by Faith O'Shea
“I guess you do have to find a warmer temperature. How bad is it to play in the cold?”
“Worse for pitchers than for us. Reid’s been bitching about opening day. It’s a week earlier than usual but we make a West Coast swing first, so we won’t be back until April.”
“Is it tough being on the road?”
“Not so much at the beginning. We’re pumped, ready to go. I guess it’s like a kid who’s bored with summer and can’t wait to get back to school. It’s great at first. You’re with your teammates, playing the game, but it grinds after a while.”
“You play a lot of games.”
“We do.”
He hadn’t noticed the fire burning down until she got up to stoke it. He jumped up and took the poker out of her hand, gently moved the burning logs until another flame flickered.
“Is this a man’s job?”
She glanced up, and he read humor in her eyes.
He let the poker drop against the stone and took a step closer. Without thought, he reached behind her neck and pulled her closer, his lips hovering over hers. Her eyes were glowing, her cheeks flushed, and he couldn’t keep himself from kissing her. It was just like he remembered, better than he remembered and when she didn’t fight him, he pressed deeper. He felt her hand on his chest, creating tingles of another kind, and the sensation was numbing all good sense.
When he came up for breath, his whole body enflamed by that simple touch of lips on lips, she whispered, “Have you forgotten about your future bride?”
He’d had no thought other than her. There hadn’t been room for another woman, every sensation monopolized by her scent, the texture of her lips, the heat in her eyes. Becoming conscious of her stare, he said honestly, “I’ve forgotten my name at the moment.” He brushed his lips against her temple and whispered, “And where the woman doesn’t yet exist, I can do as I please.”
He felt her stiffen. “You can, but at my expense?”
His eyes closed, knowing she was right, knowing he should walk away, knowing he couldn’t. He couldn’t remember being this tight with need. Was it the thought of forbidden desire that prompted it? The way she fit against him, or the anticipation of what this primitive force could lead to?
He asked the only question he thought might tempt her to go beyond reason.
“Aren’t you curious?”
She was.
She’d never felt like this before, circuits exposed, like live wires ready for an electrical surge. Could she continue to ignore the growing coil of tension? Or her fascination with the man? Terry had suggested she give in to temptation. Even her mother had encouraged her. She’d know going in that he was already taken. The woman he had in mind for a wife might be faceless, but the image was there. The one he thought would suit him. It wouldn’t be anyone like her. She’d never be one of the beautiful people, not in looks or temperament. She’d never minded before, but now…
She met his eyes. They were dark with desire. He was offering her something she might never have again. Could she turn down the opportunity to experience the peak of pleasure? She was convinced she’d find it in his arms.
Giving in, knowing this would be a one-time experiment, she murmured, “I am.”
With her permission, he resettled his lips on hers, taking the kiss deeper. The provocative pressure of his mouth gave her the measure of wildness that she’d expected. It had ignited something at her core that she’d never known was there and there were the rumblings of a volcano, the hot lava of her blood coming to a boil from the heady sensation. He was making love to her mouth like a man hungry for what she could give him, greedy with need, kissing her as if to devour her very essence. With each turn of his head, each new angle from which he took, she became someone else. Gone was the reticence, the doubt, the fear and in its stead was a boldness she’d never given in to.
Impulsively, she threaded her fingers in his hair and gave back in equal measure, frantic for more.
He moaned, brushed his tongue against her lips before invading her mouth, tongues dancing, twisting, mating. She abandoned all thought, gave in to the tactile sensitivity of his touch, the vibration and pressure stimulating those neurons in the brain that responded to intimacy. They’d been just words until now, empty words without meaning. Now she knew what they meant. Her nerves were on fire, her breathing uneven, spirals of need tightening, coiling. This was something that couldn’t be analyzed, defined. It had to be felt to understand it completely.
His hands found her curves and his thumb brushed lightly against her nipple, and the fire banked further. She arched back involuntarily, and his mouth left hers in response. The ached at the absence of his lips was immediate. When he bent his head, gnawed at her protruding nub through her dress, she gasped as an electric current shot through her body. He ran his fingers up her thigh, her dress inching up along with them, until they pressed along the swell of her buttocks.
His voice was ragged when he said, “We have to get you out of these clothes.”
In one sweep, she was out of her dress.
The swells of her breasts spilled out and now it was his turn to gasp. She might be a scientist, with a serious exterior, but she compensated by wearing undergarments that were totally feminine. She never thought she’d be stripped down and examined the way he way he was studying her. It made her feel like she could inspire Michelangelo.
His finger was lightly tracing the cleavage, the valley between. “You call this a bra?”
It was sheer with bits of lace that barely covered her nipples.
She tingled at his touch and with a raspy breath said, “That’s how it was advertised.”
He bent his head and buried his nose in the overflow of skin, breathing her in.
“What other surprises do you have for me?”
His words were soft, buffeting her skin, raising a shiver.
In a voice that was not hers, with a daring she rarely felt, she whispered, “You’ll have to find that out for yourself.”
His eyes met hers, and she read a predatory hunger there. No one had ever looked at her that way before and it would have frightened her if she wasn’t so consumed by the heat of him.
