by Blake, Toni
“I don’t want like this,” he whispered hotly.
“Huh?” His voice caught her off guard, his words not quite making sense.
He hesitated slightly, and when he spoke, it came between heavy breaths. “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted a woman . . . the way I want you. Since that first night . . . in the red room. The second I see you . . . I wanna sink so deep inside you, beb. Let me.”
Let me have you.
Could she? Could she let go of whatever held her back each time? Now they were in her room—a private, comfortable, safe place. Let go, she told herself. Just let go and feel him the way you want to.
He pulled back just enough to look into her eyes. “Tell me you want me, chère.”
“You know I do,” she whispered.
They went totally still in that moment, no movement—just the connection of their gazes and the insistent beat of her heart against her rib cage.
She said it again, even softer this time. “You know I do.”
His next kiss came shockingly gentle, swallowing and sweet; their tongues licked at each other, tasting deeply. Good, delicious kisses, the best of her life. She thought for a few moments that maybe she’d be content just to stand here and kiss him all night long. Her fingers curled in his thick hair and the musky, sexy scent of him permeated her senses. She wanted to crawl inside him.
When he slowly skimmed one hand to the side of her breast, her knees buckled, but he was there to catch her, his other arm anchored securely around her waist. The stroke of his thumb teased the outer curve, touching skin to skin, thanks to the bareness of her dress. Her breath grew more labored until she realized she was kissing him harder, pulling him closer, thinking, Touch me, please touch me, feeling sure that if he didn’t, she would die. Please, Jake.
But she was careful not to voice her wishes out loud. That would be too much, giving away every last ounce of control—and she had to hang onto something, didn’t she?
When his thumb passed over her nipple through the dress, she went weak again, but still he held her, drawing back to look at her from beneath shaded lids. “You get me so hot, beb.”
She could only sigh, her breath trembling, glad when his kisses returned, because she was better with that, with simply being swept away, than with having to acknowledge her passion with words.
As his hand closed full around her breast, inside the dress, she let out a low groan and locked her arms tighter around his neck so she wouldn’t fall. His tongue delved deeply into her mouth as he slowly kneaded her, his thumb and forefinger teasing the hard peak. Harsh pleasure spiraled through her.
When his kisses trailed away from her mouth, over her cheek, to her neck, shoulder, she could do nothing but acquiesce, leaning her head to one side. Her breath grew shakier with each inch he descended, his mouth getting closer and closer to where his thumb and finger played.
Yes, yes. Kiss me there.
She never realized his other hand had left her waist until she felt the smooth, light tug at the back of her neck—he was untying the top of her dress. Oh God. Her knees trembled and she fought not to let them give way.
She’d had sex with enough men that this part wasn’t foreign. Yet it still felt new—with Jake. He pulled back slightly and the top of the dress slipped like satin over her breasts, falling away to leave her bared to the waist.
He studied her unabashedly, his gaze making her even hotter. “So pretty, chère,” he whispered, slowly lifting his brown eyes to hers.
She felt lost. Free. Trapped. Confused but wild, and growing hungrier with each passing second. “Kiss me there,” she murmured. It was an accident—words never meant to leave her lips.
But Jake didn’t hesitate. Stepping up close again, he curled both hands over her breasts, massaging deeply as he delivered a long, slow kiss to her mouth—and then lower. Her neck. The hollow of her throat. The upper curve of plump, pale flesh. Then his tongue flicked over the dark pink tip.
She gasped and the juncture of her thighs spasmed. Her own thready breath was the only sound.
More. Please. This time she held it inside, didn’t beg, thank goodness—but it was almost as if he’d read her thoughts anyway, because his warm mouth closed over her distended nipple, his tongue swirling around it in wet, intoxicating circles.
Thank God she had the wall to lean against or she’d surely be on the floor by now. She moaned and sighed, drinking in the pleasures from his mouth and hands, still caressing her breasts, molding, shaping, making her crazy with the hot joy of it. God, yes.
When he switched his ministrations to the other breast, licking and teasing with tongue and teeth, a tiny bite that seemed to reach all the way into her panties made her cry out. She held his head there, ran her hands through his thick hair, and peered down to find him looking back, his tongue raking across the moistened peak as his brown gaze seared her.
She wanted desperately to look away because his eyes made her so wild inside, made her simply want to rip his clothes off, push him to the bed, do everything she’d ever dreamed of—and never dreamed of. Her wildest dreams had never been as wild as he turned her.
But control, control. You have to keep at least a little control. She’d never felt comfortable giving that up—especially when it came to sex.
Just when she was sure there was nothing he could do to make her any more deeply aroused, he bent even lower to kiss the smooth plane of her stomach. Her whole body seemed to flutter at the light assault.
And before she could think, he was dropping to his knees, slowly skimming his hands down the fabric that covered her hips. He gazed up, heat rushing from his eyes as his hands closed around the backs of her legs.
“Wh-what are you doing?”
“Want to kiss you here now, chère,” he rasped, then lowered a chaste, tiny kiss to the black filmy fabric that lay across the juncture of her thighs.
