Spiraling down and down and down, she hurtled through an abyss. Utterly and completely undone, she plunged into the wind-tossed waves, clinging to his warm, strong body like a drowning woman to a buoy.
Were those really her breaths, little desperate pants against his chest? She opened her eyes. Jake met her gaze. His mouth, that same devilish mouth that possessed her until she was boneless and desperate for him, curved into a smile.
One look, and she knew the night had just begun.
Chapter Seven
Cool air sputtered from the ceiling vents, but the climate-conditioned breeze didn’t make a dent in the heat spreading over Chelsea’s flesh. A hot, intense craving for more of Jake’s touch. More of Jake’s kiss.
More of Jake.
His dark eyes consumed her. He wanted her. She liked that. And why shouldn’t she? This was her plan, wasn’t it? To make him desperate for her, then turn him away. She hadn’t counted on wanting him so badly her knees wobbled like a schoolgirl on her first real date.
Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. She’d never been one to rush into things. Especially not with a man. The so-called third-date rule might as well have been amended to the ninth or tenth date where she was concerned. And yet, here she was, wondering exactly how long it would take to tear Jake’s shirt from his body.
Things were definitely not going according to plan.
She reached for him. Threading his tie between her fingers, she stripped it from his throat. He watched her, a crooked grin tipping up the corner of his mouth. His chest rose and fell on a deep inhalation. So, the simple gesture had gotten to him more than he wanted to let on.
The silken strip drifted to the floor. Her hands moved to his shirt. Greedy in their pursuit, she worked the buttons free, spreading the fabric wide, baring his broad, sculpted chest.
His fingers went to his cuffs, releasing the fastenings, and then he stilled again, as if waiting for her to finish the exceedingly pleasant task she’d begun.
Dragging the crisp fabric over his carved shoulders, Chelsea tugged the shirt from his body. It pooled with the tie on the carpet.
She swallowed again, harder this time. Michelangelo would have kicked his model for the statue of David to the curb if he’d had a chance to sculpt Jake’s lean, hard torso. The man was perfect. Absolutely perfect. She could only hope she wasn’t drooling as she drank in the symmetry of chiseled muscle, the perfection of abs that made Michelangelo’s creation look as though he should have spent a few more hours in the gym, and straight, dark hair sprinkled over his upper body in all the right places.
As if mesmerized, she swept her fingers through the hair on his pecs, flattening her palms against the hard, sleek muscle beneath. His heart thudded beneath her hand, a strong, steady throb.
He caught one wrist between his fingers. “My turn.” His husky drawl washed over her. He might have stripped her bare with nothing more than a look.
His thumb hooked the front of her blouse. The fabric crumpled down her arms. He released her long enough to send the garment swishing to the floor. Eyes darkening with wicked promise, he peeled her bra from her body. His chest rose and fell with slow, deep breaths as he drank her in.
“You’re beautiful, Chelsea.” Simple words, but they enchanted her. “So damn beautiful.”
Captive in Jake’s embrace, Chelsea squeaked a gasp as her feet left the ground and she hung suspended in his lean-muscled arms.
“The door,” she murmured, the last cell in her brain capable of rational thought springing into action.
“I’ll take care of it.” Settling her on the tufted leather sofa, he twisted the lock into place, dimmed the light, and returned to kneel by her side.
He dipped his head, taking one nipple between his lips as his hands roamed her body in free exploration. Suckling, teasing, arousing the tender flesh to a sensitive bud, so responsive to his touch each tiny sweep of his tongue seemed an exquisite torment. Yearning stirred deep in her womb, a hunger only he could sate, embedded in the most primal of possession.
A moan escaped her, then another. She’d become absolutely wanton, half naked in Jake Wilder’s office. The thought sent another thrill coursing through her. She wanted all of him. His touch and his taste and the heady scent of crisp aftershave.
And him.
His mouth moved to her other breast, capturing the sensitive bud between his teeth. Tender little nips stirred her to full awareness as his hand cupped the freed mound against his palm, the slightly roughened skin of his fingertips rippling circles of heat through her flesh. His mouth trailed higher, a sweet, heated caress along the column of her throat.
