“Come with me.” He found her hand, led her into the room, the furniture ghostly black against dark gray. A huge armoire, a table, the merest hint of light from around heavy curtains.
And a bed.
She followed him toward it, eager to disappear again into the passion.
He stopped next to the bed, drew her to him and kissed her lightly. “Tell me how to undress you.”
How? “Top to bottom?”
He chuckled. “I don’t know what you’re wearing.”
“Oh.” She smiled, feeling foolish. “Cardigan sweater, only one button done at the waist.”
His hands brushed over her stomach, making her fight not to sway toward him. He found the last button and took care of it, pushed the material slowly over her shoulders, left bare by her white linen top. He followed the line of her arms, pressing them behind her to slide the soft knit cotton off her wrists, so her body came flush against his large, warm one and her desire started heating to a serious simmer.
“Done.” He murmured the word into her hair, kissed her temple, her cheek, then finally and thrillingly her mouth, a long kiss that made her want him to take over completely.
All in good time. She shouldn’t rush what they had all night for.
“What’s next?” He spoke against her mouth, trailed his tongue lightly around her lips and kissed her again.
“Buttons…” The simmer was threatening full boil too quickly. “Down my front.”
He searched for them, hands brushing across her stomach and breasts. Krista bit her lip to keep from moaning. What had she said about all in good time? This slow pace was going to kill her.
The last button came undone, her top slid off. She stood in her bra and short skirt waiting impatiently for what came next. His hands landed at her waist, large and strong, his torso a black shape looming above her.
“Front closure or back?”
“Front.” And quickly.
He moved her forward again. His erection bulged from the front of his pants, and she pressed against it, pleased when his breath caught. She wasn’t the only one heating.
“Front closures defeat me.”
“Allow me.” She undid the catch and let the bra drop to the floor, feeling the cool air in the room brushing her breasts, loving the way their whispered words made the darkness even more private.
His hands moved up her waist, thumbs under her breasts, then stroking across the tips, hardening her nipples further. He bent and took one into his mouth, warm, perfect tongue strokes that set her into a rolling boil, nearly spilling over.
She had never, ever wanted a man inside her with the speed and intensity she wanted this one. Was it the darkness? Or was it the man?
He moved his talented mouth to her other breast, covering the first with his hand, keeping the air from chilling her skin, fingering her nipple.
“What’s next, Jane Doe?”
“John.” Her voice came out as hoarse and low as his. “You…I don’t want to wait.”
She barely sensed he’d moved before he was kissing her, fiery, openmouthed kisses that disoriented and dazed her. His hands stroked over her breasts again and again, he pushed one leg in between hers.
She moaned, rubbed herself shamelessly against him over and over, yanking up her skirt to rub closer, through the thin lace of her panties. She was crazy, animal, humping this muscular, sexual stranger in the dark, sucking his tongue in and out of her mouth, getting so close to coming she was nearly screaming with it already. One warm hand left her breast, traveled possessively down her back, over her lifted skirt and under her panties. One finger explored, firm pressure down the center line of her buttocks.
She gave a yelp of pleasure, bucked her hips, pushed across his thigh and let it all go crashing through her, rolling, wave after wave, until her knees buckled and she found herself grabbing at his back, trying to ride him even higher.
He growled something she didn’t understand, caught her up and dumped her on the bed. She heard him undoing his pants and knew he wasn’t going to want it slow either.
He didn’t. His pants went down, briefs followed, condom on. She was pretty sure he was still in his shoes.
He spread her wide, moved her panties aside and pushed inside with a groan of pleasure she echoed.
“Jane.” He held still. “I’ve wanted to be back here all week.”
“I’ve wanted you here, too,” she whispered.
He started to ride, hard, and she drew her knees up by her shoulders, welcoming his assault, tugging up his shirt to feel his skin on hers.
“I’m not going to last.” He pushed himself up on his forearms, slowed his rhythm for five seconds, then pushed harder again. “Not going to.”
“I don’t care.”
“I wanted to.” He spoke through clenched teeth, breath in tatters. “I wanted this to be slow…all night. But you are so…I can’t.”
“Don’t wait.” She pushed up against him. “Let go. Do it now.”
He lunged forward, joined his mouth to hers, and his body tensed, a deep moan came from his throat. He pushed, released, pushed, then his body gradually relaxed; he broke the long kiss into shorter, increasingly gentle ones, then pressed his cheek to hers and lay still.
She clutched the smooth, hard curves of his shoulders, eyes closed, memorizing the feel and smell and weight of his body, feeling that strange upwelling of emotion again—not happiness, not sadness, something in between, mixed and very confusing.
She’d never experienced such pure, perfect passion before. Not even close.
He lifted his head, lifted his body and pulled out of her. Stood and, she guessed by the thumps and swishes of cloth over skin, took off his shoes and pants. She sure as hell hoped he hadn’t been putting them back on.
“Be right back.”
His silhouette walked across the floor and into the bathroom. The room was silent and strange without him. She moved into the middle of the bed, not sure if she should put clothes back on, take the rest off, stay on top of the bed, move under the covers….
What was going to happen now?
