Unzipped (Harlequin Romance)

by Lori Foster

  When she’d last been in love.

  Yup, this was actually her. Fiona Cruz. Totally out of control.

  Totally on the line.

  When the knock came, it startled her, even if she’d been expecting it. She walked to the door, and every barefooted step seemed like a tour through a dream—surreal, unmanageable.

  She opened the door to find Sean, worse for the wear, his white shirt uneven because he’d lined up the buttons incorrectly and slipped them through the wrong holes. His dark-blond hair kicked up in places, stubborn as the man himself, his green eyes sharp and broken as discarded glass littering a gutted-out street. Even his outlaw-careless smile had lost its edge.

  She’d never been so damned glad to see anyone.

  “You quit, did you?” she asked, holding on to the door frame for support. They hadn’t talked about this over the phone. It’d been hard enough to invite him over.

  Because Fiona never allowed men in.

  He was busy scanning her, the hunger in his gaze almost scratching at her. “I didn’t want to distract you with my drama. I… Is that what this is about?”

  Definitely not.

  She flew at him, taking a fistful of shirt in hand, pulling him toward her until they were kissing, almost swallowing each other up in their desperate good-to-see-you-again.

  His hands were planted in her hair, angling her head, positioning her so his mouth could devour. Her arms hooked upward, clinging, fingers abrading his hunched-over back.

  They swayed together, stealing each other’s air, pressing, urging, seeking.

  Fiona’s heart was near to bursting with happiness, the culmination of all that wanting and waiting.

  As they back-stepped into her apartment, he kicked the door closed, then slowed down the pace, sliding a thumb under her chin, petting her neck, stretching the kiss into one long marathon of moaning desire.

  Fiona hadn’t kissed like this since she was a teenager, exploring, half-afraid of what might come next. That same innocence captured her now, and a laugh bubbled in her chest because she was so thankful for the return of it.

  Oh, it was good to relax, to be held up by his strong arms, to know he wouldn’t let her fall just because her knees were turning to orange marmalade. There was no need to wrestle him, to let her body tell him that she had just as much power—if not more—than he did.

  No, this was different, like nothing she’d ever felt before. Lazy, sweeping pulses of the lips, a sipping sweetness that allowed her time to open her eyes half-way, to spy on him through her lashes, to stroke along with every slow glide of his mouth, to sample the mint of the gum he’d probably been chewing before knocking on her door.

  Cocky bastard.

  He’d maneuvered her through the living room, past the skeletons of her furniture and her old life, toward the bedroom. She let him guide her farther, willing to go wherever he’d take her.

  “You never gave me an explanation—” she gasped as he tenderly kissed her earlobe “—Sean.”

  He paused, long enough for her to hear their blood echoing in each other’s veins. “Sean. I like the way it sounds when you say it.”

  They stopped in a slant of moonlight coming through her window; it reclined on her bed, the centerpiece of yet another room she needed to lend some life to.

  “Why did you leave today and not even tell me?” she asked, smoothing her knuckles over a cheekbone. This time, she didn’t have to pretend she wasn’t feeling anything.

  He smiled, and Fiona framed his face with her hands. A work of imperfect art.

  “I realized,” he said, “that I was sticking around for the wrong reasons. Life is too short to spend it pleasing people like Louis, living the lives of others when I didn’t have one myself. And I left because you wanted the job more than I did.”

  “Oh, Sean.”

  Should she say it? The L-word? He’d just admitted that he’d made a sacrifice because of her. The words built up in a ball of anxiety yet, still, Fiona hesitated.

  He stepped forward, and the moonlight highlighted her lipstick on his cheek.

  Marked territory. Hers.

  This time, she left the brand alone.

  “I love you,” she said.

  She’d never been so vulnerable in all her life.

  A pent-up breath shuddered out of her, as she added, “I love you so much that it might be the end of me.”

  She laughed at the exaggeration, knowing it was true, anyway.

  “Stop that.” He traced a finger under her jawline, drawing her gaze to his.

  Every splinter of color in his green eyes revealed a different path into the future. A future with him.

  “I love you, too, Fiona. I have for a while.”

  Thank God. “I’m scared.” There, she’d finally said that, too. Her shoulders relaxed, the weight lifted off of them. “I’m so afraid of what might happen, because…”

  “What?” he asked gently.