She felt his fingers graze her waist, as he began to peel down the tights, slowly, torturously, as if he had all night to uncover the heart of her. What was left when they were off, was a thong that barely concealed her womanhood.
He groaned at the sight of her bare essentials.
“Fifi…you’re beautiful.”
And she almost believed him as his calloused hands stroked up her legs and came to a stop at the curve of her ass.
His touch was like streak lightening, creating fissures and quakes that were peaking. Orgasms were a rare commodity for her. Sex was something she’d tried on for size over the years, but she’d never felt this immediate kick. He was stoking something inside that was building too quickly and she wasn’t sure how long she could hold up under his ministrations.
With shaking fingers, she began to undo the buttons on his shirt, but she fumbled. As if losing patience, he pushed them aside and stripped himself down until he was standing naked in front of her. He reached for her again, swept her down to the carpet, the fire in the grate still spitting out sparks.
His nose was behind her ear, his kisses molten and deadly. With deft fingers, he unclasped her bra and began to knead and caress. The combination of tender and rough propelled her further toward the edge.
She watched his hands as they worked their magic, the intimacy of his possession stirring a fierce longing for_ she squeezed her eyes closed_ something she couldn’t have, not with him. This was a fantasy come to life but that’s all it was. She couldn’t afford to yearn for more than what this was, a one-night affair that had to stay emotion free.
When his mouth captured her nipple, she was dazed in pleasure, the kisses wet, his tongue lapping, his teeth nipping. The throb between her legs became a bolt of fire.
Her body arched, her thighs opening, al
most of their own volition.
“I can’t wait much longer.”
He grabbed for the packet he’d taken out of his pants pocket, ripped it open with his teeth, hurriedly fingered the condom on and straddled her, a skimpy piece of cloth the only thing between them.
In one deft movement he’d yanked it off, and then he was in her, in one thrust, his hands holding firmly to her buttocks. She spasmed, moist and ready for the onslaught, but he’d stilled on entering her. She squirmed beneath him, clutched at him, begging without words for him to do something, anything to release her from the agonizing torment.
He answered with a slow and torturous in and out motion. Her hips rocked in rhythm with his, with a frantic urgency. She was strung like a bow and quivered with tension until she felt the fissures expanding like pure white heat. There was a shock of pleasure when the climax commenced. She dug her nails into his shoulders as she convulsed, the orgasm washing over her in wave upon unending wave, making her scream out his name.
He issued a guttural expletive when his hard body heaved. Shudders racked him as he detonated, and she shook from the exertion of his release.
She’d totally come undone, never imagining sex could be like this. Explosive, passionate, all-consuming. She’d been left boneless, incapable of movement, her body soaked in sweat. When she felt a slick, wet tongue lap her face, she remembered where she was.
In a weak voice, Rique commanded, “Hoover, go lie down.”
She did, right beside where they lay.
“I forgot she was here.”
All time had stopped and the only thing she knew for sure was that Rique had just made love to her. She’d expected a quick fuck, but she should have known better. He was a womanizer and knew how to satisfy. What had he said about Brazilians? That they kissed for fun, and endearments were not to be taken seriously. Did they look the same way at coupling? Was it for the sheer pleasure of the moment? She’d known it was just a temporary diversion, that she was a curiosity he wanted unraveled. He’d certainly done that.
He kissed the tip of her nose and rose shakily to his feet so he could walk Hoover into her crate. The dog put her head on her paws, her look one of disappointment.
Fiona began to rise but he was back, compelling her into his arms and denying her an escape.
“Please. Don’t. Not yet.”
He’d shifted their bodies so they were lounging against the couch and he was cradling her in the crook of his arm.
“Leaving you took every ounce of will-power I had.” He kissed her bare shoulder. “I need a reward for my discipline.”
His sensual mouth had lifted into a lazy, beguiling smile. His eyes burned into her and she felt the flush of desire ripple through her once more.
“What did you have in mind?”
She almost didn’t recognize her voice, it was low and…seductive.
“This. Just to hold you. This is the reward.”
Did men delight in the afterglow? None of the ones she’d known had. Was this another of those Brazilian traits that he brought to the bedroom? If so, it was no wonder he was sought after.
She rested her head against his shoulder, letting herself relax. She’d take all the minutes he was willing to give her, knowing she would never find this kind of pleasure again.
They sat there, the quiet welcome after the flurry of feeling, and they watched the embers of the fire burn red and gray. The logs were long gone but she didn’t miss the heat, the warmth of his body more than enough to ward off any chill.
He pulled her legs over his so that she could sit in his lap, his arm never leaving her, his fingers gently tickling her skin along her rib cage. When she twitched, he chuckled. “You are ticklish. I love that in a woman. I can make you laugh at will.”
As if to prove it, he began to tickle her in earnest without ever changing the type of light touch that skimmed rather than poked. She was finding out her ticklish zone was also an erogenous zone. Instead of making her jumpy, it aroused. When the little ball of need burst to life at the pit of her stomach, she cupped his face, crushed her lips to his, and ground against him. His fingers stilled, and in one fluid motion, his light-hearted play turned amorous. The kiss he reciprocated with was raw and unapologetic.
