Endgame

by Dee Davis

  Silvery sparks flashed in his eyes. She shivered in anticipation, watching as he pulled down his jeans, his penis springing free, hard and solid, and one hundred percent male. With a smile that would no doubt melt icebergs, he straddled her, two fingers hooking into the elastic at her waist.

  He slid the silk off, and she opened for him, her body humming with a life of its own. Dipping his head, he found the tender crest of one breast, drawing the nipple into his mouth, sucking it with a strength that sent heat rippling from breast to groin.

  There was nothing soft about Gabriel Roarke, and she realized that making love with him would be much like dancing with the devil, hot and fierce.

  He let his mouth trail lower, his fingers massaging the soft flesh of her inner thighs, his tongue finding the hole in her belly, driving in, pressing skin against skin in a way that made her writhe against him, wanting more. Needing more.

  His thumb found the soft skin of her labia, and quickly laid her defenses to waste, his fingers sliding deep inside her, his tongue still twisting into her belly button. She swallowed, the delicious tension inside her ratcheting up to levels beyond anything she'd ever experienced.

  His thumb flicked against her like a mischievous feather, and she threw back her head and moaned, the sound guttural, coming from deep inside her. His mouth found her then, tongue replacing thumb in a flittering dance that made her buck against him, then struggle to escape the finely drawn pain he was creating.

  But his hands found her hips, cupping her bottom and holding her in place, his tongue moving faster and faster, lightning streaking through her with each and every touch. She wanted more and yet she wasn't certain she could survive the passion he was unleashing inside her.

  He sucked then as if she were nourishment, food for his soul, and she climaxed. Sensation, white-hot, breaking in icy shards around her, sending her beyond all reason, internal contractions so powerful that she thought she might die. She fought for breath, her mind swirling, and then cried out as the heat enshrouded her and there was nothing but sensation and the feel of his mouth upon her.

  He moved, sliding his body along hers, until they lay pressed together, fitting like two pieces of a puzzle. She reached for him, and pulled his lips to hers, the kiss slower than before, but no less hungry. This time she explored the hot crevices of his mouth, the smooth surface of his teeth, feeling the heat rise in her again.

  This was a game for two, and with a slow smile, she pushed him back, rolling over to straddle him. He reached for her breasts, the feel of his fingers against her skin exquisite. He rubbed both nipples until they were hard and throbbing, mimicking the shaft that pulsed between her legs.

  She tightened her thighs, holding him locked against her vulva, the tiniest wriggle sending pleasure rippling through her.

  "I need you, Madison." His words were low, almost a growl, and she marveled at his strength, his male sensuality. "Now."

  Her lips curved into a knowing smile, and she enjoyed the moment of control, knowing full well that if he chose, he could change their positions in an instant.

  Using her hands and legs she massaged his penis, loving the velvety feel of the head, envisioning it inside her, stroking her, filling her.

  With a muffled groan, he lifted her with both hands, and together they worked to impale her. He was big and he filled her completely, her slick passageway stretched tight. Slowly, she slid upward, moving almost to the end, and then down again, pushing to take him deeper.

  Amazingly the tension inside her was building again, stronger than before, demanding release, promising pleasure beyond imagination, the only reality the sensation between her thighs.

  His hands circled her hips and he began to move with her. Up, down, in, out. Over and over again, deeper and deeper, their eyes locked together, a connection beyond the physical.

  The heat between them built, flames of passion licking at them both, winding them tighter and tighter, pulling the thread taut, and then, with a shatter of sparks, sending them both flying toward the sun.

  Gabriel lay back against the sheets, loving the feel of her body against his, her heat mixing with his, their breath twining together as they fought to slow the pounding of their hearts. He'd heard the term "little death" all his life, but he'd never really understood its meaning until now.

  Madison had pulled things from him that he'd never even allowed himself to acknowledge. There had been more than a meeting of bodies here. Their climax had been intense, more than physical, his mind coming along with his body, the combination devastating and stimulating all at the same time.

