Making Waves

by Laura Moore

  “Yes,” Sophie said. “And I’m pretty sure Jamie was as obnoxious in the womb as he is now.”

  Jamie was unfazed. “Sour grapes. Sophie can’t get over the fact that I’m the older and wiser twin by a whole four minutes. What were you doing in there, anyway?”

  “Giving our mother a chance to recover from the sight of your scrunched-up face,” Sophie returned. “There’s documentary evidence to prove that you were the ugliest baby ever.”

  Dakota had a hunch these two could lob good-natured insults at each other all day. She glanced over at Max to share her amusement.

  But he seemed far from entertained. He looked as if he’d been gutted but had forgotten to fall down.

  “Max?” she said quietly, so as not to draw attention to them.

  He didn’t seem to hear her, and before she could ask again, Steve Sheppard joined them, saying to the twins, “Hey, Jamie and Sophie. Word has it you two are lighting up the West Coast.”

  Jamie grinned. “Someone had to teach those Californians how to ride.”

  “You are so embarrassing,” Sophie told her brother before turning to Steve. “We lucked out at Stanford. Our coach is terrific and there are a lot of really talented riders on the team. We had a great fall season.”

  “Stanford’s lucky to have you. Did I hear right that you both will be riding in the jumper classes at the Classic?”

  “That’s right, and…”

  Dakota missed the rest of Jamie’s answer, her attention caught by Max when he abruptly stepped away from their circle, his face etched in harsh lines.

  She watched him walk over to Alex, who was still holding little Holly in his arms. He leaned in to say something—with all the conversations going on in the room, there was no way she could catch it, but she could read Alex’s lips as he formed the words Thanks and See you.

  Then Max strode quickly from the room.

  Dakota stared after him in confusion. Had he just left the party without a word to her? Without even a backward glance?

  What in the world had just happened?

  Forty-five minutes later, after saying her goodbyes and thanks, Dakota climbed into her car and realized she had to decide whether to be wise or foolish.

  There was no good reason to go to Windhaven. Whatever urge or attraction Max had felt earlier clearly hadn’t lasted. Otherwise he could have simply looked over at her and crooked his finger, and she’d have trotted after him.

  Embarrassing but true.

  And now, freed from the seductive web he’d woven, she knew she should simply drive back home, turn off the lights, crawl under her down quilt, and catch up on some much-needed sleep.

  Except that she wouldn’t sleep a wink.

  Not even her tried-and-true remedy for insomnia, cleaning and reorganizing her kitchen cupboards, would prevent her from seeing Max’s tortured expression. Something was wrong with him. Terribly wrong. Foolish though it was, she was going to find out the cause.

  —

  Windhaven was lit brightly, forcing Dakota to discard one explanation for Max’s abrupt departure—that his trip to Idaho, which had surely involved late nights and free-flowing alcohol, had caught up to him at the party, exhaustion slamming him like a rogue wave.

  She rang the doorbell and waited, shivering slightly in the cold fog, and of half a mind to turn on her heel and leave him to his problems. Who was she to think she could fix what troubled him?

  He answered in rolled-up shirtsleeves and bare feet. His hair was mussed as if he’d been dragging his fingers through it.

  “Premier Service is making night calls now? How enterprising.”

  The scent of the peaty single-malt whiskey reached her. Max’s words were unslurred, though, so it wasn’t drink that was making him hostile. Ignoring the jab, she said, “I came to see how you were.”

  “As you can see, I’m fine.”

  Plainly not. Whatever was eating at him hadn’t relinquished its hold. The cold night and something even chillier cut through her wool coat, and she shivered again. “Are you going to invite me in?”

  With the hall light at his back, his face was shadowed, his expression inscrutable. Seconds ticked uncomfortably while he remained silent. Then he spoke, and his voice was like the roll of stones. “I’m not in the mood to talk, Dakota. I want to fuck you.”

  The crude admission should have had her walking away. The only reason it didn’t was because she could practically feel the tension radiating off him.