Chapter Eleven
SHE GASPED AT the pure pleasure radiating through her. “Oh . . .” she breathed.
His gaze rose to meet hers as his hands slid up the backs of her thighs, to her bottom, taking the soft black fabric with him.
“I never . . .” she whispered without meaning to.
“Never what, beb?” His voice was a deep purr from below.
Never felt such hot wanting. Never felt so on the edge of truly letting go.
He blinked, peering up at her. “Surely you’ve been kissed here before.”
She nodded. “Yes, but . . .” It was never like this.
“But what?” he asked, lowering another soft kiss through the dress.
An unstoppable shiver rushed through her, leaving her unable to answer. Why had she even started talking at all? Words seemed ridiculously inadequate in summing up the intense heat surrounding them. He still looked up at her, waiting for a reply, but she only shook her head, beseeching him with her eyes to go on. And just in case he didn’t get the message, she eased one high-heeled foot to the side, parting her legs a bit farther.
Kiss me again.
His eyes seemed to deepen a shade before he lowered them back to the part of her body so close to his mouth. His hands slid from her rear around to her knees, pausing just long enough to gather the fabric in front and push it up, higher, higher, until he held it bunched at her waist. She couldn’t stop the trembling that assaulted her, but he seemed undaunted.
“Want to make you feel so good, chère.” His voice fell over her as dark and soft as a shadow just before he kissed the front of her black silk panties, openmouthed, deep and passionate, as if it were a part of her that could kiss him back. Warm pressure and heat—his tongue—permeated her most sensitive spot, and without planning it, she began to grind against him. Maybe she could kiss him back—this way.
She closed her eyes, melting, thrusting—softly, softly. She pressed her palms flat against the wall behind her for support, then fo
und her fingers curling, clawing at the slick wallpaper, reaching for purchase as she sank deeper into his ministrations.
She heard her own whimper as his fingers curved over the top edge of her panties. Yes. Take them off me.
Grabbing onto one side with both hands, he gave a rough tug and the thin elastic band snapped, leaving the underwear to fall away.
“Oh!” She drew in her breath.
Too much. This was too much. Too much pleasure, too much abandon.
Damn it, no—it was happening again, her body tensing sharply. And like everything else with this man, it was beyond her control.
Her legs snapped together tight as she tried desperately to quell the hungry sensations inside her. “I can’t,” she blurted out.
Still kneeling before her, he raised his gaze. “What?”
One glimpse of the disbelief in his sexy eyes and she couldn’t continue to look at him. She tried to close her legs still tighter, but it wasn’t possible. “I’m sorry,” she whimpered, “so sorry. But I can’t.”
“You can’t,” he repeated, somber, bewildered.
“I’m sorry, Jake. I just . . .” She shook her head. Maybe she should tell him about Curtis. She didn’t officially consider him her boyfriend, but maybe that’s what this was about, some kind of guilt. God knew it would be easier if she had some sort of concrete reason to give him. Yet even without speaking the words, it sounded like a lie to her. “I’m sorry,” she said again.
He let her dress fall back down her thighs as he rose to his feet. Shutting his eyes, he ran his hands back through his hair and let out a heavy sigh of frustration. Feeling like the worst sort of tease, she remembered she was still half unclothed and began fumbling to grab up the front of her dress.
Casting only one last look of disappointment, he started for the door. “I’d better go.”
“Wait.”
He paused, his hand on the doorknob, to look over his shoulder. Like always, his eyes nearly buried her.
“Wh-what about Tina? Do you think you’ll be able to find her now that we know her friend’s name?”
He looked dumbfounded that she could be talking about that at a time like this—and at the moment she couldn’t blame him. She asked too much of him.
They stood like that for a long, tense moment, until finally Jake gave his head a quick shake. “I can’t do this anymore.”
He turned to go again and impulse made her rush forward. Still using one hand to hold her dress up in front, she latched onto his wrist with the other. “What do you mean?”
Shaking free from her grip, he took a step back, looking more dark and forbidding than usual. “I can’t be near you, Stephanie, without wantin’ you. And if I haven’t been able to locate your sister by now, I seriously doubt a girl’s name is gonna make a difference. I can’t help you.” He shook his head again. “I can’t keep doin’ this.”
With that, he stalked out the door, pulling it firmly shut behind him. The slam drove home for her how alone she suddenly was. She stared at it blankly, feeling as if she’d just lost . . . everything that mattered.
IDIOT, IDIOT, IDIOT. Ten minutes after Jake left, Stephanie’s fear of sleeping with him had faded, but her desire remained in full swing, pulsing through her body like something trying to get out. Idiot.
Pushing up from the bed, where she’d let herself collapse a moment after his departure, she stripped off her dress, changing quickly into a pair of blue jeans, a gray tank top she usually wore to the gym, and her comfortable leather sandals.
Locking the door behind her, she headed for the customer parking lot. Jake had once told her—only because she’d pried—that he lived in an old building on Burgundy. That’s all she knew about where to find him other than Sophia’s. So if she had any chance of finding him tonight, she needed to beat him home, see him walking down the street. Finally, a use for the rental car she’d kept just in case her search for Tina led her beyond the immediate vicinity. Even driving, she’d still have to hurry, and still might not locate him.
