by Anne Marsh
“That’s good.” He gave her another one of those crooked half smiles that made her melt inside. “I’m not good with pretty words.”
Funny. He’d done just fine so far. But whatever. She wanted to have her wicked way with him, possibly beginning with sex on the daybed, so she wasn’t going to quibble with his word choice.
“I’m not looking for happily-ever-after,” he continued gruffly. “I need to make that perfectly clear.”
Uh-oh. Had he misunderstood her? Did he think she was shopping for a replacement ring? “Did I ask for that?”
He shook his head. “No, but—”
She cut him off. “I don’t believe in love.” Not anymore. “It’s a chemical thing.”
“Uh-huh. You’re a doctor.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Don’t they cover the scientific theories of love in those medical textbooks of yours?” He looked genuinely curious.
She went on the offensive. “Do you believe in love?”
“I don’t not believe in it, but it’s not something that’s ever made an appearance in my life.”
He didn’t sound as if he’d missed it, either. He had to be one of the stillest people she’d ever met. He dropped down next to her in a lazy sprawl, not moving a muscle, and yet she knew he hadn’t missed a thing. A parrot landed in the tree overhead, and his eyes tracked the movement briefly before returning to her face.
Remember the plan. “Tell me more about yourself.”
He shrugged. “I have no idea what you want me to say.”
That was the thing about guys. They seemed to think that she had expectations that the truth—or just whatever random thought was floating through their heads—would shatter her. When all she really wanted was to hear what he was thinking. It didn’t have to be profound or dressed up for her benefit.
She hitched closer to him. “For example, tell me about your last date.”
“You want me to discuss another woman?”
Well. Apparently, his face could show emotion, because he looked vaguely horrified. Had the date gone that badly? Looking at him, she assumed his last evening out had ended in bed. She didn’t want a blow-by-blow account, but she did want to prove her point. She’d bet he hadn’t been looking for love then, just a good time. So why couldn’t he do the same thing here, with her?
“Details.” She leaned back on the mound of pillows and toed off her shoes. She was seriously out of shape if her feet hurt after a half-mile hike.
He folded his arms over his chest. “Only if you tell me about your last date.”
“Is this a game of you show me yours and I’ll show you mine?”
He gave her a slow smile. “Or, we could just play doctor.”
She made a face. “You have no idea how many times I’ve heard that one.”
“It doesn’t work?” He grinned at her, a real genuine smile splitting his handsome face, bringing it to life.
“I’m here and I’m single,” she pointed out. “You do the math, but you still get to tell your date story first.”
“I don’t date.”
Right. Pulling teeth here. “You’re telling me you’ve never gone out and had sex? That you’re a virgin?”
Because she so wasn’t buying that one. She might be sex-starved, but she wasn’t stupid.
He laughed. “The last time I hooked up was with a gal I met at a biker bar. There was nothing romantic about it. I bought her a beer. We danced a time or two. Then I gave her a ride on my bike, and we...”
He gestured with his hand and, oh boy, she got the idea. He’d taken his newfound friend outside and done her. On the bike, over the bike, near the bike—she should really find out.
“You like your bike.”
“You bet.” He watched her so intently, his eyes hooded. Did he expect her to run screaming? Things had been simpler when they were kissing. He couldn’t talk. She couldn’t think. It had been perfect and she needed to re-create that moment. Stat. Unfortunately, he was still talking. “Is this another fantasy of yours, hearing me talk about having sex with someone else?”
Dirty. Out of character for her. Either or both labels applied. It definitely was not the sort of conversation she’d ever had with Harlan or anyone else at the hospital, so she went for honesty. “Think of it as a preview of coming attractions.”
He smiled roguishly. “I can work with that.”
“But you need to know something, too. This isn’t me.”
* * *
THE DAYBED CURRENTLY hosting Gray’s ass looked like something straight out of a bridal magazine. It was romantic as hell and positioned for kisses at sunset or for wedding photography. Not that he had any idea how a bride would traipse up here in one of those big, puffy dresses his former teammates’ fiancées typically chose. The poor woman would get hung up on the palms and the vines.