  She made a final attempt to search his expression. Having gleaned nothing, she was left with an offer far removed from the smooth seduction he’d treated her to earlier, far removed from the promise of a carefree, brilliantly executed sexual romp. Everything—his words, his body language—spoke of a raw need held barely in check, and told her that the sex with him would be as elemental.

  Her gaze locked on his shadowed face, she drew a breath and crossed the threshold.

  —

  Max didn’t allow himself to question why Dakota had accepted his proposition; the only way to deal with what had happened tonight was to shut down his thoughts.

  As she stepped into the house, he closed the door behind her. The light and the moisture from the fog made her dark hair sparkle, fairy-like.

  Fairy-like. That was the sort of thing Rosie would have said. God, he had to stop remembering.

  Clasping Dakota by the shoulders of her damp coat, he spun her around and hauled her up against the wall, plastering his mouth to hers. He kissed her, devouring her lush lips and the sweet, hot recesses of her mouth in hungry bites and lashes of his tongue. There was no finesse, just desperation.

  With a moan, her mouth opened beneath his, allowing him deeper access, and her hands joined his frantic quest, grappling with his shirt buttons while he yanked off her coat and then tugged the stretchy fabric of her dress up, dragging it over her hips and waist. “Raise your arms,” he growled, and when she did, he pulled the dress over her head and threw it behind him.

  He hissed, scorched by the sight of her. Her full breasts strained enticingly against the lacy cups of her bra. Her narrow waist was accentuated by the sweet flare of her hips. He stared hungrily, jealously, at the triangle of lace covering the place he most wanted to be, before lowering his gaze to toned legs that went on for days.

  Her body more than made good on the dark, smoky promise of her voice. All-tempting, she made him burn.

  He dropped to his knees. In her heels, she was at the perfect height. He wrapped his fingers around the narrow band of lace encircling her hips and dragged it down. As it fell to the floor, he found her with his mouth. Her startled gasp ended on a moan of pleasure.

  She tasted as he’d imagined: salty like the sea. He drank her in, licking and sucking and drawing forth soft cries as her fingers dug into his hair, clinging fiercely. Anchoring him.

  As if there were any other place he’d rather be.

  He brought her to the edge quickly. Pushed her over it when he slid two fingers deep inside her—lust nearly blinding him as her muscles clamped vise-like around him—while he circled her clit with his tongue.

  She went wild, her shocked cry of “God, Max!” filling the entryway.

  He barely registered his triumph. Nor did he give her time to come down. He couldn’t; he would lose his mind if he didn’t get inside her and feel that incredible heat, that slick strength around him.

  Thank fuck he’d had the foresight to arm himself before going out tonight. He dug a foil from his back pocket and tore it open with his teeth.

  His belt was unbuckled. That, and his open shirt, was as far as Dakota had gotten before he’d dropped out of reach. He unzipped his fly and shoved down his briefs, kicking both off.

  Unable even to smile at her gasp of appreciation, he rolled the condom on with clumsy hands. Christ, his whole body was trembling, straining to be in hers.

  He looked at her. Cheeks flushed a dark rose and her lips deliciously swollen from his kisses, she looked glorious.
Beautiful and powerful.

  “Take your bra off.” He almost didn’t recognize his voice, guttural, verging on feral.

  She obliged, reaching back and unhooking it, and then lowering the silk straps. Could his heart pound any harder? Her breasts were just the right size, he thought even before he’d cupped them, tested their weight and teased her taut nipples. And then she arched, offering him more.

  God, she was perfect. He wasn’t even inside her and he was already close to losing it.

  He placed his hand beneath one of her legs and wrapped it around his hip. The gold in her dark eyes glowing, she lifted her other leg and hooked her ankles around his back, and he felt her heat against his straining erection.

  “You ready?”

  When she bit down on her lower lip and nodded, she was the sexiest thing he’d ever beheld.

  Locking his gaze on hers, he thrust inside, and his groan of pleasure met her gasp of surprise.