  Little death.

  He smiled, stroking the damp hair from her face, even that simple gesture pleasurable. She shifted against him, turning her head so that he could see her face. Her eyelids were still half closed, her gaze still clouded with passion. He felt a surge of possessive pride. She was a wildcat. Giving as well as taking. The kind of woman a man dreamed of in the dark lonely hours of the night.

  "That was wonderful." A lazy smile twitched at the corners of her mouth, then flickered away as if the movement simply took too much effort. She ran a finger along the plane of his chest, stopping to circle each nipple.

  "More than wonderful, Madison." Her name sounded sweet in his ears. "Fucking amazing."

  Her hiring laughter was better than any music he could think of. "That's certainly one way of putting it. But I can tell you it's not going to get you into the romantics' hall of fame." Her fingers had moved lower, grazing along his flaccid penis, each stroke awakening the fires inside. "Looks like with a little encouragement you might be up for a second round."

  No talk of love and romance for this woman. Instead, she shifted so that she straddled his legs, leaning down to take his penis in her mouth, the wet heat getting an instant response. Her hand circled him just below her lips, and gently squeezed as she sucked, his mind turning to jelly as his hormones hit high gear.

  She laved him with her tongue, the rasping almost painful to his oversensitized flesh, but wonderful nevertheless, and he twined his hands through her hair, urging her onward, loving the sight of her taking him deep into her mouth.

  The spring inside him wound tighter and tighter, pleasure turning to need, need to desire. He wanted to be inside her. To watch her come even as he did. He moved slightly, pulling her head back, and she sat back on her heels, her eyes meeting his.

  "Now?" Her smile was a little wicked, her fingers still kneading him.

  He nodded, struggling for words, amazed at the emotions she aroused in him. "If you do that one moment longer it will be too late."

  Her grin widened, and she moved to lie on top of him, her knees on either side of his hips, her breasts tickling his chest. Oh God, if there was a heaven, surely this was it. With a groan, he pulled her against him, rolling over so that he was on top, one knee between her legs.

  It was his turn to torture, and sliding his fingers deep inside her, he began to move, his thumb flicking against her clit, watching as her laughter faded, replaced with passion. She pushed upward, taking him deeper, and then bit at his lips, forcing her tongue inside his mouth, finding the same rhythm as his fingers, her action reversing their roles yet again. The tortured becoming the temptress.

  He moved his hand, and lifted his body, bringing it home with one smooth motion, driving deep, feeling her tighten against him in welcome. He stayed still for a moment, enjoying the simple pleasure of connection, the binding of his body to hers, and then unable to stand it any longer, he began to move, first withdrawing, and then driving deep and then deeper still.

  She rose to meet him thrust for thrust, their bodies moving in mirror image, up and down, thrusting, parrying. A dance that drove him to the brink of exaltation. His body tightened in anticipation and then, with no further warning, exploded in a symphony of sound and light, the release beyond pleasure, beyond pain.

  Madison arched against him one last time, thrusting upward, pulling him deep inside her. And then, crying his
name, she came, her eyes wild, her hands linked with his, her body's shudders engulfing him, humbling him.

  And just like that, Gabriel Roarke fell in love.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The sun streamed through the window, splashing across the comforter and into Madison's eyes. With a groan, she flopped over, trying to grab a minute more sleep, wanting frantically to hold on to her dreams.

  Amazingly erotic dreams. She sighed and ran a hand over her breasts, then sat up, clutching the sheets, reality hitting her like a force ten hurricane. She'd slept with Gabriel Roarke. Well, sleep hadn't exactly been on the agenda. To underscore the fact, her muscles rebelled as she moved to sit on the edge of the bed, her eyes sweeping the room for some sign of the man.

  His jeans were missing from the floor.

  Surely a bad thing.