The truth was, he sucked at dating. Threading his fingers through Laney’s, he tugged gently. She landed hard on his chest with an audible oomph and he grinned. She didn’t hold back.
“You feel plenty real to me,” he said. “Or was that you outing an alternate personality when you said this isn’t me? Because that could definitely be a deal killer.”
“This is a fantasy. A game. One night...no strings. In real life, I’m not that woman, no matter how much I’m going to enjoy being her for tonight.” She offered him a solemn smile.
“And what if I want more than one night?”
His voice sounded gruff, and he had no idea where those words had come from, because he’d just finished telling her that he wasn’t playing for keeps. He eyed her cautiously, wondering what it was about her that made him want to be different. Why wasn’t he halfway down the hill by now?
“I made a reservation. I’ve only got so many nights.”
“Then I want all of them.” Stupid. Because he couldn’t, shouldn’t make promises. It was easy to imagine her in a white coat, making rounds with cool competence, but raunchy sex with a virtual stranger? Yeah. That seemed like a harder sell, because she’d have to unbutton and strip down. Let him in. He brushed his thumb over her collarbone, because it was a pity to be this close to her and not touch her.
“And then I go home.” She stared at him expectantly.
“Sure.” Getting started on those nights suddenly seemed like a great idea. He brushed his thumb over her cheek, leaning in closer because he needed to know her answer.
“What fantasy would you pick tonight?”
* * *
LANEY WAS WET. She wanted more kisses. And she definitely didn’t want to feel alone in needing more from him.
So why was she still fully dressed?
“I need an answer.” His mouth hovered inches from hers, though, as if negotiating wasn’t what he had in mind. Good. She had big plans for that incredible mouth of his, plans that involved sliding her tongue along his lips and then possibly nipping at his lower lip. Biting him. She wasn’t sure of the details of said plan, but how hard could it be to figure out? She gave it five minutes tops before he lost his clothes.
But then he didn’t kiss her again, which was a damn shame. Somehow, she had to spell her fantasy out for him. She inhaled, but the air didn’t help. Instead, she smelled Gray, a scent that was all male underlain with the tang of something metallic and the sea. Whatever he got up to in his spare time, it didn’t involve patchouli oils. She could imagine him outside, running or pounding through the surf. He was the kind of man who pushed his body hard, not accepting any weakness. If he’d been a caveman, he’d have been the best catch, the leader of the pack and the baddest-ass hunter of them all. He was going to be hers, and how awesome was that?
“You have to ask for what you want.” Sex on the beach. Gray’s money was on that particular drink. They were at a tropical resort, and he had a beach handy. She certainly wasn’t going to be picking anything with a classy name like Screw Me Sidewise. Not that he’d actually be able to figure out t
he logistics of that one.
“Leather and Lace.” She peeped up at him.
“Say that again?” She’d better be lace in this scenario.
“Leather and Lace,” she repeated, and this time there was no mistaking the pink in her cheeks. Her chin went up and she glared at him. “You asked me what I wanted. That’s it.”
“Give it to me in detail.” He could use a few more words here, plus she was digging into his chest as if she meant to nest. And, like the discussion of semi-permanence, he didn’t mind that, either. “You want to play dominatrix?”
She shook her head. “I don’t want to tie you up.”
Thank Jesus, because he didn’t know if he could go that far for her. “You want me to tie you up?”
That he could definitely do—and he would enjoy every single minute.
She chewed on her lower lip. “Not exactly.”
Yeah. He really needed an instruction manual here. Or at least a list of her don’ts.
“I want you to take charge,” she said in a rush. “I want you to take me. Pin me up against the wall or on the bed and strip me bare and ride me hard.”
Wow. “You liked my biker fantasy. You fantasize about rough sex.”