  She smiled, tilting her head at him to control the weariness. But then, tired of holding it in, she let it go with a tiny, sad laugh. “I was engaged once.”

  He squeezed her bare shoulder, stopping the imminent flow of tears. “A disappointment from the past.”

  “Right.” Now he was using his fingertips to lull her, dragging them over her collarbone. She moved with drowsy, sexy caresses. So much better, so much… “He fell in love with my best friend, and they went on to have a baby, a nice house, a cozy marriage. I couldn’t have given that to him, you know? I’ve lived with that knowledge for years, proving myself right, I guess.”

  His fingers eased behind her neck, kneading the tightened muscles, causing jagged bolts of warmth to steal through her.

  “It’s so much easier to disappoint yourself rather than having someone else do it for you,” she said.

  “You don’t ever need to worry about that again.”

  He stole his fingers under one of her dress straps. His touch heated onto the patch of skin that had so recently been covered. It made her suck in a gust of air.

  She recovered, shrugging so that the strap tumbled down one shoulder. “We did things a little backward, didn’t we? First comes sex, then comes love… I’m not sure what comes after that.”

  “Marriage?” The word came out thick, heavy.

  “It won’t be like it was with your dad,” she said, taking his hands and tugging him toward the bed. She wanted him so badly she was about to combust.

  “I’m willing to take that leap of faith,” he said. “As long as I’ve got you jumping with me.”

  She turned around, tacitly asking him to undo her dress. He did, the zipper groaning down in its descent, the night air shivering her skin as the folds of material parted, opened.

  As she stepped out of the clothing, Sean took off his shirt, his pants.

  No underwear for him though.

  He moved toward her, hitched his thumbs over the elastic of her comfy briefs. Tugging, he let the air breathe over her, then pulled them all the way off.

  She braced herself on one of his shoulders—something she’d be free to do from now on if she needed it—while she stepped out of the undies.

  Then, in a slow journey, he ran his hands over her body, memorizing the shape of her arms, her plump breasts, her rib cage, the swerve of her waist, her belly. She saw herself through his eyes: a woman’s woman, with extra curves here and there, with voluptuous promises to offer the right man.

  She saw everything now.

  And, as he looked into her eyes, she knew he saw, too.

  A glance at the clock by her bed revealed that it was 11:59. One minute before the bet was supposed to end.

  Oddly enough, she didn’t really mind losing this time.

  Fiona kissed her prize again, flowing into him, taking him back with her until they could crawl onto the bed. Her body fit perfectly beneath his, ready to be orchestrated, played by his hands. His mouth.

  He teased her breasts to hard peaks with his fingers, licking her nipple, bl
owing on it until she thought she’d cry out from the sharp sensation. Drowning in pleasure, she skimmed her toes over his calf, between his legs, up, up, until she reached his inner thighs, then down.

  Nice, this leisurely exploration of each other. She took her time learning every thatch of fine hair on his chest, sifting through it with her distended nipples until the wisp of skin on skin made her wiggle her hips, slipping over his rigid penis with the slickness of her growing excitement.

  She’d grown swollen with wanting him, blood pounding between her legs, making her ache, stiffen, search him out.

  He used his fingers to work her further along, his thumb circling her clit, awakening a rhythm in her hips that corresponded to every stroke. When he nestled two fingers inside her, slipping in and out with fluid thrusts, she grabbed at his arms, needing to be anchored before she took off.

  He pushed her until she thought she would shatter. But she held on, moaning, louder, louder, until she hung halfway off the bed, her hair brushing the carpet, her torso arched, her sex rocking against his hand.

  “Fiona,” he growled, as if she was getting away.

  With one tug of his arms, she was back on the bed, beads of sweat dripping down her skin as she sat upright. She positioned herself against the pillows, one leg still off the bed.

  While she panted, he left her for a second.

  “Get back here,” she said, laughing, ecstatic. So giddy and full of electricity. “I’m not done with you.”

  He prowled back to her, a predator. “One last layer of protection, Fi, and you’re mine.”

  Rubber. She felt it covering his hard-on as he coasted along her inner thigh, as she spread herself open for him and thrust her hips up to take him inside.

  They strained together, sweat mingling, muscles laboring. With smooth strokes, he pounded into her, and she gyrated her hips, wanting more. Getting more.

  The cadence of their lovemaking increased, with him ramming forward. She accepted every drive, every bolt of collecting heat that was gathering in her core, flaming upward, tearing through her belly, her limbs.

