by Debra Webb
He worked the same magic on her other breast, while the long fingers of one hand plucked and kneaded the one he had abandoned. She plunged her fingers into his hair and urged him on. The feel of his tongue, his teeth, his lips against her sensitized nipple drove her mad. She wanted to touch him in the same way, but could not bring herself to put an end to the feel of his mouth on her.
His mouth moved to hers again, his hands cradled her face. He kissed her so thoroughly she wanted to weep. He stood, pulling her up as he went. He lifted her into his arms and carried her to his bed, his lips teasing her skin mercilessly as he lay her there.
With painstaking slowness, he dragged her panties down her legs, his palm skimming her flesh, making her burn for more of his touch. So many sensations whirled inside her, her body felt ready to explode. He moved from the bed and Rachel reached for him, her desperation palpable when confronted with the possible loss of his touch. He shed his jeans, then lowered his long frame next to hers. Her pulse quickened as her gaze roved the length of him. Rachel’s whole body sighed at having him next to her again, but quickly burst into renewed flames at the look of need in his eyes.
His palm flattened on her abdomen, then slid lower until he cradled her intimately. Rachel’s breath caught, but he pressed a soothing kiss to her parted lips. One long finger parted her feminine folds, teased her. She made a tiny, startled sound, he shushed her with his attentive lips. That same finger slipped inside her, making her quiver with a new rush of pleasure. Then another finger moved inside her, increasing the friction. She arched against his hand, her body aching for something she couldn’t name. Her eyes closed with the need of it. He moved those two fingers rhythmically until she wanted to scream. Her body writhed uncontrollably. Her hips undulated beneath his assault. But it wasn’t enough.
He stopped. Rachel clutched at him, needing him. She searched his face, her body burning to have him inside her, he only smiled as if he knew the secret and wasn’t sure he intended to share it with her just yet.
“Please.” She tugged him nearer. She had never been on fire like this before. He had to do something before she lost her mind.
He covered her throbbing body with his own. His arousal pressed against her belly and for the first time Rachel felt a twinge of fear. She closed her eyes and arched upward, no longer caring, only needing. He moved between her thighs, which she spread in frantic invitation. His tip nudged her and she cried out his name.
He brushed a gentle kiss across her lips. “Open your eyes.”
She obeyed and what she saw in his took her breath away. His need was every bit as desperate as hers. He took her hand and placed it on his heavy arousal. A surge of power rushed through her at the satiny feel of him. He was big and hard for her, because he wanted her. Her heart thudded, rushing her heated blood through her veins, fueling the desire vibrating her senses. With his help, she guided him to the part of her that ached to be filled by him.
He thrust his hips, entering her by slow, agonizing degrees. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move. She could only stare into those searing blue eyes and take what he offered. The hot, stretching sensation sent waves of unexpected pleasure cascading over her like a waterfall. Those same muscles stretching to accommodate him, clenched tightly around him. Sloan groaned a savage sound. She had to close her eyes against the intensity of sensations she had never before experienced. Lights pulsed behind her lids. Her body tensed and wave after wave of pure sensation exploded around her. Somehow, in that state of elation just before she could take a breath, she realized that this was her climax.
And Sloan had been her first.
He thrust fully, filling her completely. Rachel gasped at the feel of him so deeply inside her. His ragged breath fanned her hungry lips as he stilled. He searched her face for a long moment, as if wanting to commit this moment to memory. He caressed her cheek with gentle fingers. He throbbed inside her, her own body already speeding toward the next peak she now recognized. The scent of their lovemaking filled her nostrils, warming her from the inside out. His skin felt hot where it melded with hers. She wanted to hold him forever, to make him feel what she was feeling right now.
