by Kylie Brant
His palm slipped inside her loose top, fingers tracing each individual vertebra of her spine as he smoothed his mouth along her jawline, nipped at her chin. His lips hovered above hers for a moment, long enough for their breath to mingle. Long enough for her to inhale his scent in greedy anticipation. And then his mouth came down on hers and the floor rocked a bit beneath her feet.
He packed a wallop, she thought dimly, senses drowning beneath the sensual onslaught. Need jittered inside her and her mouth returned the pressure of his, opening beneath his demand.
And that wanting didn’t frighten her, not now. Because she wouldn’t be here long enough for regrets to surface. She’d be gone before those complications could take shape.
If that thought brought a pang, it was also accompanied by a feeling of freedom. She could forget reservations and focus only on the hunger that was melting her system like overwarmed chocolate.
His tongue slicked along the surface of hers before flicking the sensitive roof of her mouth and drawing a shudder. The taste of him was simmering heat and dark promise. But she sensed restraint as well and wondered at it. Jack Langley wasn’t a careful man. She knew that intuitively. He was wild and a little reckless, and she was honest enough to admit those qualities appealed. They mirrored her own.
She twined her arms around his neck and went on tiptoe, pressing her body more tightly against his, wondering just what it would take to slip the leash of his control. Her clothes hadn’t been chosen with seduction in mind. The shower had wiped her face clean of the makeup Jolie had brought to the hospital along with her clothes.
If it weren’t for the distinctive hardness prodding her belly, she’d believe he was disinterested. So it must be his misplaced concern that was holding him back. Keeping the demand in check and leaving her feeling slightly bereft.
And knowing he was the type of man who’d step back despite his own raging hormones revealed yet another layer, hinted at a depth she would have doubted the first time she met him.
Taking his bottom lip in her teeth, Lindsay scored it, not quite gently. A man like this could be dangerous, in more than the usual way. A man like this could be difficult to walk away from.
So she would run instead. The way she’d been running for the last thirty-eight months.
She eased back, opened her eyes, nearly lost her nerve. The control Jack was harnessing so tightly was visible in his expression. There was a primitive cast there, a grim resolve in his eyes that spoke of a man battling between nobility and emotion. To tip the scales, Lindsay grasped the bottom of her T-shirt and hauled it up over her head to drop it, forgotten, to the floor.
The leap of desire she saw on his face fanned her excitement and put to rest any lingering doubts she had about how this encounter would end. If Jack Langley was waging an inner war, nobility didn’t appear to be winning.
His hands held an edge of roughness when he pulled her closer, and the evidence of his fraying control brought a jolt of sensual pleasure. “Chaste as a nun on the outside,” he murmured, one long finger tracing the edge of the white lace bra where it skimmed the top of her breasts. “And all sorts of sexy surprises underneath.” With his other hand he stroked the tiny hoop she had in her belly button. “Which is the real you, I wonder?”
His words had caution rearing belatedly, but it was dimmed when he hooked a finger in the elastic waist of her bottoms and tugged them down her hips. And the sudden savage hunger in his expression wiped her mind clean.
Jack leaned his forehead against hers for a moment, fought for control. She was a study in contrasts, the casual, careless attire covering lingerie fashioned to drive men wild. And somewhere in the recesses of his mind he realized the contrast was deliberate. He’d recognized she was a woman of secrets.
But the ones he wanted to bare right now were all too basic.
The scrap of matching lace panties were cut high on her sleek thighs, and he swept his hand up that satiny expanse to cup her bottom, to pull her more tightly against him. To hell with chivalry. It had never worn comfortably on him at any rate.
His mouth lowered to hers, all hint of gentleness gone. His kiss demanded more, and then more still. She wasn’t a woman to give up her secrets readily, but he’d have no pretension between them now. In this area, at least, Lindsay would be totally honest. Emotionally. Physically.
