by Alison Kelly
‘Just put it down anywhere,’ Flanagan told the kid. ‘We’ll sort it out later.’
Confused as to why he didn’t have his equipment taken directly to his room, Jacqui watched mutely as he generously tipped the boy and closed the door behind him.
‘What’s that noise?’ he asked, brushing his hair back from his forehead.
‘I’m running a spa-bath.’
‘Better turn it off,’ he told her, with a glance that raked over her body and left it hot. ‘We have to talk.’
‘Now, Flanagan? Can’t it wait? I’m—’
‘Nope, it can’t wait,’ he cut in, taking a step towards her. ‘I can’t wait.’
‘Too bad,’ she responded weakly as her legs timidly moved backwards to negate his determined advance. ‘Because I want a…’ Words failed her as her eyes became drawn to the tanned muscles which bulged in his arms as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Oh, Lord, his body was gorgeous!
‘Want what, Jacqui?’ he prodded, still stalking her.
She blinked, trying to remember what—besides him—she did want. Oh, wonderful! On top of everything else she was having a mental breakdown. Nervously her eyes darted left, and the sight of the elegantly appointed bathroom and rapidly filling tub cleared her foggy mind. ‘A…a bath!’ she exclaimed, hurrying to turn off the tap. ‘A spa to be exact.’
‘Sounds good,’ he said from the doorway.
‘Then why don’t you have one too?’
‘Sounds even better.’ His T-shirt was immediately tugged over his head and dropped on to the tiled floor.
Jacqui gasped, as much in awe at the sight of his naked male torso as from the clumsy way she’d phrased her words. ‘I meant in your own room!’
He shook his head and moved nearer. Jacqui told herself that the only reason she didn’t move away was that the shower-screen was at her back and impeding her retreat. Actually, it was the only thing keeping her upright, since her legs had assumed the consistency of jelly.
‘Flanagan.’ His name was a gasp as she gulped much needed oxygen into her lungs. ‘This isn’t funny.’
‘No,’ he agreed solemnly, his hands trailing through her hair and sending a slow shiver down her body. ‘It’s deadly serious.’
‘It—’ his nearness was disarming her common sense ‘—it’s crazy.’
He nodded, watching her face intently. ‘Definitely crazy.’
A sigh tripped from her lips at the pleasure of his fingers against her neck.
‘You’re so soft,’ he whispered. ‘So deliciously soft.’
Gently his hands moved themselves around her throat, as if to strangle her, but she was afraid only of his gentleness and the sensations it was detonating within her. She knew that any second the wanton desire bubbling through her body would boil over into unleashed passion. With her feeling as she did about this man, how could it not?
His hands were now working their way down the curves of her body, from breasts to waist to hips, in a totally erotic fashion. She trembled.
‘This isn’t a good idea, Flanagan,’ she muttered, opening her eyes and fighting against her body’s desire to arch into his. ‘We have to work together.’
‘We work perfectly together.’ He smiled lazily, nudging his hips against hers. ‘Our bodies fit each other’s like gloves.’
The arousal burning though her made her sigh a mixture of resignation and frustration. Her head drooped forward as his finger brushed across one aroused nipple then the other, and he was close enough to absorb her shuddered reaction to his touch.
‘You want me, Jacqui,’ he stated, his voice confident though raspy as he lifted her chin until her mouth was easily accessible to his. ‘Every bit as much as I want you. Here. Now. All you have to do is tell me how fast or how slow you want to go…’
His words faded as his head inched nearer, then his tongue darted out to trail across her bottom lip in a slow, languid rhythm that went on and on long after Jacqui had opened her mouth to invite his entry.
‘You set the pace, babe,’ he whispered raggedly and, almost demented with the need to taste him, she instantly clamped her hands on either side of his head and assertively took possession of his mouth. His response was an earthy, satisfied groan as his arms locked around her waist and lifted her clear off the floor.