They’d gone at it so fast and furiously, so soon. In the cabin they’d slept between bouts. But what did you do during waking hours with a faceless fantasy in the dark?
He came back into the room, approached the bed, his footsteps light and even in spite of his size. She tensed, feeling awkward, uncertain. Not a familiar or comfortable feeling. Should she offer to leave?
His weight sagged the mattress to her left. “Hey, where are you?”
“Right here.”
He slid next to her and caressed her, stomach, breasts, shoulders, his hands warming her rapidly cooling skin. She touched his waist to find him naked and smiled. What had she been thinking, that he’d toss her out—slam, bam, thank you, ma’am?
“What’s this?” He tugged the waistband of her skirt. “Off.”
She laughed and pulled off the skirt, tossed it onto the floor. “Better?”
“Yes.” His hand traveled downward, tugged on the elastic of her panties. “Excuse me?”
Krista giggled and pulled off her panties, too. “Okay now?”
“Perfect.” He swept his hand over her, stopping to circle his palm lightly over her sex. “You cold? Your skin is chilly.”
“A little.”
“Here.” He moved up, pulled down the blankets and crawled under with her, pulled her close and let out a deep sigh. “Nice.”
“Yes.” She closed her eyes and tried to relax, but the silence felt strained and her mind had started running off with a million journalistic questions she wasn’t allowed to ask.
“What is it, Jane Doe?”
“What?” She turned instinctively to see his expression and rolled her eyes. See what?
“You’re tense as a board. What is it?”
“No, no, I’m fine.” She willed every muscle in her body to relax further. How the hell could he tell?
“You’re lying.” He found the back
of her head and brought her face close to his, kissed her—missing her mouth at first, then finding it—long, lazy kisses that made her wish he’d take up residence in her bedroom and come to her every night after lights-out. “Tell me what’s bugging you.”
“I’m…” She hadn’t a clue where to start, how to begin and even if she knew what was wrong. Whereas in the cabin being with him had felt so complete, now there seemed to be some tiny empty corner that needed filling.
She wanted something, she wanted more of him, but not physically, she wanted…
She wanted to know more about him.
But questions would lead to answers, which would lead to a better understanding of who he was and why he wanted her this way, and that could entirely spoil the magic between them.
And yet…the hopeless, eternally optimistic romantic in her wanted to know more anyway. Maybe it wouldn’t spoil the magic but make it stronger.
Why was their chemistry so powerful? Who was he? Why the dark? Why a hotel? Why did he want this kind of relationship? Did he think he’d ever want to see her face? Did he—
“Why am I keeping you in the dark?”
Her mouth dropped open. He read minds as well as he read bodies. “Yes. Only I’m not sure I want to know.”
“Why?” He rolled onto his back and edged closer again.
“I’m afraid…that knowing too much will spoil it, will spoil this.” She turned onto her side, tangled her top leg with his, stroked the coarse hair on his chest. “I mean…maybe it would.”
“It’s not very complicated.”
“No?” Her hand stilled. Being married was complicated. Wasn’t it?
“I’m a guy, everything is simple to us.” He put his hand over hers and squeezed. “You ready? A dose of guy philosophy?”
“I guess so.”
“Here it is.” He cleared his throat. “It worked last time, why break it?”
She burst out laughing, and for some reason all the awkwardness disappeared. “You’re not married.”
“No, ma’am. Never have been. Are you?”
Her breath rushed out in relief. “No, I’m not, not ever. Girlfriend?”
“Negative. Boyfriend?”
“No way. Age?”
“Thirty-six. You?”
“Thirty-two.”
“Okay, well that about wraps up the exchange of non-identifying information.”
She laughed again. “I guess it does. Back to sex?”
“Too soon for me, I’m embarrassed to admit.” He kissed her and started stroking her shoulder. “Tell me more. Are you happy?”
“Right now?”
“In your life. Would you consider yourself a happy and fulfilled person?”
“Does anyone? Do you?”
“In a lot of ways, yes. Certainly at the moment I would say happy and fulfilled top the list.”
She laughed, and her laugh turned to a silly girlie squeal as he dragged her over his body so she was lying on top of him.
“But in some ways you’re not happy?” She laid her head on his chest, loving his arms around her, listening to the thud of his heart, hanging on to every delicious sensation of being protected and adored—even in only a carnal sense.
“Work can be…prisonlike.”
“What do you do—oops.” She slapped her hand over her mouth.
His low chuckle vibrated through her body. “It’s very corporate. Very busy. Very pressured. And until recently, not a single opportunity for amazing sex with passionate women in the dark.”
“No way!”
“I’m serious.”
“So quit.”
He sighed. “It’s not that easy.”
“You’re supporting three ex-wives and seven love children around the globe?”
“Eight, how did you know?”
She smiled and gave his neck a gentle bite. “Tell me more.”
“Not much to tell.” He squeezed her shoulder, then stroked up and down her upper arm. “I can’t leave the job, at least right now.”
“What would you do if you could?”
His hand on her arm slowed, stopped. She found herself eager for the answer, hoping he wouldn’t gloss over it or joke.
