Blazing Bedtime Stories

by Kimberly Raye, Leslie Kelly

  “You’re very talented, Juliet,” he said, meaning it.

  “Thank you.” She paused, the moment lingering between them. “Oh, you said you wanted to ask me something.”

  “Right,” Gareth said, starting. Incredibly, he felt a burst of nerves shoot through his belly. He smiled sheepishly. “It’s been about twelve years since I’ve asked a girl this, so forgive me if I’m rusty.” He let out a loud breath. “I was wondering if you’d like to go to the prom with me.”

  Gareth waited, holding his breath.

  JULIET BLINKED, certain she’d misunderstood him. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, making her momentarily deaf. “The prom?” she squeaked. She cleared her throat, hoping to bring a little bit of moisture back into her suddenly dry mouth.

  “Yeah,” he said, looking adorably nervous. “I know it’s short notice, but I just agreed to chaperone for my nephew’s prom yesterday and I’d love for you to be my date. It’s next Friday.”

  The day before Valentine’s Day, Juliet realized, the closest thing to a real Valentine she’d ever had. And a prom. She couldn’t believe it. A do-over. For some inexplicable reason, an image of Eros’s angel-wing earring suddenly flashed through her mind.

  “Of course, if you’ve already got plans—“

  “No,” she said hastily. “I don’t. I’m just a little surprised. Typically, people our age don’t go to the prom.”

  Gareth grinned and rolled his eyes. “Tell me about it. But my sister, who teaches at my nephew’s school, insists that it will mortify my nephew if she’s there as a chaperone and that it’s my duty, as his uncle, to prevent that from happening.”

  Juliet poked her tongue in her cheek and crossed her arms over her chest. “In this case, I would have to agree. Having his mother at the prom would certainly cramp your nephew’s style.”

  He quirked a hopeful brow. “So you’ll go?”

  Warmth bubbled through her middle and she resisted the adolescent urge to squeal. “I’d love to.”

  Seemingly relieved, Gareth rocked back on his heels. “Excellent. It starts at eight. I thought I’d pick you up around five-thirty and we could do dinner first.”

  “Sounds nice.”

  He waited expectedly. “I’ll need your address.”

  Right now? Juliet wondered, startled. “Er…sure.” She rattled it off. “You can’t miss it. I’ve got a Swan painted on my mailbox.”

  Gareth chuckled. “That would definitely tip me off.”

  “Yeah, it’s cheesy,” she said. “But appropriate.”

  Gareth released a pent-up breath. “I’d better get back to work before Highgrove sees me in here and thinks he’s not getting his money’s worth.” He paused, as though a thought had struck him. “Oh, by the way, I’m sure he’ll tell you himself, but he’s going to be out of town next week on business. He’ll be back next Friday night. He’s going to give you a key and has offered his house in the final days before completion in the event you or I want to stay here and put the finishing touches on our work.” He grimaced. “I don’t know about you, but it might come to that for me. We’re moving along, but not nearly as fast we need to.”

  Actually Juliet was making pretty good time on her own project and hoped that when she actually started applying some paint it would go faster. Still, the idea of having a reason to stay here and hang out with Gareth was intensely appealing.

  She’d thought of little else but Gareth since she’d run into him again. And had barely gotten a wink of sleep thanks to that heartbreakingly perfect mind-scorching bone-melting kiss yesterday. In fact, after she’d finally managed to doze off, her fertile imagination had taken that whole scene to a completely different level last night.

  She’d had her first ever wet dream.

  Curiously, though she hadn’t gone out and looked at the grotto, that’s where her mind had put them. Hot, wet, naked skin. His wicked mouth feeding at her breasts, those talented fingers tangled in her curls, stroking her. Then the feel of him, hot, hard and male pushing into her while the waterfall sang in the distance and the water lapped over her open thighs. A dark fantasy where the ugly duckling turned into a sensual swan in the most thrilling way.

  It could happen, Juliet thought, staring at Gareth’s sinfully crafted mouth now. He’d kissed her. He’d asked her to a prom, a dream she’d fully given up on. And he’d just put her on notice that he would be staying here at some point over the coming week. A hint? she wondered.