The feel and flavour of him after so long made her blood hum and heart dance, and breathing took a back seat to the aggressive ardour of their passion. When finally they drew apart their panting breaths came in unison, and their eyes were locked.
‘I think choice just flew out the window,’ he rasped, lowering her back to the floor in such a way that neither could ignore his aroused state. ‘From my perspective it’s got to be hard and fast. How about you?’ His hand crept beneath her skirt and into the leg of her lacy panties.
Her slick wetness couldn’t be denied. ‘No arguments from me, Flanagan,’ she whispered, her head lolling back in reflex response to the erotic titillation of his thumb.
‘Ah, Jacqui,’ he muttered against her neck, ‘you’re so damned exciting!’
In the next few moments Patric’s mouth and hands managed to reduce her to sensual mindlessness as he disposed of her blouse and bra. Never had she wanted anything as urgently as she wanted this man, and the flames of her need burned so fiercely that she half expected to hear the shower-screen crack when her bare heated skin pressed against the hard coldness of the glass.
He released the waistband of her skirt with equal speed, and before the soft fabric had a chance to pool around her ankles her fingers were working feverishly to free him from his jeans.
She was almost crying with frustration—trust Flanagan to wear button-fly jeans rather than the zippered variety!—but he quickly came to her assistance, and such inane thoughts vanished as her fingers made contact with the pulsating length of him.
The tremor that quaked through Patric as her hand closed around him all but brought him to his knees. ‘Oh, babe,’ he gasped. ‘You’re playing with fire.’
‘I know…’ she said, lifting desire-dilated eyes to his. ‘I want to burn with you, Patric.’
Her sex-roughened voice jerked at every muscle in his body, and as his arousal nudged against the smooth flatness of her belly he almost forgot the foil-covered condom he’d taken from his jeans. He took a ragged breath and showed it to her.
‘I’m prepared this time,’ he said. ‘But if you’re worried about last time, don’t be. You’re the only woman I’ve ever made love to without wearing protection.’
A shy blush tinted her cheeks, which, considering their situation, might have made him smile if he’d not ached so desperately for her. Slowly she reached to take the packet from him, but he shook his head.
‘No way! If you put this on I’ll probably explode in your hand.’
She grinned, obviously delighted to know the extent of her power over him. ‘I wasn’t going to put it on. I’ve only ever made love without one with you. But if you’re concerned about practising safe sex—’
He groaned, and in one action lifted her against him until the gateway of her femininity was brushing his maleness. ‘Honey, I don’t think even protected sex between us could be called safe. Where we’re concerned we’re always on dangerous ground.’
Jacqui clutched at his shoulders as he drove into her, her satisfied purr harmonising with his more guttural groan of pleasure. Instinctively her legs went around his hips and her arms around his neck. The smile he gave her was arrogant and supremely sexy, but his words made it inoffensive.
‘Lady, make sure your heart keeps beating, ‘cause being inside you feels so good mine’s stopped.’
In that instant Jacqui was certain that hers had too, but as she angled her head to meet his kiss the rhythm of his tongue, keeping perfect time with his thrusts, kick-started it again. Swamped by emotions and sensations, her body too picked up the tempo, and her last clear thought was that though typhoid could be cured she was beginning to think that what
she felt for Patric Flanagan was terminal.
Legs bent, Patric leaned against the back of the spa-bath, providing an armchair-like support for Jacqui, positioned between his thighs. It didn’t matter that her back was to him, for the mirror at the end of the tub reflected her face and other interesting parts of her anatomy with crystal-clearness.
‘You’re not going to sleep on me, are you?’ he asked, stroking her cheek.
‘No,’ she said dreamily, then raised her lashes, letting her alert blue eyes meet his in the mirror. ‘The last time I went to sleep after making love with you I woke up to find you gone.’
There was just enough accusation in her tone to prick his conscience. ‘I thought the butterfly adorning your delicious rump meant that you were private property.’ He leaned forward to rest his chin on her shoulder, bringing their faces side by side, but his gaze was fixed on her mirror image. ‘I don’t like sharing,’ he said firmly.