“I can’t get enough of you.” His lips brushed hers, a soft, fleeting possession. Her arms coiled around his back, dragging him closer, and all she could think about was Jake and how very, very much she longed for his touch.
He shifted his big body so he hovered over her on the couch, his weight supported on the arms he positioned at Chelsea’s sides. The hard ridge of his arousal pressed to her softness. His breath seemed ragged now, his need raw in gravel-edged tones. “I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do.”
She couldn’t hold back her smile of anticipation. Was it her imagination, or had the confidence he’d worn like a badge been replaced with an emotion far more vulnerable?
“I trust you,” she whispered that heartfelt truth against his lips. She reached up, grasping his biceps, savoring the little thrill that raced through her as his muscles corded beneath her touch.
“I’m not much of a Southern gentleman, am I? You deserve a luxurious bed and fancy sheets. I’ll give you that. But first, I need to convince you to let me take you home.”
The desire in his eyes promised delights far more tempting than six-hundred-count linen. He kissed her, a curl-your-toes claim that left her breathless and filled her senses. By the time he released her lips and started to blaze a fiery path down her chest, she could scarcely remember her own name.
Pressing scorching kisses to her flesh, he zigzagged hot, delectable little licks and caresses over her breasts, over her abdomen, until he arrived at the barrier of her skirt. Somehow, he stripped her of it without even leaving his position over her. Her eyes went wide as she remembered her panties, now a pile of torn lace on the floor. She lay naked before him. She should be mortified, a tiny nagging voice deep in her soul reminded her. But she wasn’t. Radiant happiness flowed through every cell. Adonis had taken human form, and at least for this night, he looked at her as if she were the only woman in the world.
“You’re perfect, baby,” he whispered. “Just perfect.”
With that, he ducked his head and kissed that most intimate part of her. The contact electrified her and she writhed, not in pain, but in response to the intensity of the sweet, sweet touch. His fingers danced over her inner thighs, spreading her, parting her. More vulnerable than she’d even been in her life, she lapped up the sensations like a kitten tempted with a bowl of cream.
His fingers parted her folds, teasing her, tempting her, stirring her flesh to vivid, pulsing awareness. And then his tongue flicked against her flesh, delectable little licks and nibbles that threatened to drive her mad. Spreading her inner folds, he lay claim to her most vulnerable flesh. Kissing the sensitive nub, he drew his tongue in exquisite circles around her clit until she squirmed wildly beneath him. Not to escape. No, not that. Never that.
In surrender.
She closed her eyes, feasting on the sensations. Delighting in his mastery of her body. Of her pleasure. As if she were walking on a beach, each step carried her farther from the pier until she waded through storm-tossed seas. Deeper and deeper. Every tantalizing sweep of his tongue led her closer and closer to the point when she’d be torn away from shore.
His lips closed around her clit. Her fingers dug into his upper arms, clinging to his strength, his power. His touch was gentle now. So very gentle. And then he darted his tongue against her flesh, demanding a response. Driving her to
abandon the shore and throw her destiny to the crashing waves.
One tiny nip of his teeth, and she was swept away. Waves crashed over her, dragging her out, tossing her on their peaks, and she heard a ragged cry. Her cry, wrenched from deep within, the desperate sound muffled only by the touch of his fingers against her lips. She clung to him, her fingers coiled tight around the sinew of his shoulders, her breaths coming in hushed little gasps as she drifted back to shore.
He held her then, tight to his chest, his arms coiled around her, snuggled together on the couch. How perfectly she fit against his body. As if they’d been carved from the same block of driftwood, two pieces of one unique, beautiful whole.
“I’m here, baby.” He kissed her cheek. She could smell her scent, the musk of their lovemaking. Their intimacy thrilled her.
“Take me home…to your place.” The plea spilled from her lips.
His mouth grazed her cheek. “Are you sure?”
She threaded her fingers through his hair. “What thread count are your sheets?”