  Then everything became a frenzied blur as their trembling bodies rocked and bucked. Their mouths were as reckless in their hunger, teeth scoring and tongues lashing, desperate to taste everything within reach. Their sweat ran and mingled as his hands kneaded and hers clutched, as they drove each other to a fevered pitch.

  And when her inner muscles tightened around him, contracting powerfully, an electric pleasure shot through him. With a hoarse cry, he drove his body into hers, sending them flying over the edge in a dizzying rush.

  Emptied, he let his head fall against the wall with a soft thud. He lost track of time, aware only of his body pressing against hers, the peppery-floral scent of her damp neck, and the uneven rasp of their breathing.

  Slowly Dakota unhooked her ankles and cautiously lowered one leg and then the other with equal care, as if unsure of their ability to support her.

  “Wow,” she said in a dazed voice.

  He raised his head. “Yeah.”

  Her hair was tangled, her face was flushed, and her eyes smoldered. With awareness. With desire.

  And just like that, the storm of hunger rose inside him again, even stronger than before. Because now he wanted to taste her everywhere, from the arch of her foot to the small of her back to the tips of her fingers, and learn all her flavors. He wanted to touch and stroke her until he knew exactly how to make that supple body arch and flex as pleasure rolled through her. He wanted to hear his name tumble again and again from her lips in throaty wonder.

  He wanted her to stay.

  He didn’t tell her any of that. Instead he asked, “Do you want more?”

  She looked at him, and he forced himself to keep his expression impassive. But somehow he sensed that she saw past his posturing to the pain and darkness at his center.

  “Yes.”

  His throat tightened with relief. Dropping his gaze, he busied himself with removing the condom, then bent down to rummage for fresh ones in his trouser pocket. Taking her hand, he said, “Come.”

  —

  They made it to his bed eventually. But not before he’d led her into the living room and sunk onto one of the armchairs, tugging her hand until she straddled his thighs so he could do justice to her breasts. As he lavished attention on them, she reached between them, stroking him until he was ready to explode.

  He grabbed a condom off the side table. “Take me inside you.”

  She rode him, her every rise and fall wringing a shudder from him. He was so close, but he fought it, never wanting the pleasure of her clamped tightly around him to end. But then her tempo increased and he couldn’t stop himself from grasping her hips and urging her on as the tension built and then spiraled out of control as, shattered, she cried his name.

  And when she collapsed, quaking, against him, he petted her in slow strokes down her sweat-slicked spine. Turning his face into the hollow behind her ear, he breathed in the scent of her flushed skin, the fragrance of her shampoo, the lingering notes of her perfume, and wondered if this ferocious need for her would subside.

  Sometime in the wee hours it did, when their last coupling left them in a heaving tangle of limbs. Exhausted beyond thought, he collapsed onto her. As their breaths evened and slowed, he fell asleep, his body deep inside hers.

  Dakota awoke slowly to a room bathed in shadows, a bed much larger than hers, and the combined weight of an arm across her chest and a muscled thigh canted over hers. Dakota doubted she would have moved, even if she hadn’t been thus pinned. She knew already that every part of her ached. Deliciously yet unmistakably. Understandable; she’d never had quite the full body workout like the one Max had given her.

  She’d been well and truly ravished, she thought with a small smile. And were Piper to see that smile, she would crow in I-told-you-so triumph. But at least this hadn’t been one of Piper’s exalted anonymous encounters. Dakota knew Max.

  And she understood him well enough to recognize that something more than his insane physical prowess and sexual appetite had been at work the previous night. Whatever had caused his sudden tension at Max and Gen’s party had also fed the white-hot need driving him.

  She’d been happy to offer him the haven of her body, especially when doing so brought her physical pleasure the likes of which she’d never experienced before.

  She turned her head to study him. Even at rest, his face, with its dramatic planes and squared chin, was strong and commanding. Up close, his dark auburn lashes were straight and thicker than she’d previously noted. His lips were slightly open, and he was snoring. Lightly, yet unmistakably.

