Blush

by Suzanne Forster

  After all those years in the city, her nervous system had probably acclimated itself to noxious smog and exhaust fumes, and she was suffering withdrawal. Could be nail polish fumes for that matter. She'd been twenty-four hours now without a manicure. She was overdue for a facial, too. Her pores would be oozing effluvia. By the time she got back they could probably lube a car with the oil from her pores!

  "Anything wrong back there?" he asked.

  "Just checking for cellulite. You're fine. "

  He glanced over his shoulder at her, and she held up the soap as proof of her serious intent. Cradling the bar under the spray, she began to work it between her palms, building a mountainous pyramid of bubbles. Her earnest smile assured him she was doing his bidding and being a good little geisha. And the silly sap, he bought it!

  He frowned and reassumed the position.

  His neck and shoulders seemed the likely place to start, and to Gus's surprise they were far less granitelike than they appeared. She found herself responding to the suppleness instinctively and increasing the pressure as she lathered his skin. Her thumbs dug into the crevice between his shoulder blades and her fingertips swirled in firm semicircles.

  "God, that feels good, " he said, arching his back.

  Latent power rippled up and down his spine in a frightening chain reaction. Some muscles tightened while others relaxed, but the way everything flowed in a stream under her hands made her feel odd inside, loose and hollow. Other than the bullet holes, he was close to perfect, she had to admit, and she'd seen enough perfection to know. His torturous encounters with roof beams might be painful, but they had paid off in raw-boned brawn.

  She soaped to her heart's content, creating bubbly patterns across the width and down the length of him, hesitating only when she reached the small of his back where the dip in his spine flared out to the high, taut curves of his buttocks and a dimple-like groove in his right cheek.

  "Don't stop now," he said. "I'm dirty down there, too. "

  "I'll bet you are," she murmured.

  On a slow breath she let her hands slide out to his hips, impressed with how lean and narrowly set they were, yet buttressed with bone. His muscles had a springy resilience that her massage couldn't penetrate. Tight asses, she thought with some resentment. Men were born with them, lucky dogs.

  As her hands crept down gingerly, flirting with his derriere, her stomach clinched tighter and tighter. Deep muscles shivered, sending her an odd little thrill. She almost pulled back. If she hadn't wanted to attract his attention, she would have.

  The intimate contact set off another chain reaction. This one was mental, but no less uncontrollable. She was flooded with questions about him. What was happening front and center? she wondered. She was getting rather aroused. Was he? Could he get more aroused than he already was? And more to the point, what was Mr. Quiet-but-Deadly like in bed?

  The mere thought made her feel fuzzy and light-headed, especially since it triggered fantasies that were astonishingly graphic. Given the way he drove a car, she would have guessed him to be swift, rough, and passionate. She was sure he was very capable of some incredibly primitive sex, but he didn't seem in any hurry now.

  She stopped soaping long enough to let the spray do its work. Water streamed over his back in a gentle rush, carrying the suds away and leaving him gleaming and gorgeous. Sheened by sunlight, his flanks appeared to ripple like an animal's. God, he was so delicious she wanted to bite him. Her sudden desire to do that was sharp and visceral. She could almost taste him in her mouth. Her jaw went slack. Her heart began to clang frantically, and she bent toward him, salivating.

  Gus! Be serious. You can't!

  She caught herself and swayed dizzily, wanting to laugh. A sound slipped out. Quiet and choked, it was the groan of a woman overcome by an outrageous impulse, an impossible urge, a woman bent on something suicidal. Perspiration chilled the back of her neck, and her tongue darted to the corner or her mouth. Her throat felt full and hot, like a vampire's. No, she couldn't—

  She couldn't!

  The shower head began to sputter, apparently choked with air bubbles. Somewhere along the roof, pipes rattled and sneezed.

  Jack propped his hand against the wall in front of him, wondering why she'd stopped. Water streamed over him, rinsing him clean. "Gus?"

  The only answer he got was a strangled gurgle.

  He was about to turn when a sharp stab of pain caught him from the rear. "Ouch!" He clamped a hand to his butt and twisted around. What the hell had she done? Pinched him?

  She looked as shocked as he undoubtedly did, her eyes wide and sparkling, her hand pressed to her mouth. If he didn't know better, he might have thought she—

  He lifted his hand and saw the hot, red circle on his abused flesh. Teeth marks? "You bit me?"

  "No! I know that's what it looks like, but—" She began to laugh helplessly and shake her head, her whole body quivering with some trembling inner ecstasy. "It was just a tiny little thing, a nip. I couldn't help myself. "

  "Holy— You bit me!"

  She gasped and sighed, falling against the wall for support. "I don't know what came over me. I—"

  She was totally out of control, and it was the sexiest damn thing Jack had ever seen. He rubbed his butt and stared at her, trying to figure out what the hell to do with her—besides muzzle her, lower her into the pit, and leave her there for the rattlers. The woman was completely whacked out and totally deserving of her reputation. He should get hazard pay for this detail.

  "Fair's fair," she got out between shudders. She turned to the wall and offered him her pink, water-slicked derriere. "Bite me back."