  Everywhere.

  He consumed her, covering her, lending her breath as he kissed her to climax. Lightning, swift as the bite of a night creature, flashed into her body, her brain, illuminating her from the inside out.

  Ripping her apart. Zinging her back together again.

  Washing her in perspiration as a fall of soft contentment pattered her back to reality. One final rumble of thunder roared through her body as she bucked against him.

  He hadn’t spent himself yet, and she reached between his legs from the back, finding a place she knew would give him release.

  Laboring, groaning, releasing, he shuddered from the same storm, collapsing against her.

  This time, when it was over, they lingered, holding each other.

  That lipstick was still on his cheek. “You’ve got something,” she said, flicking a finger over the mark.

  At first, he didn’t seem to get it. Then a smile beamed over his face.

  “It’s there to stay,” he said. “Branded.”

  She snuggled into him and, for the first time since…well, never…she fell asleep in a man’s arms, in her own bed.

  Dreaming of paradise.

  Epilogue

  ON A WHITE-SAND BEACH in St. Vincent, pristine mosquito netting rode a tropical breeze. The material was attached to a gazebo, the pale structure contrasting with the gem-blue of the sea and the lush vegetation.

  Everything was more vivid out here, Sean thought as he tipped back an ice-flaked bottle of beer. More alive.

  Just as he’d been these past two months.

  The netting parted, letting in the sun. The light flashed off the band of gold on his finger, the ring winking at him.

  He tossed away the magazine he’d been reading. People, complete with an article about Lincoln Castle, and how he’d become a hero by saving a drowning child while the actor was on location in Europe for that romantic comedy.

  Linc’s new publicist was good. He had to hand that to her. She’d also gotten Lakota good exposure for a valuable painting she’d discovered in one of those vintage stores.

  A silhouette blocked the sun, shading him. A figure as voluptuous as the local fruit he’d been eating lately.

  She moved forward. Fiona. His wife.

  The sun filtered over her, and he saw that she balanced a fruit platter in her hands. Bananas, coconuts, oranges and…

  He laughed. A spray of maraschino cherries.

  “People magazine, huh?” She sat next to him, plucked a cherry from the selection of snacks. “My former assistant has really been good for Linc.”

  “Rosie’s been good for Lakota, also.” As she ran the cherry over his bare chest, his nipples tightened. Tease.

  “Where Linc goes, so does Lakota. You talked to her last. Isn’t she due back on the soap next week?”

  Lakota was working on that travel show Fiona had suggested before she quit Stellar. Still going to auditions, still hanging in there.

  “Let’s talk about something else,” he said. “Namely…” he pulled her into his arms, hugging her until she nuzzled against his neck “…not talking.”

  “Okay,” Fiona mouthed, sighing into her cozy spot.

  He enjoyed the feel of her, would for the rest of his life. Even if they were interrupting their jaunt around the Caribbean—on both their tabs, even if he had technically won the bet—they’d always be on a holiday. Next week, they’d be returning to the States to meet his family, her family, to see Linc and Lakota, who were a lot like family.

  After that they could go wherever they pleased, until their comfortable savings ran out. Then…? They’d talked about opening a bar on the sands of some island maybe, living real lives and not existing through others.

  “Sorry to break the silence…” she said, sketching her fingers over his legs, higher…

  “No you’re not.”

  She laughed. “…but I brought reading material, too.”

  She produced a book from the folds of her sarong. The Sensuous Woman.

  “Think I can practice The Butterfly Flick?” she asked, all playfulness.

  The Flick. They hadn’t gotten around to actually doing it until things had been worked out between them, once and for all.

  It’d been worth the wait.

  “Anything for literacy,” he said, sinking down in his lounge chair as Fiona undid the drawstring on his pants. “Anything to keep you happy.”

  And as that wolfish howl returned and screamed through his veins once again, he knew it cried for only one person.

  Fiona. And it always would.

  He’d bet on it.

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-8732-1

  UNZIPPED

  Copyright © 2005 by Harlequin Books S.A.

  The publisher acknowledges the copyright holders of the individual works as follows:

  TANTALIZING

  Copyright © 1999 by Lori Foster

  HIS EVERY FANTASY

  Copyright © 2003 by Janelle Denison

  PLAYMATES

  Copyright © 2004 by Chris Marie Green

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

  This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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