His laugh, warm and hearty, warmed her soul. “I can’t say that I know, but they cost a lot more than they should have. Probably in the thousands.”
“I guess that’ll do,” she said with a smile. “Now, when are you going to take me home and show me these luxurious, fancy sheets?”
* * * * *
Chelsea had never given Jake Wilder’s condo much thought. It wasn’t as though she’d ever planned to end up in his chic Canal Walk loft. She’d assumed his place would bear some expensive designer’s touch, sterile and modern and untouchable.
She was wrong. He led her through the marble floors and polished granite of the lobby to a private elevator. Once she passed through the door to his place, any semblance of cool, remote design vanished, replaced by rich, warm woods and furnishings that welcomed a visitor to put her feet up and relax. A few mementos of his renaissance as a quarterback filled a carved oak case, and pictures—family, most likely—lined the fireplace mantle.
One smiling face beckoned Chelsea’s interest. An exceptionally beautiful young woman. Golden-brown hair streamed well past her shoulders. Eyes as immense and dark as a doe’s peered from the frame.
“That’s my sister, Angie.” Jake draped an arm around Chelsea’s shoulder and gave her a squeeze. “She just graduated with a master’s in psychology a couple of weeks ago. Now she’s on to a doctorate.”
“Very impressive. She’s a bit younger than you.”
“Ten years. You might say she was a Christmas surprise for my father. Mom announced the impending new arrival by hanging a tiny stocking on the tree. She’s a great girl.” Family pride beamed in his eyes, the happiness as appealing as the raw hunger she saw when he looked at her. She hadn’t expected this side of Jake Wilder. And she liked it.
His arm slid to her waist, drawing her to him. “Let me get you a drink.”
“A glass of white wine would be wonderful.”
“I think I can manage that. You’re really low maintenance, aren’t you?”
“How so?”
He shrugged as he strolled to the refrigerator. “You’re not the fluffy drink type. Bet you don’t even mind if the wine’s out of a box.”
It was Chelsea’s turn to shrug. “I have to confess I’m not much of a connoisseur.”
Another photo caught her attention. An older woman. Chelsea leaned closer to take a better look. The same dark eyes as Jake’s, and her smile was every bit as winning. A relative, no doubt. She seemed so very familiar. Had they met? Surely she’d remember making this striking woman’s acquaintance.
“Who’s this?” She followed Jake to the kitchen, portrait in hand.
“That’s my grandmother. Granny Liz.”
She tried to stifle a giggle, but bubbly laughter forced its way through her lips. His brows furrowed.
She worried her lip. Love potion or not, she may have stepped on Jake’s macho exterior with cleats. “I just never pictured you with a Granny Liz.”
A serious mask fell over his features. He might have used that same face to stare down opponents. “What, the big strong man can’t have a granny?” He stalked toward her. A grin broke through his stern façade. “Guess this means I have to resume my macho posturing.”
Good heavens, her feet left the ground…again. He really was going to have to stop carrying her around like a caveman. He couldn’t afford to waste his energy when she could think of so many more pleasurable uses for that strength.
Clasping her to his chest, he dipped his head to claim her mouth. A slow, subtle possession, his tongue barely skimmed her lips, stirring the embers of passion back to a flame. The pressure of his mouth intensified. The cadence of his heart quickened, betraying his own reaction to the seductive caress. How could a kiss leave her utterly boneless with longing?
Dragging in a breath, he released his claim to her kiss. His grin broadened. “Still want that wine?”
“It can wait.”
“I can’t. Not another damn minute.”
He carried her through the loft, through the open door to his bedroom. One quick swipe of his hand, and the hunter-green comforter covering his king-sized bed whipped to the end of the mattress. He settled her on the sheets, gray-green Egyptian cotton that brought to mind the waves she’d envisioned as he’d brought her to ecstasy.