His palm skated upward, fingers lingering on that spot on her shoulder blade where he’d find the tattoo he’d once gotten a glimpse of. He’d explore that, too. Along with every other exquisite inch of her. Places that made her sigh. Those that made her moan. He’d sample every soft and sleek spot of her and drive them both a little mad in the process.
He dispensed with the back latch of her bra with a twist of his fingers and drew a shuddering breath. He released her lips to lean back, as he dragged the straps down her arms.
And when the fabric peeled away to reveal the mounds of her high firm breasts, a hot fist of need clenched in his belly.
Her nipples were taut knots that begged for his lips. And the taste of her, when he bent his head to take one in his mouth, screamed through his system like a rocket.
He feasted on her, his free hand kneading her other breast while he sucked deeply from its twin. The little sounds coming from the back of her throat torched his passion, shredded any thought of going slow. As the sensations washed over him, taste and scent and sound, the world receded to hold only the two of them.
A woman like this could be addictive. One who could work her way into his system and have his blood chugging like a racehorse. She affected him with the speed and strength of a narcotic and was just as intoxicating.
Her fingers were unsteady on the buttons of his shirt, and masculine satisfaction flickered at the sign of her response. He lowered his hand and brushed the mound between her thighs, felt her jerk helplessly against him.
And then his shirt was unfastened and her hands were streaking over his chest, down his sides, on a tactile journey of discovery. Reluctantly, he released her nipple, but his hand never left her femininity, rubbing and circling gently until the fabric separating his fingers from her sleek softness dampened against his hand.
Her voice, when it came, sounded a bit frantic. “Take off your clothes.” It was a demand, made more so by her attempts to tug his shirt from his shoulders, down his arms.
Nuzzling the base of her throat, he inhaled the scent there, and it sped to his pulse like a shot of tequila. “What’s your hurry?” He kissed her then, all the demand coiling in his system impossible to hide, and gathered her closer so her nipples stabbed at his chest. And his hand continued to work her as his lips ate at her mouth in a frenzy of need.
He had a dim thought that a woman like Lindsay would seek to hold something back; she wouldn’t give freely and she wouldn’t give all. Mysteries deeply buried would be protected. But he’d have this. Every tremor, every shudder to her body. Each helpless moan and sigh. And he told himself that could be enough.
When he finally released her to step a few inches away, she used the small distance to rid him of the shirt. And then she seemed to go boneless when he dragged the panties down her legs and pressed his mouth to where she was wet, aching. Inviting.
Lindsay jerked against his mouth, unable to do anything other than feel. Mindlessly, her head lolled back, her fingers reached up to twine in Jack’s hair to press him even closer. Her breath caught on a sob as his tongue tortured that taut bundle of nerves between her legs, and every ounce of strength leached from her limbs. Individual sensation careened and collided within her until all she could do was be and feel. And when he slipped one long finger inside her, she exploded into a thousand jagged shards of light.
She was faintly aware of the breath sawing in and out of his lungs, of being scooped off her feet and floated across the room. But then she felt the bed at her back, felt the mattress of the daybed sag beneath his weight. Excitement streamed through her again, a hard pull of renewed desire.
She rose t
o a sitting position and pressed herself against that broad expanse of back, the muscles sleekly jumping and working against her lips as he pulled off his boots. Sliding her hands down his arms, she curled her fingers testingly over the taut biceps, felt him quiver beneath her touch. She slid her palms over hot bare masculine skin, exploring hard angles and bone and sinew as pleasure quickened inside her.
When he turned, her hands were impatient, battling with his as she unfastened his pants. But when he dropped his hands, allowing her free rein, her touch slowed, grew teasing.
Hunger was already reigniting inside her, a thousand little pinpricks of pleasure humming to life again. But this time he’d join her in that intimate explosion. She’d demand his total surrender the same way he had demanded hers.
With excruciating slowness she worked the tab over the hard ridge of his arousal behind the zipper. She heard his strangled breath and risked a sly glance up at him. What she saw had the oxygen abruptly seeping from her lungs. His eyes were slitted. Sweat sheened his forehead. And the arousal on his face called a like emotion from her, flame leaping to meet flame until she shuddered with the longing to dive into that fire once more.