  “What about you?” he asked. “How’s your schedule looking?”

  He was fishing, she decided, inwardly pleased. Juliet feigned a wince, glanced around pretending to mull it over. “It’s going to be tight.” This was her chance to grab the brass ring. She couldn’t hold on to it forever—it wouldn’t last, she knew. She wasn’t lucky like that. But…

  “If Highgrove offers, I’ll probably camp out here next Thursday night and try to finish up.” She grinned at him. “Friday’s shot now, you know. I’ll be too busy getting ready for the prom.”

  His smile was pure sin. “All you’ve got to do is show up, Juliet, and I’ll be happy.”

  It was quite possibly one of the nicest things anyone had ever said to her. An unexpected rush of warmth blanketed her heart, then moved like a tidal wide to her furthermost extremities.

  His gaze tangled with hers and unspoken innuendo hung between them. “Thursday could turn into an all-nighter for me, too,” he said. His voice lowered an octave. “We could keep each other company.”

  He bent forward and pressed a long, hot kiss against her lips. His arm banded her waist, dragging her up against him where that bulge she’d felt yesterday made another brand against her belly, sending a depraved thrill whipping through her.

  Her limbs quaked, her nipples budded and an achy throb commenced between her legs. He tangled her tongue around his, probed the soft inner recess of her mouth, mimicking sex. His big hands slid down her back, over her rump and squeezed, setting off another little pleasure bomb of sensation.

  She wanted to crawl out of her skin and into his.

  She wanted to feel his hot flesh against her own, naked and warm and wonderful.

  She made a little sound in her throat and wrapped her arms around him, sliding her hands over his back. Muscles bunched at her touch, giving her a heady start. He rocked against her, looking for that same desperate release she craved so badly. She squirmed frantically, trying to put that hardest part of him against the softest part of her. His hand slid up and over her ribcage, sending gooseflesh racing over her back, then cupped her heavy breast. She mewled as her pouting nipple pebbled against his palm. He gave a gentle squeeze and she felt her panties grow damp.

  “Damn, Juliet,” Gareth panted hoarsely, tearing his mouth away from hers. “You’re killing me.” He chuckled softly and rested his forehead against hers.

  “You started it,” she said.

  “I know.” He grinned down at her. “And I never start anything I don’t intend to finish.”

  Oy. Her toes actually curled. “So you’re goal-oriented. That’s an admirable quality in a man.”

  “And just think. I haven’t been trying to impress you.” He winked at her and her foolish heart gave a little leap. “Yet.”

  7

  MOMENT OF TRUTH time, Gareth thought as he flipped the final switch, sending power to all the various lights and fountains throughout the finished grotto and pool area. He’d been checking each one individually all along, but this was the first time the entire system had been tested as a whole. The fountains burbled to life, cascading over fieldstone and granite, bits of moss and fern, and the lights danced beneath the mist-covered waters, giving off an almost other-worldly glow.

  It was just past eight o’clock on Thursday night—a bolt of anticipation quickened his pulse, thinking about what was to come—and his weary crew gave a whoop of joy when everything worked as planned.

  Gareth grinned. “Congratulations on another job well done, guys,” he said, rubbing the
back of his neck as they picked up their equipment and started to leave. He’d promised them a share in his expected bonus and given them the next day off. Lord knows they deserved it. He and his crew had logged in sixteen-plus-hour days to get to this point and, though it had been to meet Highgrove’s deadline, Gareth had imposed a secret one that had increasingly become more important than his actual client’s.

  He’d wanted to get finished at a decent hour so that he could celebrate with Juliet. On the pretense of making sure everything worked right, he’d brought his overnight bag and bathing suit—and had told her to do the same. It was time to give the sex grotto a test run.

  Tonight. With Juliet.

  In fact, ever since last Thursday when they’d planned this so called camp out at Highgrove’s, Gareth could honestly say that the only things that had saved his sanity were the long hours, and the backbreaking, exhausting work he’d put into this project. If he’d spent too long thinking about this evening with Juliet, he wasn’t altogether certain his body could have withstood the stress of the anticipation.

