back up, leaving her a quivering mass of need.

  “Touch me or I’m going to scream and convince everyone in this place that there really are ghosts here.”

  “Ghosts usually scream with pain,” he replied, still so patient, so deliberate, his hands creating magic wherever he decided to move them. “You’ll be screaming with pleasure before the afternoon is out.”

  She suspected he was right.

  11

  MILES KNEW he was driving Gwen into an erotic frenzy. Her arousal was almost a tangible thing, he could see it, hear it, smell it, taste it. She swayed in a seductive, mindless dance as she knelt above him, her body responding to his slightest touch, to every move he made. She was ready—beyond ready—wanting nothing more than to proceed directly to the main course and skip the appetizer.

  Too bad for her. Miles liked appetizers.

  In no hurry, he pulled her closer, until her legs were nearly wrapped around his hips on the chaise. Then he began to kiss her, deeply, intent only on the pleasure of lips and tongue, the way she tasted and smelled. She caught the rhythm of his strokes, meeting him touch for touch.

  Moving his hands down her back, he focused on the satiny feel of her skin, the tiny protuberance of bones in her spine, the indentation where waist met hip. Then lower, his fingers slipping inside the back of her jeans to toy with the elastic edge of her bikini panties.

  She arched back, curving toward his touch, moaning low and long. He didn’t give her what she silently begged for, moving his hands up and away, almost smiling at her nearly inaudible whimper. When she was once more caught up in their deep, slow kisses, he again allowed himself to touch her. This time he brought both hands to the waistband of her jeans, then beneath. He caressed her hips, then lower, until he could cup her sweetly curved rear. He pushed up against her, torturing himself as well because of the constricting tightness of his jeans against his erection.

  He might as well have waved a red flag in front of a bull. She needed no more encouragement to go further. Standing, she pushed her jeans off her hips, revealing her soft belly, her curvy hips, and a tiny pair of blue underpants.

  Leaving the panties on, she pushed the jeans down. When they became tangled with her shoes she muttered a soft curse. He laughed softly. As she finally dropped her clothes to the floor, she arched a brow. “You’re enjoying this?”

  “Hell, yes.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Two can play,” she warned. Naked but for the panties, she returned to the chaise, kneeling between his parted legs. She dropped her hands to his shoulders, almost on all fours, those perfect breasts of hers swaying just out of reach of his mouth. Then she taunted him, brushing her nipple against his cheek, but not letting him have a taste.

  “Two can definitely play, Gwen,” he mumbled, settling down for some payback that he sensed he was going to enjoy. A lot.

  So she began to play, as he had, teasing him with drawn-out caresses. The attic began to feel steamy hot. He ached to get rid of the rest of his own clothes, to feel nothing but her skin and her hair, her mouth and her lips. Finally, after kissing every bit of his chest, from throat to waist, she unfastened his jeans and began to tug them off. He lifted up to help her, then kicked off his shoes.

  When he w
as completely naked, she resumed her place on his lap, wrapping her legs around his hips. “Still enjoying this?”

  Drawing in a hoarse breath at the feel of her, so close, so hot, he nodded weakly. “But I think you forgot something.” He glanced down at their bodies, nodding toward the skimpy pair of blue panties still separating them.

  She shook her head. “I didn’t forget.” With a look of pure feminine mischief in her eyes, she tilted her hips and began to rub against his erection. Up. Then down. The silky material of her panties was damp with her own arousal, making the frictionless slide that much more intoxicating.

  He groaned. “You’re killing me.”

  “Want me to get off?” Her eyes shone with pure heat and he knew she’d chosen her words deliberately.

  “Oh, yeah, I want you to get off, babe. I want to watch you get off.” He tangled his fingers in her hair, tugging her mouth to his for a wet, hungry kiss. When they parted to suck in a few deep breaths, he whispered, “I want you to get off so many times you can’t remember your own name.”

  “I hear that’s going around,” she whispered with a saucy grin.

  “Christ, if that’s what caused it, we’d have half the people in the world begging to get amnesia.”