  Or was it a good thing? Relief warred with alarm, leaving her giddy. On the one hand, she'd had the most adventurous night of her life. On the other, she'd strayed into dangerous territory. Caring about Gabriel Roarke would be a one-way ticket to heartache.

  Despite the amazing connection between them, he'd admitted to being a loner, and more than that, she knew him to be something less than a liberated male. And her last experience in that department was enough to make her run for cover. She'd fought too hard to recover from the damage Rick had inflicted to jump right into that kind of relationship again.

  But then, Gabriel wasn't Rick.

  Her mind was quite emphatic on the point, and her body echoed the sentiment with a shiver of corporeal memory.

  She pushed her hair from her eyes, confusion warring with desire inside her. She didn't regret last night, not one mind-shattering minute of it. She'd even be up for a repeat performance, but not if it cost her her heart.

  Of course the point might be moot. Gabriel had apparently had similar qualms, the fact that he was currently MIA mute testament to the hard truth of the matter. The thought hurt a good deal more than she would have liked it to, and she realized that a part of her had already surrendered to the man—to the feelings she had for him.

  Damn it all to hell.

  She swung out of the bed, defiant in her nudity. Besides, there was no one here to see her. She'd just take a shower, find her clothes, and get back to business as if nothing had changed between them. It'd be a cold day in hell before she'd let him know the power he held over her. A romp in the hay. That's what it was. And that's the way she'd keep it.

  Better there than to take it to the next level, where he was sure to revert to the protective nature of the species and object to the risks she took. Again the small voice in her head whispered that he was different. That he understood her need to walk the line. That he was in fact a kindred spirit.

  But her feelings were too new, too fragile, and she quashed them before they could fully root, determined not to let her heart read more into the night than had honestly been there.

  She searched the room for her abandoned clothing, finding her undershirt draped over a lampshade and her panties tangled with the covers at the foot of the bed. Heat crept across her cheeks, and involuntarily she raised her hand to her face, reliving every moment of the night before.

  What the hell had she been thinking?

  She hadn't, of course, that was the point. She hadn't been thinking at all. With a sigh, she sank down on the bed, her bravado vanishing as quickly as it had come. She wasn't the type to sleep around. And certainly not with a colleague. And yet, here she was—sitting in a hotel room without a stitch of clothing after a night of.. .well, suffice it to say, great satisfaction.

  Sitting alone.

  That was the operative word, really, wasn't it? Despite the connection they'd had the night before, he hadn't seen fit to greet the day with her. Instead he'd left her here, on her own, making him no different than any other man in her life.

  With a sigh she pulled on her panties. She was back where she started. And if she lied to herself, she could accept the fact that it had been a great ride. But a part of her, a part she tried to keep sequestered, wanted more. Wanted last night to be about something beyond sex. Something spiritual as well as physical. Something romantic.

  But those kind of things only happened in movies, and she was an idiot to even give voice to the thought. Little-girl daydreams had no place in real life. Especially hers.

  She slipped on her camisole, and walked over to the chair by the window to retrieve the rest of her clothes. Her gun lay on the table, mocking her. Making all her fanciful thoughts seem shallow—ridiculous. There was no such thing as a soul mate, and just because Gabriel Roarke had made her come seven ways to Sunday didn't mean there was more to it than raw passion.

  She stepped into her pants, and was just zipping them up when a sound outside the bedroom made her freeze. She reached for her gun, and moved slowly toward the door, her caution probably unnecessary, but as automatic to her as breathing.

  The door slowly swung open, and Gabriel's smile faded to astonishment. "You going to shoot the waffles?"

  He held a tray and Madison immediately recognized the smell. Lowering the gun, she felt the rush of heat as emotion threatened to swamp her. His hair was wet, and he wore only his jeans, his feet bare.

  He hadn't left at all.

  Some investigator she was—jumping to conclusions without even checking the facts. "I guess I overreacted a little."