She would have given her soul at that moment to read the indefinable emotion in his eyes. He shifted, burying himself deeper still, if that was possible. Just when she thought she would die if he looked at her that way one second longer, he lowered his mouth to hers. The kiss started out slow and tender, but quickly turned wild and frantic. He flexed his powerful hips. Rachel cried out, the sound lost to his kisses. Again and again, he thrust until release claimed her again, the rush even stronger this time. Then he came too. His groan of release loud and savage. He thrust one last time, filling her so completely that she knew precisely what he had meant earlier.
She had not been taken thoroughly by a man until tonight. And Sloan had been the one to take her fully. No man, not even Angel, had touched that place inside her.
Rachel closed her eyes so Sloan wouldn’t see what she now knew. She had made a mistake. She had just given Sloan much more than she intended. And there was no way to take it back.
Her heart belonged to him.
Rachel was more than a little certain that he did not want her for more than what they had just shared, and he would certainly never want her heart.
He didn’t even want his own.
SLOAN STOOD BENEATH the spray of hot water, his head pressed against the moist, tile wall, the water sluicing over his back. What had he done? He clutched at the slick walls and fought the pain knotting inside him. He was a fool. The act he and Rachel had just shared was not sex, and he knew it. He’d had sex plenty of times over the years. Sex could be just as hot, just as frantic, but sex brought physical satiation, not complete emotional turmoil.
They had made love.
He swore crudely. It was supposed to be about sex. He wasn’t supposed to care. He damned sure wasn’t supposed to feel like someone had taken a meat cleaver to his chest.
And he’d been right about her virginity. Angel, the sick bastard, might have tried to take it, but he’d failed. She had allowed Sloan inside—all the way inside. He breathed another curse between his clenched teeth. They had connected on some level that transcended the physical. He had known that kind of feeling only once before…
And look what it had cost him.
He was a damned bastard himself. He had taken everything she offered. He could have held back. He could have refused. But he hadn’t.
He shut off the water with a violent twist. “Stupid bastard,” he muttered as he stepped out of the shower. He had royally screwed up this time. Rachel Larson was as fragile as glass. Angel had seduced her, killed her father and plagued her life like a recurring nightmare. And what had he done? Taken her trust. She had reached out to him and he’d latched on with both hands, taking. Only taking.
Sloan swabbed at his body with a towel, too disgusted with himself to do the job right. He wanted to wash away the feel of her, the smell of her. He tossed the towel aside. A shaky breath sighed out of him as he stared at his reflection.
“So much for not getting involved,” he muttered. “You’re an idiot, Sloan.”
He pulled on his pants, then his T-shirt. Well, he might be an idiot, but he wasn’t stupid. Rachel Larson might think she cared about him—hell, she might even think that she loved him. But she couldn’t, he assured himself once more. Not really. Whatever she might think she felt, he knew just how to diffuse any silly notions she might be harboring. All he needed was a couple of days and she would be back at square one. She would see the error of her ways and go back to believing him to be an even meaner bastard than she first thought.
Sunlight streamed into the bedroom by the time Sloan stalked out of the bathroom. Rachel slept trustingly in his bed. He swallowed tightly, refusing to relive even one moment of their lovemaking. And that’s what it had been, no matter how he denied it. Her dark hair spilled across the white pillowcase, making him ache to run his fingers th
rough it. Her creamy shoulders were bare, as was the rest of her sweet body beneath the sheet. He drew in a deep breath and released it slowly to fight the need rising inside him already.
Gritting his teeth against the response he knew touching her would stir, he shook her none too gently. “Wake up, sleepyhead. We have work to do.”
Her lids slowly fluttered open. She smiled, her face aglow with satiation. She stretched like a cat. “What time is it?” she asked sleepily.
He fixed her with the coldest look he could summon. “Time to work. You have twenty minutes.” He turned away from the confusion that clouded her innocent face. He didn’t need to see it to know he had just hurt her. Hell, he could feel it.
“Don’t be late,” he warned as he strode out of the room. He was a bastard all right. No better than the piece of crap who had raped her emotionally five years ago. Right now he had to focus on the confrontation with Angel. He couldn’t afford the distraction Rachel represented. Just maybe if he kept her busy enough, exhausted enough and angry enough, she would keep her distance.