  Then her laughter faded as her body tensed. Her fingers clenched, then flexed. Her head was tilted back, her eyes closed. She breathed in shallow little gasps, her helpless whimpers telling him how close she was to release.

  Holding tightly to her hips, he rocked up against her, rubbing her where he knew it felt the best. He’d never imagined the power, the pure sensual delight of giving this beautiful, responsive woman something hot and hard to pleasure herself with. He loved watching her take what she wanted, bringing herself to the edge. Finally, she shuddered, tightened and gave a helpless little cry.

  When she collapsed on to him, boneless and sated, she whispered, “Who am I again? I can’t seem to recall.”

  “Mine,” he growled. “That’s all you need to remember.”

  Watching her pleasure herself to climax had pushed Miles as far as he could go. Her flimsy panties separated easily under his hands, ripping apart with one sharp tug. She gasped, then smiled, obviously pleased she’d driven him so far.

  “You might want to let me catch my breath,” she whispered, still looking weak from her explosive climax. “Looks like I’m in the driver’s seat.”

  “You don’t have to do a thing,” he promised with utmost confidence. “The pleasure’s all mine.”

  After sheathing himself with a condom he’d tucked into his jeans pocket earlier that day, he lifted her, rocking her against him. Her weight was fully supported in his arms. That wet, warm, feminine flesh of hers slid against his erection in blatant welcome. Dipping inside her, he forced himself to use what little restraint he had left. He wanted to savor the connection, knowing from last night that the physical sensation of having Gwen wrapped around him was like nothing else on earth.

  She was having none of that. Out of breath or not, she took over, plunging down to take him, all of him, in one powerful thrust. “Oh, Miles,” she moaned. “The pleasure’s definitely not all yours.”

  “You are always in such a hurry,” he managed to mutter before he went completely out of his mind. Then he could do nothing but follow his body’s instinctive demands. He thrust up into her, again and again, holding her, lifting her, rocking their bodies together in a perfectly timed sexual dance.

  They exchanged long, wet kisses. Intimate caresses. And looking up at her, seeing the ecstasy on her face, watching her give herself over to climax again, he knew he could make love to just this one woman for the rest of his life and die a happy man.

  Finally, he couldn’t think anymore, couldn’t analyze it, could only focus on the pleasure. Gwen obviously got her breath back, because she took over, dropping her feet to the floor on either side of the lounge. She picked up the tempo, set a new pace. Hard and fast. Mind-blowing. Until he could take it no more and exploded into her in one long, shattering release.

  GWEN SPENT the rest of the day catching up on the chores she should have been doing that morning. Not that she regretted the way she’d spent her time. No matter what happened at the end of this crazy weekend, she didn’t regret a thing.

  She and Miles had finally managed to escape the attic at around two. After making love, they’d lain wrapped in each other’s arms. Talking about silly things. Sharing laughter, slow kisses and languorous caresses.

  Eventually, they’d fallen into a light sleep on the chaise lounge. When they’d awakened, they’d dressed, then checked the elderly couple’s room and found it empty. Gwen had been greatly tempted to search their luggage for any counterfeiting equipment, but Miles had convinced her they’d be too smart to bring it along on their vacation.

  They’d parted outside his room with a long kiss. Again he’d promised to stay put until she could find Mick Winchester. Again, she suspected he wouldn’t do it.

  Since Miles had admitted to having a slight headache after their nap, Gwen did want to seek out the doctor. She wasn’t able to locate the woman until late that afternoon. Dr. Wilson came into the house, her arm loosely draped around Mick Winchester’s waist. Both of them were laughing.

  Gwen couldn’t prevent a frown. “Have a nice afternoon out?”

  “Wonderful,” the doctor replied. “Mr. Winchester showed me some of the sights in Derryville.”

  Since Derryville was small enough to walk across in an hour…on crutches…that shouldn’t have eaten up an entire afternoon. Ordinarily, she might have smiled at the obvious sexual atmosphere between Mick and the lady doctor. Right now, though, she was too concerned about Miles to muster up much amusement.