“I can make you either laugh or love with one touch. It is good to know.”
The murmur was seductive, and she felt the flush of her body under his gaze. Their lovemaking was no less potent the second time, but more intimate. He’d kissed every inch of her body, brought her to the edge several times before bringing her back, exerting his power, proving his stamina, until they shattered together, her world exploding into a million pieces. She knew she’d never be the same again.
He lay spent, his arms refusing to budge, needing to feel her under him.
He’d never expected this, hadn’t guarded against it. She was his momentary pleasure before seeking monogamy. Would he ever be able to duplicate the sensations that were still coursing through him? Could he be content with anything less than what he’d found with her?
She was not who he was looking for. He wanted domesticity and he knew she’d never be content with being at home. Why should she be? She’d worked hard for what she’d earned, and no one had a right to ask her to give it all up. She couldn’t cook, she didn’t dress up, she hated small talk. He needed someone who would come to his games, watch him play, socialize with his team and their wives, significant others. And she wasn’t classically beautiful. He’d always envisioned a tall, dark woman at his side, one who others would envy, one who caused a stir. One who could set him afire with just a look. Fifi was pretty, her eyes the most compelling things about her. They were truly the window to who she was, her curiosity about the world so vivid, the gray shifting to pewter, to slate to dove with a flick of emotion. And she was smart. Smarter than him, smarter than most. How could she interact with the guys on the team whose sole ambition off the field was to talk baseball? It was a game to her, where it was their life.
You’re just overwhelmed by what you’re feeling right now. It won’t last.
But when Hoover whimpered like she did when she had to go out, and Fifi started to extricate herself from their embrace, he stalled.
“She can wait another minute.”
“She hasn’t been out since we got back.”
He glanced at the window. The sun was going down, and the room was becoming chilled.
He couldn’t believe they’d been caught up in each other all afternoon. He hadn’t wanted to be alone, and she’d obliged. In ways he could never have expected.
In his moment of contemplation, she scrambled up, grabbed her discarded clothes, and raced for the stairs. All he could do was follow her movement with his eyes until she was out of sight. He got up and got dressed, picked up the thong he’d ripped off, and pocketed it. Wanting a memento was a high school thing, but he felt like a school-boy. His heart still pounded, his blood still rushed, just like it had his first time. He’d been unprepared back then, as well. There’d been no description of the experience that had matched the full effect of entering a woman’s body, the arousing scent of her, the spike of heat, the all-consuming sensations that made his balls ache, his dick throb. Fifi had taken him back to that, and he couldn’t explain it, refused to admit the significance.
When she returned, she had on her faded jeans, bulky wool socks, and the sweatshirt he’d given her. And the need came barreling back with a vengeance.
She released Hoover from her crate and made her way to the slider. “Think about what you want for dinner. I’ll call for delivery as soon as I’m done out here.”
He wanted her for dinner. Breakfast and lunch. She was the appetizer, main course, and dessert. His lascivious thoughts stalled when he heard her cell ring and watched her answer it as she closed the door behind her.
Her phone rarely rang or pinged. She carried it with her, but it wasn’t her main source of communication. Did she have friends? He had to assume she did, although he�
�d never asked. She’d already met some of his, had provided supper for them, engaged in conversation. She’d been an exemplary hostess. Curious, listening, asking pertinent questions. She made them feel at ease and not once had she made them feel inferior with her intelligence. Neither Seb nor Mattie could possibly know what she did for a living. They hadn’t asked; she hadn’t volunteered.
When she slipped back inside, Hoover dancing around her legs, he was partially dressed. Her phone was not in evidence, so she must have wrapped up the call while she was outside. He studied her while she put her coat away, looking for some clue as to who had reached out on a late Saturday afternoon. She gave away nothing. He was going to have to ask if he wanted to know, but it was none of his business.
For some reason that irritated him.
“Did you decide what you want for dinner?”
Her question irked him further.
How could food be her primary concern? Hadn’t she felt the connection? The powerful way their bodies had come together? Now that her curiosity had been fed, was she putting it behind her like an experiment that didn’t need repetition, the procedure undertaken, having provided all necessary information in her quest for discovery? He was not going to let her push him aside that easily. He would be making a lifetime commitment soon and he was going to enjoy this for as long as he could.
Her cheeks were flushed from the cold, and her teeth were chattering. He took the two steps needed to embrace her, and he rubbed some warmth into her arms before kissing her. When she made a move to evade, he held her in place, kissed her temple.
“I think I will cook again.”
Her eyes widened in surprise and the look on her face was priceless. “Why?”
“You may not like to spend time in there, but I am finding it…satisfying. You stimulate my creativity.” His buried his chin in her neck. “You stimulate in other ways as well.”
She’d stiffened and he didn’t like it. He wanted her pliant, like she’d been when she was beneath him, warm instead of this cool aloofness.
“We have two more days before Izabella and Reid get back. Let’s pretend the world doesn’t exist until then, shall we?”