She reached for him, tugging him down to join her. Yearning pulsed between her thighs, radiating through her body. Cupping his cheek against her palm, she savored the sensations. Tiny prickles of stubble erupting against his otherwise clean-shaven skin. The heat of his flesh against hers. His natural essence. Primal hunger stirred, and she tore at his shirt, hungry for the texture of his skin, the tickle of chest hair against her nipples. Was that really her, working the buttons with such frenzied focus, guiding the fabric over his shoulders to bare him to her ravenous eyes?
Her hands skimmed the hard planes of his chest, her fingertips greedy for the feel of him, that ever-so-slight roughness against her skin, so different from hers. She kneaded his shoulders, savoring the play of lean, taut muscle beneath her fingers. Her hands moved lower, her palms dancing over the sinewy strength of his torso, the sculpted power of abs that put a six-pack to shame. Crisp, dark hair tantalized her. She traced the line that tapered from his pecs to that tempting area beneath his waist.
He pulled in a breath. His cock throbbed against her thigh, its length hard and demanding. How would it feel when he possessed her, when he embedded his shaft deep within her heat? Jake seemed to read her thoughts, his mouth hitching in a sly smile as he reached for her. He stripped away her skirt and blouse with efficient motions. He watched her, seeming to study her, and then her bra drifted to the carpet.
“It seems you saved yourself the time of removing my panties,” she said as his gaze trailed to the dark vee between her legs.
“It’s a damn shame too,” he murmured. “I would’ve enjoyed tearing them off you again and again.”
Flushing beneath the heat of his gaze, Chelsea hooked her thumbs in his belt loops. “It seems you have me at a disadvantage.”
His eyes flashed with a devil’s flair for wickedness. “Not for long.”
He rolled away, long enough to shed his trousers and briefs, then prowled back over her, six feet of perfectly sculpted, fully aroused male. God, he was glorious. The scent of his musk stirred her desire to heights she didn’t know existed. He stilled, dragging in slow, even breaths, as if assuring himself that this was right, that this was what she really wanted.
So hungry for him each second without contact seemed an agony of anticipation, she wrapped her arms around his powerful back.
“Don’t hold back tonight.” Was that throaty command really her voice? “I want you, Jake. More than you can imagine.”
Chapter Eight
Jake gazed down at the woman in his bed, wondering exactly what good deed he’d done along the way that had brought him this living, breathing, pretty-as-hell reward. Chelsea was nothing lik
e the women he’d wasted so many years on. She was beautiful, there was no denying that. But there was so much more. She was smart and funny and she sure didn’t mind telling him when he was full of shit, albeit with far more sophisticated language. How had he managed to get her in his bed?
Swallowing hard against a rush of need more intense than he’d ever experienced, he hungered for her, an intense craving he felt to his bones. But more than that, he wanted to please her. He wanted to mark her as his own the only way he knew how, with pleasure so intense she’d need him as much as he needed her.
Damn, she was beautiful. Had she noticed how his hands shook while he undressed her? So much for the lady killer. Christ, he hadn’t been that nervous as a high-school kid trying to get a cheerleader under the bleachers.
But that cheerleader wasn’t Chelsea.
The sparkle in her eyes enchanted him. They were lovely eyes, but their beauty didn’t make his pulse pound. It was the look of mischief that gleamed in those amber orbs, vibrant and witty and full of life. That look challenged him to forget she was a pretty girl with great tits and a sweet little ass and peer deeper into her soul. That look got him in the gut every time he met her gaze.
He never would have predicted this. Vegas oddsmakers would’ve given this a thousand to one shot at best. Crazy thing was, he hadn’t even set out to seduce her. Not that he hadn’t imagined how good it would feel to get her beneath him between a set of clean sheets.
His imagination had been no match for the real thing.
He cradled her cheek against his hand. For the longest time, he didn’t even want to move. Didn’t want to take a chance of ruining this moment. How could it feel this good to simply hold a woman to his body and drink her in?
“I need you so damn much.” He whispered the words against her ear. She smiled, a sweet, content little smile, and wriggled enticingly beneath his weight.
He kissed her then. Christ, he could kiss her all night. She tasted so good. She tasted…right.
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