His hands took over for hers and shoved his jeans and briefs down, freeing his sex, which sprang forth, huge and hard and rigid. Lindsay took his length in both hands and lowered her mouth to lick the drop of pearly liquid from the tip. And when she took him in her mouth, his ragged groan torched something deep inside her.
His fingers were tight in her hair, her name a ragged groan on his lips. Until finally, with actions tight with tension, he freed himself and joined her on the bed.
A leap of wildness sprang forth at the expression on Jack’s face. Primal savage desire. And in this, she could be completely open. Completely honest. Because the ferocity of his hunger mirrored her own. And the evidence of it called forth every wild and reckless part of her that she had fought so hard and so long to suppress.
But she could indulge it now, with him. And the sensual freedom of that was heady.
With quick, desperate movements he sheathed himself with a condom. Then his mouth covered hers again, hot and urgent. His hands, when they skated over her, were just shy of rough.
The daybed shrank as Jack’s large frame joined her on it. And when they pressed together, flesh to flesh, every nerve in her system flared to sharp, edgy life. Her neck arched beneath his questing mouth as he spread tiny stinging kisses along the sensitive chord there. And she realized, with a mournful tug from deep inside her, that this man was going to be far more difficult to walk away from than she’d led herself to believe.
Jack felt the change in her as her body melted against his, her touch slowing, as if she were a woman determined to sample a banquet destined to disappear. But the need inside him wouldn’t allow him to slow. Wouldn’t let her fade back from the sharp-edged precipice. He turned her over so he could trace that delicate butterfly with his lips as he kneaded the full, round globes of her bottom.
And he tasted. The sweet curve of her breast, the sleek slope of her arm. The narrow shoulders and surprisingly delicate vertebrae punctuating the long sleek back. Hands stroking and teasing, until she rolled to her side and her mouth to his, sealing her body against his.
Her hands as they raced over him were just shy of frantic. She touched him where he was hard and aching with deft, devastating strokes until he drew her hand away and loomed over her.
His blood was raging like a firestorm, embers of desire singeing him from the inside out. But still he lingered, even as his mind fogged and his vision hazed.
Nibbling at her breast, he sent a finger inside her, held it there, to savor the sexy little tremors that raced through her. And when he moved over her, slipped inside her with one smooth stroke, their moans mingled.
She was tight as a fist as she pulsed around him, and desire pounded through him, raging for release. Her legs climbed his waist, locking him to her in a gut-wrenchingly sexy prison. Jack stopped a moment to haul in a breath, struggling for his shredding restraint. But then she bucked beneath him, embedding him deeply inside her, and abruptly his control shattered.
He thrust into her, a wild, savage lunge, and she met the motion, increased the pace. Flesh slapped against flesh, and the frenetic ride to completion became the focus. His hands slipped under her butt to lift her, to seat himself inside her more fully.
Sensation chased sensation as their hips pistoned, bodies straining together. The sting of her nails, her short, harsh pants in his ear beckoned him like a siren’s song.
He tried to drag his eyes open, to focus on her face, but everything was blurred as he lunged into her over and over again. He felt her crest beneath him, felt her inner walls milking him. Her orgasm signaled his own, and with one more wild lunge he followed her over the edge into a free fall of pleasure.
Her heart rate had slowed. Her breathing steadied. But the stillness of her form, still curled up against his side, was all nerves. Jack recognized it and knew better than to comment on it, so he did what he could to calm her. “Tell me something I don’t know about you.”
What the hell? Where had that come from? He frowned, shifting position, uncomfortable. He’d never had much patience for idle chatter after sex. Not when it was much more pleasurable to channel that energy into round two.
“That’s wide open. You don’t know anything about me.”