  “How’s our patient?” Dr. Wilson asked.

  “He’s got a slight headache. He’s up in his room.”

  “Still no memory?”

  She shook her head with a sigh. “No, I’m afraid not.”

  Dr. Wilson shrugged, not looking too concerned. “I’m still certain he’ll be fine. Did he sleep at all last night?”

  Gwen wished her pale skin didn’t blush so easily, particularly because Mick appeared to notice. A wide grin told her he’d read her expression correctly.

  “Not very well.”

  “Well, maybe I’ll pop in to see him before I take a shower.” She patted Mick’s chest. “You coming?”

  “In a minute,” he replied, not taking his eyes off Gwen.

  The brunette walked away, heading up the stairs with a definite sway to her hips, obviously intended for Mick’s eyes. He stared after her. When she reached the landing on the second floor and turned to look down at them, he gave her a flirtatious wink.

  “Do you ever quit?” Gwen muttered.

  “The day I do, you better check my pulse,” he replied.

  She couldn’t prevent a slight laugh. “You’re such a horn-dog. I can’t believe you’re related to Sophie.”

  He smiled at the reference to his sister, who’d become one of Gwen’s best friends here in Derryville. Sophie was the sweetest-natured woman Gwen had ever known, which probably served her well in her job as the secretary of the First Methodist Church. Nothing at all like her brother.

  In some ways, though, she was a bit like Gwen. Because, while most people only saw the quiet church secretary, there was more to Sophie than met the eye. The two of them had bonded when Gwen had seen Sophie’s bookshelf and realized they shared a taste in reading material. Sophie had an entire collection of books by a rising star in the horror fiction world, R.F. Colt. Gwen had read all of Colt’s books back in Boston and was a big fan.

  “Growing up with a sister made me that much more aware of how insane a man can get trying to understand women,” Mick said. “It’s better to just enjoy the ride and not try to make too much sense of it.”

  “Maybe having you for an example explains why she’s still single,” she said tartly. Since Sophie was very pretty, Gwen had wondered why she’d never settled down with som
eone special.

  “Touché. But my cousin Jared was practically a big brother to her, too. He’s a little more responsible about his relationships with women than I am….” He chuckled for some reason. “At least usually.”

  “Sophie’s told me about him. Isn’t he the true-crime writer?” She knew he was. His books constantly topped the best-seller lists, though Gwen had never read one. She probably would someday, because it sounded like his books were right up her alley. Lately, though, reading had been one pleasure she hadn’t had time to indulge.

  Mick nodded. “Yeah. He doesn’t live around here anymore. But he sometimes pops in when he’s least expected.”

  “I haven’t met him yet on any of his visits.”

  Mick’s eyes sparkled with humor. “Nope. But I’m sure you will one of these days. When he…comes around again. I’m afraid he hasn’t been himself lately.”

  Gwen didn’t think it likely he’d drop around. Frankly, she didn’t want to meet the man. From what Sophie had told her, her cousin Jared had a real knack for getting to the bottom of old, never-solved mysteries, figuring out intricate crimes and dragging them back into the light of day for renewed dissection. He was apparently relentless when something caught his interest.

  Someone like that sounded like someone she, herself, would have liked to meet in the old days. He was also, however, the last kind of person she’d want near Aunt Hildy. No way did she want her aunt talking to a determined author who liked to revisit old scandals and mysteries and write about them. And who, according to Sophie, had a lifelong interest in the history of organized crime in Chicago.

  Aunt Hildy didn’t deserve to be dragged into the spotlight, raked over the coals, yet again. The woman finally seemed to have found some peace and happiness in her life, and Gwen wouldn’t allow anyone to upset Hildy’s delicate mental state.

  So, no, indeed, she didn’t intend for the two of them to ever meet. Mr. Jared Winchester was more than welcome to keep living his rich, high-rise life in Chicago, thank you very much. Gwen hoped he never came back to Derryville.