  He thought he’d wanted before, thought he’d known true desire.

  He’d been wrong.

  This past week, sitting across a table from Juliet, feeling his body quicken with need every time he looked at her—the smooth slope of her cheek, the way those ripe lips closed around her fork, those keen dark eyes perpetually sparkling with humor—had taught him that, until her, he hadn’t known a thing about true desire. In the past, that sexual pull had been a purely physical sensation, concentrated below his waist.

  This was different.

  This was a hammering need in his blood which pounded against his heart, letting loose with every blow an emotion he dared not name, making it all the more intense, yet all the more desperate.

  He didn’t just want her—he had to have her. To keep her. He felt as if his very life depended on making her his. And of course, since he was a man, nothing would make him feel more as though he’d succeeded than burying himself as quickly as possible between her thighs. But he knew that wasn’t enough. Still, his physical need was the only damned part of this newfound attraction and desperate desire which made any sense at all.

  Simply looking at Juliet made something in his chest swell and tighten and his fingers twitched with the perpetual urge to touch her. She was smart and funny, insightful and heartbreakingly insecure. He hated that for her. Hated that she couldn’t see how truly beautiful she was. Of course, though he’d been attracted to her, he hadn’t seen it as plainly as he did now, so it was no wonder she was confused over what she saw in the mirror every morning.

  He wanted to fix that for her, Gareth thought. He wanted to make her see what he did. Because to him, she was utterly perfect.

  Gareth’s gaze slid to the French doors leading into the boudoir, where Juliet was framed in the paneled glass, and something in his chest gave a little squeeze. She stood in the middle of the room, apparently inspecting her work, her ripe lips closed around the end of a paintbrush. How many times this past week had he caught her like that and wished her mouth was wrapped around something else? he wondered, his dick twitching in his pants. With her hair pulled up in a clip, a paint smudge on her cheek, she was in full-on artist mode.

  Because he hadn’t been able to help himself, he’d taken a look during various stages of her work throughout the past week. He’d actually been afraid that she would finish early and ruin their spend-the-night plans. But thankfully—at least for him because he was a selfish bastard—she’d stumbled a bit at the end.

  The “Beauty and the Beast,” “Little Red Riding Hood” and the lush garden scenes had all come together without a hitch, but “The Ugly Duckling” had presented a problem. “I can’t seem to get a grasp on it,” she’d told him yesterday, a worried frown lining her otherwise smooth brow.

  Gareth had assured her that she would. But given the critical expression she now wore, it didn’t appear as if that had happened yet. He sidled to the doors and gently rapped on the glass. Maybe a new set of eyes could offer some fresh perspective.

  STILL AGONIZING over “The Ugly Duckling” mural—something was off, but she’d be damned if she could figure out exactly what—Juliet started and her gaze flew to the French doors, where one obviously tired but endearingly sexy Gareth stood. Her heart gave a little leap and an instant smile spread over her lips.

  God help her, she was so far gone.

  This couldn’t possibly end well.

  She knew that, knew that it was a miracle that she’d ever caught his attention to start with. But keeping it up on a permanent basis? It was utterly out of the question. She didn’t dare even let herself think about it.

  But she wasn’t going to think about that tonight, or even tomorrow when they went to the prom. Another little jolt of glee shot through her. She’d think about it all later, after she’d selfishly basked in the anomaly of his interest and had her wicked way with him. She’d brought her overnight bag and her bathing suit, as he’d instructed, and was prepared to fully embrace a single night of unrepentant passion. She deserved it, dammit. Furthermore, she didn’t think she could stop herself even if she’d wanted to. And she didn’t, but…

  Mercy, the man did something that made her insides turn to total goo. Better still, tingly goo. A mere quirk of that lopsided smile, a lone look from those beautifully sexy green eyes and she became a moaning, panting puddle of lust. Every minute she spent with him left her all the more enchanted, all the more attached and all the more desperate. Each lingering look—and Lord knows he’d given her more than a few of those over the past week—each long kiss, every second spent wrapped in his arms had made her anticipate this evening with him all the more.