And he knew just how to do that.
“HIT IT AGAIN, harder this time,” Sloan commanded.
He watched as Rachel slammed her gloved fist into the punching bag once more.
“That’s better. Now, back off and kick it like you mean it.” He circled her position and watched her perform the little kickboxing routine he had taught her. “Not too shabby, for a girl.”
She glared at him. Then kicked the bag like the move was intended for him.
Sloan winced dramatically, then resisted the urge to grin. Perfect, he thought. He wanted her pissed off. He wanted her to hate him. He might not be able to put the fear in her anymore, but he could sure as hell make her hate him.
Her damp T-shirt clung to her body, outlining those gorgeous little breasts. Sloan averted his gaze. He had worked her hard and his overbearing tactics seemed to be doing the trick if those drop-dead looks she kept directing his way were any indication. He had to rebuild that wall between them.
It was for her own good.
Not to mention his.
“Five more minutes,” he told her. “Then do twenty laps in the pool and you can call it a day.”
She stopped, midswing, and gaped at him. “Twenty laps! I’ve already done fifteen.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “Twenty-five?”
She muttered a very unladylike curse. Sloan didn’t even try to prevent his grin this time. She was too busy beating the hell out of the punching bag to notice anyway.
Whatever it takes, he reminded that part of him that wanted to take her in his arms and kiss the hell out of her. He set his jaw so hard his teeth were in danger of cracking. She was a client, nothing more. When this was over, she and her son would go back to their lives north of the border. Sloan had nothing to offer her.
And he…well, he would return to his usual existence. A few hours of passion couldn’t change anything.
NEARLY AN HOUR later, her clothes tucked under one arm, a towel wrapped around her slender body, Rachel trudged across the courtyard after her laps. She looked beat. Sloan turned his attention back to the tequila in his glass. She couldn’t have had more than two hours sleep this morning. And after the harrowing trip back from the village and having to leave Josh behind…
He caught himself. He would not feel any sympathy. No way. This course of action was best. He had to rebuild that mutual dislike that had first stood between them. Whatever it took to ensure she kept her distance.
“Hungry?” he asked as she neared. He propped his feet on the table and turned up his glass. The liquor’s burn promised something he knew from recent experience it would not deliver—escape.
“No,” she returned coldly. She paused only long enough to glare at him.
“Good.” He deposited his empty glass on the table. “Cooking isn’t one of my finer attributes. Maybe you could whip up something later,” he suggested with a nonchalance that stiffened her spine. That last remark really ticked her off.
“Don’t hold your breath,” she snapped, then strode away, anger radiating from every beautiful inch of her.
The time moved at a snail’s pace. He had no idea what time it was, he could only judge the passage of time by the empty bottle before him. And, as he suspected, it did nothing for him. Drinking had never kept him from performing well, on the job or in the sack, but it generally helped him not give a damn about much. He swore at his new run of bad luck. Hell, it didn’t even do that anymore.
Sloan was reasonably sure whatever time it was, that Rachel had retired to her own room by now. With that in mind, he finally went inside.
The house was quiet. No television noise, no sweet feminine laughter. No pitter-patter of little feet. He forced the unbidden yearning away. Already he missed the kid’s questions, his ceaseless energy. And Rachel’s singsong voice as she played with her child. Her laughter whenever Josh did something funny. Dammit, this wasn’t supposed to happen. He had sworn that no one would ever get this close to him again. And look at him. Brooding like he’d lost something that belonged to him.
When Sloan passed the great room something in his peripheral vision brought him up short. Rachel, asleep on the couch. He frowned. She was still wearing the damned wet swimsuit and towel. With a heavy breath he moved silently to the couch and sat down on the table in front of it. She was exhausted. Mentally and physically—and totally vulnerable to him.
And it was Sloan’s fault.