She smiled. ‘Me neither.’
‘Why did you tell me that Phil was your lover?’
She shook her head. ‘I didn’t You assumed he was.’
‘But you didn’t correct that assumption. Why not?’
‘It just seemed like a good idea not to. It made me feel…’ she paused thoughtfully, slowly tracing her fingers from his ankles to his knees ‘…safer, I guess. Around you the air always seemed to be clogged with sexual tension.’ She grinned. ‘I felt like I was constantly skirting that “dangerous ground” you mentioned.’
‘I think we’ll have to re-signpost the area,’ he muttered, trailing kisses across the width of her shoulders and finding the taste of her sweet beyond description.
‘How does “heaven” sound as an alternative?’ she suggested. Her hands were now caressing the insides of his thighs.
‘Close to accurate.’
Her seductive smile, combined with her sleek, wet nakedness pressing against him, instantly stirred his lower body to life. She nestled still closer, her reflection revealing an impish grin. ‘Ready for seconds, are we, Flanagan?’
He cupped the underside of her exposed breasts and gently teased the edges of her areolae until her nipples tightened to pebble hardness. A sultry purr of approval rolled from her lips.
‘Yes, Raynor,’ he said smugly into the mirror. ‘I believe we are.’
‘Raynomovski,’ she corrected, splashing a wave of water on to the floor as she rolled over and hooked one arm around his neck.
‘Patric,’ he retorted, easing her body up until she straddled his lap.
‘I’ve never called you Patric—Flanagan,’ she said, massaging his chest with her free hand.
‘Yes, you have.’
She frowned for a moment, then said, ‘Oh, right, but that was in the first few minutes that I met you—when I was being the very socially acceptable Ms Jaclyn Raynor, Risque Girl.’
‘No. Since then.’
‘Really? Well, I doubt if it’ll ever happen again,’ she told him, drawing ever decreasing circles around his nipples.
‘Won’t it?’ he said.
‘Nope. You see, you bring out my rough, inner-city roots. Besides,’ she whispered against his mouth, ‘Flanagan suits you better.’
Their kiss was the stuff of fireworks, but its flaming brilliance was quickly doused when they sank beneath the water. They came up, half spluttering, half giggling, and it was Flanagan who recovered first.
‘Listen, honey, I might want to drown myself in you, but I sure as hell can’t get off on the idea of drowning with you! What say we make use of that comfortable-looking queensize in the other room?’
‘I say—’ Jacqui leapt from the tub ‘—last one in is on the bottom!’
She was draped across the bedspread with her long blonde plait wrapped seductively around her neck and over one breast when he reached the entrance of the room.
‘What kept you, Flanagan?’ she taunted.
‘Your terms.’
His voice was husky with promise, making Jacqui’s body throb as if he’d touched her. Then, in what seemed like one smooth movement, he was on the mattress, lifting her over him and carefully licking the droplets of water from her skin.
She arched back as his tongue laved first one breast and then the other, whimpering with desire as his oral adoration progressed to a suckling tug, a cross between torture and bliss, which brought searing heat to her loins—a heat that steamed her blood and fogged her brain.
She fought to position herself on to him, but he held her firmly short of her much needed goal, creating an ever tightening knot in the core of her. His ministrations went on and on, tightening and tightening the strands of desire within her, until she was squirming in frustration against his hand and his knowingly teasing thumb, effectively torturing herself.
‘Now,’ she pleaded. ‘I want you now!’ He pulled her forward and plunged his tongue between her teeth in an imitation of what she wanted. All the time his hands were promising heaven but leaving her in front of its gates.
‘Please,’ she muttered, knowing that she wanted him inside her when she convulsed with love for him. ‘I…ah! I…want you with me, Patric.’
‘Say it again.’
She heard his rasped command from a million miles away as he propelled her closer and closer to nirvana. She shook her head. ‘No!’ she shouted. ‘No, Patric, I want you with me!’