“No. Maybe. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough that I feel you between my legs tomorrow, and maybe the day after. Enough that I’m not thinking of anything but you and I’m not in charge, but just along for the ride. I want to let go and not worry about orchestrating some big sexy scene. You’ll make it good for us both.” The certainty in her voice was the sexiest thing he’d ever heard. “All I’ll have to do is enjoy it.”
As fantasies went, it was pretty tame. He could think of a few variations, except...it was hot as hell she’d said anything at all to him. Laney had picked out her sexual fantasy, and now she wanted to reenact it—with him. Not some anonymous guy, but him. He didn’t play at sex and he didn’t talk pretty—sex with him was gritty and real, and the women he slept with wanted the same thing he did. He had nothing to offer but straight-up, rough pleasure because he was empty. Tapped out. An emotional well run dry. He was no bloody poet, either, or he could have found some polite way to warn her.
The bottom line was, he couldn’t keep his hands off her. Hell, yeah, he was ready to enlist to help her score that fantasy she craved so badly. Not so much because he needed to maintain his cover—although he was pretty sure that factored into the decision somewhere—but more because something about her undid him.
So to hell with it. He rolled over, pinned her beneath him and kissed her. To make his point, he gripped her ponytail with his hand, tugging just hard enough that she knew what he was doing. Her eyes widened, and her breathing grew ragged, which was all the yes, please, more he needed.
He kissed her, a quick, hard kiss, and she opened up sweet as sin beneath him, her tongue tangling with his. A down payment on the fantasy he’d promised her. A sneak peek of the night’s coming attractions. He was supposed to be the one calling the shots, but she let him in, her mouth sweetly submissive, and who knew? He wasn’t in control of their kiss anymore. And he liked it.
Gray pulled back, sliding his mouth away, his gaze locked on Laney’s. Holy. Wow. The man packed a whole lot of sexy into a rapid-fire kiss. She managed to keep herself from demanding an instant replay, but barely. Proposition? Check. Hot kiss? Check. Sexy removal to the bungalow for wild, crazy sex? That part she was still working on. Ask him to carry her, and the man, no matter how buff, was likely to have a heart attack. Piggyback? Fireman style? Just thinking about navigating the path back to the resort gave her a serious case of the giggles.
Gray tugged her to her feet and pointed them both downhill. “What’s so funny?”
“Having sex is so much simpler with a bike. You leave the bar, you get on the bike, mission accomplished.”
“You don’t ever stop thinking, do you? Next time I’ll bring my bike.” But that slow grin was back on his face. “I prefer a challenge. How about this?”
He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, tucking her into his side. It was natural to slide her arm around his waist. They descended a hundred yards.
A hundred yards later, a new thought popped into her head. “What if someone sees us? Will you get in trouble?”
He gave her a look. Right. Hello. Secret sexy drinks menu.
“Do you mind?”
She had no idea. It would be awkward—not to mention downright embarrassing—if the other people on the island thought she’d been reduced to ordering a guy off a menu. Like she couldn’t get her own date.
“It’s a game, sweetheart,” he said softly. “A fantasy. Don’t overthink it. If it works for us and you enjoy it, the rest of the island can go screw themselves.”
Poetic and insightful up until the end.
“This path is relatively isolated, and the bungalows are sited for maximum privacy. There’s no line of sight from one to the other.” A frown creased his forehead. “Which is an oversight. Anyone could get into your bungalow, and resort security would never know.”
When they reached her bungalow, she fished in her beach bag for the keys. Overcautious, perhaps, to lock her door on a teeny-tiny private island in the Caribbean, but old habits died hard.
“Can I come in?”
He was giving her one last chance to back out, to change her mind. She looked at him and she knew. She was going to do this. For herself. Just once, she was going to be wicked and daring and do what she wanted. Tomorrow could take care of itself.
“Yes.” One word. Funny how potent a single syllable could be.