He closed his eyes and tamped down the regret that rose inside him. He summoned the image of his wife and son and tried to remember how it felt to be with them. His son was no problem. He could feel the child in his arms, hear his voice. But he couldn’t do the same with his wife. Each time he attempted to visualize some moment they had shared, Rachel invaded his senses. The feel of her hair slipping through his fingers, the taste of her lips, the smell of her skin.
Sloan shook off the desire already tightening his groin. He opened his eyes and watched her sleep as if that would help. Beneath all that beauty and vulnerability lay more determination than he had ever known in any woman. That combination of fire and fragility drew him when he wanted to push away. The courage it must have taken for her to come all this way to track down a stranger. And then to endure his treatment with hardly a fuss. How in the world had this woman and her son—Angel’s son—crashed into his life and made such an unwanted impact?
“You’re losing your touch, old man,” he mumbled. Sloan settled his gaze on her pretty face. Maybe he was getting old, and soft…or plain stupid. Whatever the case, his was not the kind of business one could risk such lapses in judgment. He had to do something to speed things up before he made any more mistakes. They both needed this over.
He had his head on straight now. What happened last night would not happen again. He owed it to Rachel to save her from the real threat—him. Angel was no longer a threat to her or Josh.
Angel was a dead man.
He just didn’t know it yet.
Chapter Ten
Rachel awoke to sunlight reaching across the room. She blinked to adjust to the brightness and then stared at the alarm clock on the bedside table. 9:00 a.m. Why hadn’t Sloan come for her? They started at 6:00 a.m. every morning. She threw the cover back and sat up. Why had he allowed her to oversleep? She frowned at the thought that something might be wrong. He certainly hadn’t mentioned foregoing the morning workout when he rousted her off the couch last night and forced her to eat the eggs he scrambled. Eggs and toast were his specialty, he had insisted. Rachel felt relatively certain that he had simply wanted to make sure she kept her strength up.
She pushed to her feet and padded to the bathroom. She had fallen asleep on the couch, wet swimsuit and all. The now dry garment hung across the shower door. And who wouldn’t have fallen asleep? Sloan had pushed her harder than he ever had before. Had her supremely annoyed as a matter of fact. She still wanted to punch him instead of that damned bag.
&nb
sp; She’d had hardly any sleep the night before with taking Josh to the village.
Josh.
Her heart squeezed at the thought of her little boy. She missed him so much. She blinked back the tears and forced herself to go through the motions of preparing for the day. Maybe that was the reason Sloan had kept her so busy yesterday. He had purposely made her angry with his little remarks and unnecessary physical torture. Her arms felt weak from all the laps in the pool. Giving him grace, he probably realized she needed the distraction and then the exhaustion of last night to keep her mind off her son.
And the lovemaking? Had she needed that too? She moistened her lips and swallowed at the dryness in her throat. Her body tingled even now at the thought of Sloan’s lovemaking. She could not regret the act. It had touched her far too deeply. She had been right about Sloan. He had pleasured her to the point of madness before allowing himself the pleasure of release. He had been right as well. Though Angel had been her first sexual experience, he had not made love to her the way Sloan had. Not by a long shot.
Rachel closed her eyes and quaked with revulsion at the thought of Angel. There was no comparison between the men. Not in the intimate act she and Sloan had shared, nor in any other way. Angel was a selfish, greedy bastard who killed people for a living. She clenched her jaw against the outrage that instantly filled her at the thought of the man. He didn’t just kill people, he relished in making an art of it. He stole into people’s lives, then snatched that life away.
By contrast, Sloan was a good man. Despite the bitterness and indifference he radiated, worn as a shield about him, there was a good heart beating in that awesome chest. Even with the knowledge that Angel was Josh’s father, Sloan still reached out to her son. Grudgingly maybe, but he had done it just the same. He would protect them with his life. There was no question in Rachel’s mind. Sloan would do whatever it took to protect her and Josh. She closed her eyes and prayed fervently that it wouldn’t come down to that. Sloan deserved to live and be happy again. Really happy.