“Not true.” He settled her head more comfortably into the notch of his shoulder, skated a hand down her back and up again. Lingered on the tattoo on one smooth shoulder. “I know you had a misspent youth.” She seemed to stop breathing for a moment. “Bet you ran off and got this tattoo and pierced your belly button to piss off your parents. Probably hooked school to do it, too.”
He felt her lungs expand again. “You don’t know as much as you think. I was done with school and no longer living at home when I got both.” Her voice turned amused. “And you call yourself a detective.”
Jack could feel the tension ease from her body at the lighthearted exchange. “Let’s see what else my renowned deductive skills can come up with.” His hand wandered over her hip, lingered on her inner thigh. “I know you’re a natural redhead.” She made a rude sound, and something lightened inside him. With the back of his hand, he brushed lightly at the auburn curls between her legs. “And I know you’re traveling fast and light for a reason. Maybe it’s a man. Maybe some other sort of trouble. But I could help. If you’d let me.”
This time there was no mistaking her response. A chill chased over her skin. And noting it, he wasn’t fooled by the light tone she managed. “Struck out again, Langley. But don’t worry. I won’t tell your captain you’re losing your touch.”
She pressed him back and settled herself on top of him, propped up on her forearms. “Since you’re not doing so hot on your own, I’ll tell you something you would never guess.”
Something quickened in his chest. His arms came up to link around her waist. “Shoot.”
“I’m a master whistler. Through my thumbs, both index fingers, thumb and forefinger…I can even whistle with my toes. Although you’ll have to take my word for that one, because my mom convinced me when I was twelve that it wasn’t ladylike.”
“Maybe not, but it’s definitely intriguing.” Ridiculous to feel let down by her revelation. And stupid to admit he’d been waiting for something more. Something she’d give freely that had nothing to do with desire, and everything to do with a modicum of trust.
And that was just humiliating. If he didn’t watch himself he’d be turning into a damn woman with all these notions of sharing, and then where the hell would he be? Well, on his back, actually, because if he were a woman he’d have sex all the time, just because he could, but that wasn’t the point. The point was Lindsay didn’t trust him. Not enough to tell him whatever the hell she was running from. And though everything inside him wanted to push, he held back. He’d conducted enough interviews to know when confidences couldn’t be rushed. You
coaxed the secrets out, built up rapport. It’d obviously take more time to do the same with Lindsay.
“How about you? Any hidden talents you want to brag about?”
“If you still have to ask…” He jumped a little when she plucked at his chest hair, a little harder than necessary. He’d forgotten about that mean streak of hers. “All right, hold on.” In the interest of self-preservation, he covered her hands with one of his. “We’d have been a pair at twelve because I believe it was about that time I’d perfected the art of belching the entire chorus of ‘Happy Birthday.’”
A helpless laugh escaped her, and he smiled. “Since I don’t want you to think I was completely without charm, I’d like to add that two years later my claim to fame was being named most valuable player when I competed in the junior hockey league.”
“Hockey?” She eyed him suspiciously. “In California?”
He shifted, settling her more comfortably. Maybe this talking after sex thing wasn’t so bad. He did, after all, have Lindsay stretched out on top of him. Naked. “We have indoor rinks here, too. Got a full ride later to USC. I was good at skating and I liked to knock people down. Seemed like a calling.”
“Hockey.” She sounded bemused and he was oddly pleased that he’d managed to surprise her.
“Speaking of claims to fame.” He leaned forward to nip her bottom lip, not quite gently. “I’m sort of surprised you haven’t had reporters camped out on your doorstep already. I doubt you can count on that luck holding. You might want to hang out at Jolie and Dace’s for a while. Unless I can convince you to stay at my place. My motives, of course, would be completely pure.”
That stillness came over her again. He could feel the tension shooting into her muscles. “Reporters?”
Smoothing her hair back from her face, he studied her without seeming to. “You’re the woman of the hour. Those heroics of yours? Splashed all over the media. Radio, TV, newspapers.” He’d chased more than one reporter away from her hospital room that first night, before having a little talk with the hospital security. Must’ve done some good, because apparently her address hadn’t been leaked yet.