The key slid through the lock strip and the light flashed green. Good to go. She stepped inside and he followed, the door closing behind them with a soft click. He turned the lock as she toed off her sneakers, thinking fast. Did she strip everything off? Invite him into the shower? Darn it, she should have thought this through more, maybe asked Ashley what she did when she brought a stranger home and then copied her.
“Laney,” he rasped, and she knew then the doubts didn’t matter, because he’d started on her fantasy and she wasn’t the one in charge anymore. He was going to give her exactly what she’d asked for.
“Hands on the wall,” he ordered, and how could four words be so seductive? He laid his fingers over hers and just stroked for a minute, giving her a chance to sink into the rough-soft feel of his hands moving over hers. It was an unfamiliar sensation, having his big body pressed up against hers so tight she couldn’t step away. She should have felt suffocated. Dominated. And she did feel that last sensation, but God, it was hot. He was letting her know that he was there.
“If you want to stop, you tell me to stop.” He brushed her cheek with his fingertips. “I need us to be clear on that. Can you do that for me?”
His body enveloped hers, close enough she could feel his cargo pants brush the backs of her bare legs. Finally, finally, she didn’t have to do anything. All she had to do was let go and feel. And he made her feel so much, starting with the ticklish sensation of his army pants. Maybe they could play soldier next. God, that could be good, too. She sensed he’d let her explore her fantasies for as long as she wanted to. Stretching up, pressing her fingertips against the wall to steady herself, she pushed back against him where he was hard for her.
“You’re going to do what I say.” His mouth was at her ear, giving her the rough words she wanted so badly. “Not because you don’t have a choice, but because you want to. All you have to do is let go and let me take care of you.”
“Promise,” she whispered. White plaster danced before her eyes, the fan stirring the air in lazy strokes overhead. She was adrift, waiting. Waiting for him to touch her. To please her. It felt strange to be passive, but it was strange-good. There were no worries about whether or not he came or how long it took her. This was her night. Her fantasy.
Lips brushed her ear, withdrew. “Don’t move your hands.”
She wanted to ask or what, but he’d tell her and sometimes imagining was even
better. He could tie her in place with the terry cord from her bathrobe. Pin her wrists in one big hand. Or land a small, hard slap on her butt, leaving a rosy-red souvenir of his possession. Those weren’t fantasies she wanted to bring to life, not tonight. They were a delicious secret.
“You’re thinking again,” he said.
“True.” It was hard to keep her fingers still and flat on the wall when she could turn around and touch him. Explore his hard, muscled chest. Drive him crazy, too, so that she wasn’t the only one out of control. Instead, she stood perfectly still. Waiting.
For him.
“You’re going to tell me someday,” he said, and she thought but we only have a few nights before she banished the fleeting regret. Regretting was like counting down the days of a vacation before she’d even begun. She was lucky to have any time. She wouldn’t waste it anticipating the end. Instead, she turned her head, giving him a small smile that was neither a yes nor a no. Let him figure it out.
He fisted her ponytail, drawing her head back and exposing the curve of her throat. “How rough?”
Heat rushed through her. Just hard enough that tomorrow she’d feel where he’d been inside her. She wanted him to mark her, to leave the faintest of scratches on her skin from his face because he was bigger and tougher than she, and then she could hold the reminder close for the rest of her time here on the island.
“Just rough enough.” Those weren’t good directions. She hadn’t been specific. “I want to see you on my body tomorrow. I want to know, when I look at myself in the mirror, where you’ve touched me. I want to feel it everywhere.”
He tugged her ponytail to the left, angling her head so he could kiss her. The position was awkward, forcing her to rise up on her toes to fit her mouth to his. It left her off-balance, trusting him with her weight.
“Laney?”
“Yeah?” How could she feel so out of control and yet connected with him? He hadn’t even stuck his penis inside her yet, but she was hyper-aware of his body pinning hers. She dug her nails into the wall where he’d positioned them, using the small bite of rough plaster against her fingertips to ground herself.