His entry was quick and gratifying.
‘I’m with you, babe! Ah, honey…’ he said, showering kisses over her face. ‘I’m…with you…all the way!’
In her heart Jacqui acknowledged that she would never have enough of this man; at the same time her mind acknowledged that she mightn’t have him for long. So, taking advantage of her superior position, and spurred on by her love for him, she rode her emotions as frantically as if this was the last chance she’d have to love him. She toppled over the edge of sensuality only seconds after she felt his warm release.
She’d been right to label what she felt for Flanagan as terminal, for now she knew with heart-quivering certainty that she would die loving this man.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE motion of Patric’s hand up and down her sweat-slicked spine alerted Jacqui to the fact that he was awake. Resting her head on his chest, she walked two fingers along his upper arm.
‘If that’s how you react when I call you by your Christian name, I’m definitely going to stick to Flanagan in public.’
She felt his silent chuckle.
‘I’m comfortable with that,’ he murmured, tracing the spot on her hip that bore the tattoo.
‘That’s the proof of my misspent youth. I got it as a dare and have hated it ever since,’ she said.
‘Don’t. I think it’s as sexy as hell—like the woman who has it.’
‘Well, you’ve nearly convinced me it’s not a turn-off for you. But I might need more proof later,’ she teased.
He groaned and propped himself on one elbow to look at her. ‘How much later? We males hit our sexual peak at eighteen, you know.’
She rolled off him, grinning. ‘Then you must be a real late developer, Flanagan!’
‘I think the incentive has a lot to do with it. You’re one helluva lady.’
‘One helluva hungry lady! Want to give room service a try?’
‘I think we should talk first.’
The sudden seriousness of his voice clued Jacqui in to what was coming, and she immediately fought to rally her emotions.
‘Is this where you remind me about your aversion to models and tell me how I mustn’t get any ideas about this being a lasting relationship?’
‘Something like that.’ He sighed. ‘Jacqui, if you’d been anything but a model we’d have been lovers long before this—’
‘Said he arrogantly,’ she cut in, smiling not only to take the sting from her words but to convince herself that she wasn’t afraid of what was coming next.
‘What I mean is that I was attracted to you from the moment I saw you, but your being a model made me autom
atically dismiss that there could be anything more than a business relationship between us.’
‘That and the belief that I’d been sleeping with your father.’
‘Yeah, well, that kind of goes hand in hand with how I felt about models in general.’
‘I thought it was something to do with your mother?’
‘That too. But she wasn’t the only woman who screwed up my life.’
Suddenly it seemed imperative to stall off whatever it was he was going to say. She didn’t want to hear about the other women in his life. OK, maybe a sick part of her did—but not now! Not when her body still carried the imprints of his lovemaking and the dampness of his sweat.
‘Flanagan,’ she said, trying for lightness, ‘are you sure we can’t order something to eat now? This sounds like it’s going to be a long story, with an awful lot of sub-plots.’
‘It is,’ he said, giving his attention to the solitary braid of her hair for several moments before lifting his gaze back to her face. ‘But I want you to know where I’m coming from.’ He gave his head a sudden shake. ‘It’s important that you do.’
Jacqui could no more have refused to listen than she could refuse to love him. She nodded to show that she was listening, but it was several minutes before Flanagan started to speak.
‘My mother was born dirt-poor but incredibly beautiful, and those two factors obsessively drove her life for as long as I can remember. She grew up being told that her looks would be her ticket out of poverty, and she made fame her destination.’
‘I’ve seen some of the albums Wade had of her. Her trip was certainly a success.’
Flanagan didn’t smile at her pun as she’d intended; instead, an almost remote sadness invaded his profile.
‘Except she never knew when to get off the train. Or considered how her actions might affect the people close to her.’
‘Like you and Wade?’ she ventured softly. When he said nothing she added, ‘He never said so, but I got the impression that Wade loved her very much.’