She pulled out on Esplanade, heading toward the French Quarter. Passing Burgundy—a one-way going the wrong way—she turned onto Dauphine, speeding down several blocks before circling back to Jake’s street again. That quickly, though, it seemed futile. Too many doorways. Too many balconies and windows and gates and shutters. He could be behind any of them. She briefly considered Googling him, but quickly concluded that a guy as secretive as Jake would keep his address private, even if just as a holdover from his days as a cop.
She crept up the street in the midsize sedan, studying the few people she spotted on the sidewalk, but none of them were Jake. Until, that is, she spied a man crossing toward an old blue pickup truck parked along the curb. Her stomach lurched at the sight of him.
She slowed to a stop, hoping he wouldn’t realize it was her—although she wasn’t sure why.
She’d been trying to tell herself she’d come to plead with him about not giving up on Tina, since he was the only person in this town willing to help. But the much bigger truth was that she’d come to apologize, because she was so sorry for what had happened back at her room, so sorry she’d said no. Something had compelled her to seek him out and make things right.
And yet now she hid within the safe confines of her rental car, just wanting to watch him, see what he did, where he went. He never gave her any answers about himself—maybe if she followed him, she’d finally learn more about him.
She flipped on her turn signal, as if waiting for his parking space, then watched the truck’s taillights blink on before it rumbled away from the curb. Hanging back, she killed the turn signal and proceeded behind him.
She followed him up a maze of streets that led deeper into the city. Maybe this was childish, maybe it was downright stupid—but her heart beat faster wondering where he was going and what it would tell her about him. Within a few turns and stoplights, the blue pickup veered onto an expressway ramp, leading her onto Interstate 10.
Once on the open road, Jake drove fast and she struggled to keep up without him noticing. As they crossed the Mississippi, she found herself asking: Where does a man like Jake Broussard go at a time like this? To another woman, someone who wouldn’t heat him up just to turn him down? Her stomach tightened at the thought. Why was sex so difficult for her? She wanted so desperately to explain it to him, but she didn’t know the answer herself. She pressed on the gas a little heavier, lest she lose sight of the truck.
Soon they were on a more desolate, empty road and she was careful to stay back a reasonable distance, just barely keeping his taillights in view. The farther they got from the city, the darker the air became. She saw only the low-lying road directly in front of her. God, where on earth was he going?
If you had half a brain, you’d turn around and go back. Leave the man alone.
Yet she’d come so far, and to head back to New Orleans now would only leave her all the more curious and frustrated. Despite herself, she simply . . . wanted to be close to him, wanted to be wherever he was.
But an hour into the trip, she let out a huge sigh, thinking he might never get to where he was going. And dear God, what was that on the side of the road? She only caught a glimpse, but was fairly certain she’d just passed a small alligator.
Following more twists and turns, Stephanie found herself pursuing Jake down a two-lane road labeled Route 56 and knew instinctively she was in the heart of bayou country. For some reason, it made her heart beat painfully—it somehow seemed dangerous and a little eerie to be out here in the middle of a deserted area she knew nothing about. Keeping up with Jake had turned into a safety measure as much as anything else—she no longer even cared if he figured out she was following him.
After ninety minutes of driving, Jake slowed and took a left. When she reached the turn, she nearly missed it, even knowing it was there—the narrow one-lane gravel road wasn’t mar
ked, and pulling onto it felt like crossing some sort of invisible line, some point of no return.
She crept slowly along the bumpy, winding path, afraid she’d come upon Jake’s truck if she rounded a bend too fast, and also hoping she didn’t end up driving into a swamp.
Around a curve and through thick trees, she spotted Jake’s truck stopped beneath a single light pole, a dim beam illuminating the area. She pressed her brakes, bringing the car to a stop as she shut off the lights, then struggled to peer through the tall trees.
She could barely make out Jake’s shape as he walked to a shanty-type building beneath the light, then pulled something long and narrow, bigger than himself, from the lean-to. She squinted as he moved back past the trees blocking her view to realize he was dragging a small boat. They must be at the water. And he was going to get in the boat and float away from her after all this?
Flipping the headlights back on, she gave it some gas. Only—damn it!—her tires were spinning. She’d gotten the car stuck—in a pocket of mud or something. “Oh, please, no—don’t let this happen,” she beseeched God or anyone else who might hear.
Taking a deep breath, she released the gas pedal, then slowly, patiently tried again. Nothing but spinning wheels and a horrible whirring sound that multiplied her fears. This can’t be happening. After another deep breath, she asked herself what her father would do in this situation. Surely they’d covered such things when she’d been learning to drive. Put it in reverse, she told herself. Ease back and turn the wheel to let the tire find something new to bite into.
Voilà—a second later, the front wheel backed out of the mud, and Stephanie let out a huge sigh of relief as she drove around the hole and sped to where Jake had parked.
Yanking the keys from the ignition, she practically leaped from the car and raced to the shore, but saw only a pale wake that told her which way he’d headed. Damn it.