“I did a lot of traveling for a year or so after grad school. It wasn’t supposed to be for that long, but I got the bug. I had the money and a car and I just went. Landed places, worked for a while, then moved on.”
She listened, imagining him picking his words carefully so as not to reveal too much, enthralled and excited that he even wanted to share this with her.
“I grew up in a strange situation. Not damaging so much as…not usual. I wanted to get out there and find out how most of the world lives.”
“Did you?”
“No. I mean not really. You can’t really experience other people’s lives when you have your own to live. But I saw a lot of interesting places and people.”
“Tell me.”
His hand moved to her hair; obviously he loved to touch, and of course she ate it up.
“In New Mexico I met a woman who lived in a tiny house outside Santa Fe with a view of mountains and desert. She made batik scarves sold in fancy catalogs. Beautiful scarves. Her house smelled of wax, and there were pieces of silk in various stages of completion all over the walls and counters. She lived alone there. I don’t think she had much other income. She could walk outside and pick Red Delicious apples from an abandoned orchard.”
He picked up a lock of her hair, tugged it and let it drop. Krista barely dared to breathe. As he spoke, she felt something shift inside her. Something about the poetry of his words, the images he painted…this man was more than a talented erection. “Go on.”
“She showed me the catalog that sold her accessories. High-quality glossy pictures, full of all these luxury items for office and home and garden, accessories and gizmos no one could possibly need, and there were her scarves among them. Such a story behind them, that tiny little house, and who would ever stop to think of it or of this woman scratching out her living in the middle of a beautiful desert?”
“No one.” By now Krista’s heart was pounding. He might as well be dictating her next Get Real article for her. This was where she lived, down to her soul. “Tell me about more people you met.”
“Let’s see. I met a grandmother who ran a bakery in Geraldine, Montana. She made the best blackberry pie I have ever tasted. Her kids and grandkids were after her to sell the recipe or set up a shop, but she refused. She said the recipe was going to die with her because it was God’s gift and she wasn’t letting anyone else abuse it or profit from it. I stayed there a week, even though I was headed for Seattle. Probably gained five pounds.”
Krista tried to laugh but barely made it. She was loving this. She could lie there on top of his warm, extremely gorgeous body and listen to stories like this all night long. “Where did you stay longest?”
“In Maine. I met a man named Hank, a retired lobsterman and widower, way up north in Washington County, a little town called Harrington. I was on my way to Campobello Island and stopped there for dinner. Met this guy at a bean supper and he offered to put me up. I ended up staying all summer, helping him fix up his house, doing a few jobs he couldn’t do anymore. He told me how the town had been starved by a highway bypass. How much lobster fishing had changed since he taught his sons.”
“I bet.” She drank in the words, still trying to wrap her brain around what she was hearing. Most guys talked with this kind of reverence only about motorcycles or baseball or Angelina Jolie. “Tell me more about him.”
“I’m talking too much.”
“No, I want to hear it.”
“Then it’s your turn.”
“Okay.” She kissed his firm, smooth shoulder. “Go on. Tell me about Hank.”
“Well…” He tucked his free hand under his head and she sensed he was gathering memories, trying to form a coherent way to describe them. “He’d seen about zero of the world, but he had this peacefulness about h
im. He wasn’t passive, but it seemed to me he’d mastered Zen without consciously trying or even knowing what it was. Crotchety bastard sometimes, but deep down one of the most contented people I’ve ever met. He read everything. Knew everything. He probably could have done my job better than I could. He knew people, understood them. I felt like I’d stumbled over a spiritual teacher where I least expected to find one.”
“Where would you most expect to find one?”
“Good question.”
“Not in your parents or in church?”
“No.”
His abrupt tone put up an effective Dead End sign Krista respected. “Are you still in touch with Hank?”
“I tried to contact him a few months ago and found out he’d died.”
“I’m sorry.” Her heart squeezed when it had no business squeezing.
“It was okay.” She felt him shrug. “I’d moved on to another life. He had, too. He was ready.”
Krista lay on his chest, moving her hands over his shoulders. The silence between them wasn’t awkward anymore. She’d never heard a man talk so passionately and sensitively and openly. Not that she thought men weren’t capable, just that somehow she never hooked up with that kind of guy. Maybe Lucy was right that she’d always hunted the wrong type of animal. Or maybe because her father had never got much beyond, “Is your homework done?” and “How about those Red Sox?”
“You miss that life.”
“In a lot of ways, yes. It was damn fun. Varied, interesting, challenging and enriching.”
“So why go corporate?”
“Duty called.” His voice became closed, short, the way it had when she’d asked him about his parents. “So tell me about your work.”
“I love what I do.”
“Lucky.”
“I know. I can work at home, at my own pace. Unfortunately I’m my own boss—and I’m a bitch of one.”
“Yeah?” He stirred under her.
“Am I too heavy?”
“No. I just got a totally sexy image of you as a bad blond bitch.”
Krista frowned. “How did you know I’m blond?”
“I didn’t, Jane Doe, but I guess I do now.”
“I guess.” Relief. She couldn’t bear for him to be a creepy stalker now. “So that narrows me down to one out of—what—every five, six, seven women?”
All I Want… Page 10