  Perversely, that only increased his appeal. In a man who must usually rise early to check the world markets, the heaviness of his slumber meant that she’d worn him out. Perhaps she’d also helped banish whatever was troubling him.

  A sudden frown furrowing his brow challenged that hope. With a mumble, he flung the arm that had rested across her chest to the side and shifted his weight. Now he lay on his back.

  He took her breath away.

  Her gaze roamed over his muscled length, and she colored at the marks on his shoulders where her teeth had scored. She’d been as voracious as he. Her gaze traveled further, past the ridges of his stomach, to follow the narrow line of dark hair that led to his groin. Even semi-erect, he was impressive. At full mast, awesome.

  Max and his penis made a very fine team. With their combined talents they must have slain legions of women. Remembering how he had known just how to find the perfect angle, rhythm, and tempo to drive her wild, she knew he could add her to the number.

  The last time they’d had sex, his every thrust had inched her up the bed, across very soft linens, until she was bracing herself against the headboard. She’d never given headboards much consideration, but with a man like Max, who could sling her legs around his hips and then hammer into her until she screamed her release even while pleading for him never, ever, to stop, she now fully appreciated their importance.

  So kudos to her and Astrid for supplying him with the very best, she thought with a smile.

  She seemed to remember the two of them passing out when, after a few more pumps, Max came with a hoarse curse, gripping her hands as if they were a lifeline. With a heavy shudder, he’d fallen on top of her, and she’d been too wrecked to care that he weighed a solid ton.

  A sudden thought had her lazy smile slipping. Where was the condom he’d been wearing?

  Her gaze moved from his body to hers. The spent condom lay at the juncture of her thighs. How gross, she thought.

  “That’s a hell of an expression on your face.” His voice was a sleepy rumble.

  With her thumb and index finger, she picked up the used condom and held it aloft, explanation enough. “Good morning.”

  “It was certainly a good night.” He reached over and plucked the condom from her fingers.

  “I can throw that out.”

  “You’re not on the job.” He deposited the condom on the floor. “I have fresh ones in the drawer to your right,” he said with a nod toward the nightstand.

  So t
hat’s where he stocked them. Unless specifically requested to clean them, Dakota left medicine cabinets and drawers alone, instructing her crew never to open them. Max seemed to break every rule she had with clients. And though his words had miraculously eased her aching muscles, it would be best if she went home. Safer for her peace of mind and heart. She was growing a little too fond of her employer.

  “I should go home.”

  “That would involve your leaving the bed.”

  “This is true.”

  “I’d rather you stayed.” He rubbed his hand across the flat of his belly, drawing her gaze. He was fully erect.

  That hadn’t taken much.

  She glanced up. He wore a sleepy look and a lazy smile, but she didn’t doubt for a second that he was ready to perform to the high standards he’d set last night. Yet even now, with the early morning light only barely seeping into the room, she sensed that there was more going on here. Which meant he was still using sex to block out whatever was bothering him.

  Should she call him on it or play along?

  Her gaze strayed to his erection and her inner muscles tightened as if remembering his girth, the deep stroking rhythm he’d been able to maintain, and how he could switch it up, touching her in places that had her toes curling and her back arching off the mattress.

  Why not at least start the day on a pleasant note? “I was also contemplating how nice a shower would be.” She sat up.

  His gaze lowered and lingered on her breasts, then rose to meet hers. “A shower, huh?”

  She fought a smile at the husky arousal in his voice. “Yours is quite big,” she said.

  “Easily large enough for two. Which means I could join you. Perhaps soap those hard-to-reach places.”

  “That’s a very generous offer.”

  “I’m feeling very generous.”

  The smile won and spread. “Lucky me.”

  Max’s generosity included dropping to his knees and paying careful attention to a special place that left her trembling and clutching his water-slick shoulders. Then he slid inside her and took her in long, hard thrusts as waves of pleasure rocked her ever higher.