  Unfortunately, while she was technically finished with the room, she wasn’t satisfied with “The Ugly Duckling.”

  Gareth came up behind her and massaged her tense shoulders, his big hands warm and wonderful. “Problem?”

  She winced. “I’m finished,” she said, “just not altogether happy with this wall.”

  Gareth stared at the painting for a minute, then glanced around the room at the other walls. “It looks great,” he said hesitantly.

  “But?” Juliet prodded, glad that he hadn’t tried to gloss over her concern with some sort of generic platitude. She knew he had a good eye. After all, he was an artist of sorts as well.

  He cocked his head, studying it more thoroughly, then shook his head and gave her an uncertain smile. “But…I don’t know. The execution is perfect. The whole mirror and reflection element is very evocative. I love the way you’ve painted her reflection in the water, with her hero over her shoulder so that you know you’re seeing her through his eyes. She’s this beautiful swan-like creature. Very sensual. Very lovely.” He gave his head a small shake. “But something about her doesn’t feel right. I don’t know what it is exactly. It’s almost like she doesn’t buy it. She doesn’t believe that she’s gorgeous, sexy even.” He chuckled softly and sent her an apologetic smile. “That probably didn’t make a bit of sense. Sorry.”

  Juliet stilled and studied the woman she’d painted. It was in her eyes, just the slightest hint of doubt. Gareth was right, she realized. “Actually, I think you might be onto something.” She wasn’t entirely sure how to fix it, but she did believe that he’d discovered the problem. Her swan needed an attitude adjustment. And it was because she suffered from it herself. Despite every evidence to the contrary, she still couldn’t quite make herself believe that Gareth truly wanted her, that she was anything less than the ugly duckling she’d always been.

  “Glad I could help,” he said. “I’m going to go take a quick shower.” He pressed a kiss against her neck, sending a flurry of gooseflesh down her back. “Let me know when you’re finished.”

  Her heart was finished the day he’d kissed her, Juliet realized, her belly becoming a muddled mass of jittery heat. She watched him stroll from the room, his big shoulders draped with a confidence that she envied.r />
  With a sigh, Juliet looked back at the painting and tried to think of some way to make her duckling-turned-swan appreciate her own appeal. When none came, she signed her name in an inconspicuous corner and deemed her day complete. The sound of the shower reached her ears.

  Warm, wet naked skin. Broad, muscled shoulders, fluted spine. Bare chest, dusted with auburn curls…

  Juliet released a shuddering breath, snagged her bathing suit from her bag and made for the pool.

  Her day might be finished, but it was far from over.

  8

  HIS SWAN was in the pool.

  Gareth stood at the door and watched her for a moment a tight feeling crowding into his chest as she glided effortlessly through the water. She wore a modest white two-piece bathing suit, one of those that covered her middle, but left her back bare. Her legs were long, toned and strong and it was obvious that she was truly in her element in the water. Utterly graceful. Not that she wasn’t all the time, but something about the way she moved through the pool was eerily reminiscent of her last name. She swam beautifully. Desire stirred in his loins as she flipped over onto her back and floated in the warm water. Her full breasts thrust up and she lazily swung her arms back and forth over her head, then along her side. She barely made a splash. Just floated along an invisible current all her own.

  Unable to stand there any longer, Gareth ventured outside and dove in to join her, the heated water cool against his skin. He opened his eyes and surfaced right in front her and without waiting, without the slightest bit of hesitation, he did what he’d been dying to do all day. He bracketed her face with his hands and slanted his lips over hers. He kissed her long and deep, slowly backing her beneath the cascading waterfall and into the grotto. He’d been patient. He’d waited.

  Waiting was no longer an option.

  With a soft eager groan her arms came up and wrapped around his neck, her legs around his waist. His dick jutted against her, instinctively recognizing the unspoken act for what it was—an invitation to come inside her body.