  The smile was back, this time with something she thought akin to tenderness. A lump rose in her throat, and she struggled to swallow, feeling all of about ten inches high, despite the fact that he was not even aware of her mistaken logic.

  "Occupational hazard." He shrugged, walking over to put the tray on the bedside table. Then in two strides he was beside her, his arms closing around her. "I didn't want to wake you. You seemed so peaceful." He said it with a note of longing in his voice, as if he hadn't slept like that before.

  "I was having good dreams." Her smile came of its own volition, her fingers stroking the unshaven stubble on his chin.

  "Funny," he said, his breath tickling her cheek, "I had really good dreams last night, too." His hands were stroking her back, sending little shivers of pleasure dancing through her. Whatever her feelings for the man, he certainly knew how to rev her engine.

  "I thought you were hungry." She wasn't sure what she'd meant by the comment, but it came out on a provocative note, his eyes darkening in response.

  "I am," he said, one hand moving lower, cupping her bottom, the other closing around her waist, pulling her so close their lips were only centimeters away. "Just not for waffles."

  She could smell the soap lingering on his skin, and she watched as a droplet of water fell from his hair to cling to his shoulder. Without thought for the consequences, she leaned forward and licked him dry, savoring the taste of his skin on her tongue.

  With a groan, he crushed his lips to hers, their shared passion igniting into full flame again. The kiss was as much a contest of wills as anything, each of them trying to find control, and each knowing it was a losing battle.

  Whatever it was between them, it couldn't be stopped. And suddenly Madison wasn't at all sure that she wanted to. He walked her backward toward the bed, each of them struggling to remove clothing without breaking contact, the effort making them both laugh.

  There was an ease present this morning that hadn't been there the night before. As if somehow they'd crossed a barrier, opening themselves to each other in ways neither would have thought possible.

  Madison pressed against him, reveling in the feel of his hard body next to hers, anxious to prove that the night hadn't been a fluke, that together they were better than apart. She fell back against the covers, pulling him with her, their lips still joined in an endless kiss that seemed to take and give and fill her all at once.

  She explored his body, memorizing every part of him. Delighting in the daylight and the new sensory experience of watching him respond. He had scars everywhere. Symbols of who he was—how he lived. Sh
e kissed each with a sort of reverence, wanting to know everything about him.

  He in his turn kissed her from head to toe, sucking and licking and tickling until she was writhing with need, all cognizant thought banished as she concentrated on the rising heat between her legs.

  With a swift thrust, he was inside her, and they were again one. Soaring together, reaching higher and higher, searching for release, craving it, yet cherishing the intensity of the ride. She bucked against him, wanting him deeper, wanting to lock them together, savor the moment, keep it as a treasure forever.

  And then the world splintered into a kaleidoscope of color. She heard him call her name, his voice hoarse with his frenzy, his body slamming into hers, the rhythm almost desperate.

  And for the first time in her life, Madison let go, surrendering herself completely to the moment and the man.

  The incessant melody of a cell phone pulled Gabriel out of his postcoital lethargy. Madison was draped across him, her legs tangled with his, their bodies still linked together despite being totally satiated. He hated to break contact, but whoever the hell was calling didn't seem to want to give up.

  He shot a look at the clock, surprised to see that it was almost noon. Not that he regretted a minute of his morning. He smiled at her, pushing the hair from her face, and she muttered something incoherent and turned in his arms, snuggling against him without waking.

  God, she was amazing. He felt stirrings below, and quickly put the kibosh on them. First things first. Sliding out from under her, he sat up, and searched the room for the offending phone, only to have Eine Kleine Nachtmusik joined by the William Tell Overture. He wasn't sure what either ring said about the owner, and quite frankly, with the current cacophony he wasn't up to trying to figure it out. More important to stop it.

  He reached Madison's phone first, and answered it with a terse hello, only to immediately wish he'd not picked it up at all. Philip Merrick was on the other end, and from the bated silence he was currently enduring, none too happy to have his daughter's phone answered by a man.