  Jack found it difficult to breathe, his gut was so fucking tight. He wanted to oblige her so badly his jaws ached.

  Between that and his stinging backside, he was ready to eat her alive. "Don't move, I'm sharpening my teeth. "

  Truth was he'd been regretting the decision to get naked with Gus Featherstone from the moment he stepped into the shower. If he'd had to fall off the wagon, he should have done it with the six-pack instead of the woman. A beer would have been safe compared to this, because his need to drink was simple. His need for her was unbelievably complex. It was sexual, but it wasn't just physical. He couldn't get that kind of satisfaction with her. He hadn't come with a woman in years, not since the tragedy with his wife and kid. He'd had sex, lots of it before he began to question the point, but all he'd contributed to each furtive encounter was the thrusting and the sucking and the sweating. He'd withheld even the release a woman could give him because he couldn't give up the control, not even that much. It was holding him together, the control. It was his armor.

  Eventually he'd begun to realize that he didn't have the choice anymore. His body had taken over. It would let him fuck, but that was it, no release, no relief, nothing unless he did it himself. It was the ultimate protection against vulnerability, he supposed. But it was damn empty.

  What he needed now, what he craved from Gus Featherstone was her inner warmth, her female essence. He wanted to know her baby soft skin, her mysterious heat, the curve of her body, the crazy grace of her heart. He hungered for the taste of lips that stumbled over words and sometimes couldn't get them out right. He wanted to know what frightened her, besides his "friend. " And yes, he wanted to bite her delicious ass. Christ! Even just to cup her in his palms would give him such unbelievable pleasure. But if he let himself have all of that, or any of it, he might never be able to go back to what he had now, which was nothing. If he had a taste, he would remember what he was missing.

  He would die from the starvation.

  She glanced over her shoulder at him, clearly curious about his intentions. He was down to two choices. He could walk out now and pay the price of denying himself. Or he could stay and get to know the real Gus Featherstone, the woman who'd won awards for her butt and was probably as terrified of intimacy as she was of snakes. Either way he would pay.

  The pipes rattled above them, and wat
er danced on her shuddering body... her beautiful, naked, shuddering body. Just looking at her made him want to tear the place apart.

  Hell, she was making up the rules as she went along.

  He would, too.

  Chapter 9

  Gus didn't know anything about rules. She only knew that desire was flaring up inside her at the mere sight of him. The moment he'd turned, the moment she'd seen the stab of need in his eyes she'd been reduced to a single violent heartbeat. Now her heart was storming in her ears, drowning out every other concern. She'd sensed something hidden and hurt in him from the first, but her intuition had told her not to trust it. She had to now. Even if the diamond-hard glint she saw was what made him dangerous, she still couldn't deny its impact. That was the part of him that spoke to her... needed her.

  Her sigh was anguished. What was happening to her?

  The weakness struck first at the back of her knees. It felt as if all the cartilage in her legs, all the glue that held her together, was dissolving. The feeling that fluttered up and down her body was sweet, utter helplessness. It was one of the most riveting things she'd ever experienced, and she hated it. Vulnerability was her enemy. She had fought against it her whole life, and if this was what she had to look forward to—this swooning, sickening weakness—she would pass, thank you.

  He must have seen it too, the craziness that had taken possession of her, because as he approached her, he reached out and caressed her cheek. She tried to turn, but there was nowhere to go, and he wouldn't have let her anyway. His hand closed on her face, and he held her there, gazing at her, at the strange, wild energy that must be lighting her eyes.

  "Have you lost your mind?" he said.

  She nodded. "It's gone, without a trace."

  "Yeah... me too."

  He swallowed tightly, and Gus felt as if her stomach had left her body and was tumbling headlong into the pit beneath the floor of the shack. She had run out of theories. She was trapped in a mine shack with the man who'd kidnapped her—a hard, hungry, naked man who so clearly— so thrillingly—wanted her. And weak-kneed or not, she wanted him, too. She could ponder that until the desert turned into a swamp, but she couldn't change it. It was the only reality she had.

  "Go ahead, " she said softy, struggling a little with the rest of it. "T-take me."

  "Take you?" He sounded surprised, if not bemused.

  "Well, of course." She didn't know quite what else needed to be said. It was so obvious what was happening between them. They were both aroused. His body was testimony to that. "You know you want to, " she added, her voice going warm and throaty.

  His brow knit quizzically. "How's that?"

  "Well, you—you're excited. " She lifted her shoulders. "You're giving me one of those hot, narrow-eyed stares, and you're breathing through your nostrils, so you m-must want to. "

  "Take you?"

  "Yes, you do. You want to."

  "Like I wanted to spank you?"

  "Well, yes... like... that." Damn, why couldn't she talk? And why was he beginning to annoy her when a moment ago she'd been ready to throw herself in front of a thundering herd for him?

  "Apparently you know a lot about what I want. I wonder how much. "

  He brushed his thumb over her lips with a lightness that made her want to do something embarrassing, like sigh or squirm. And suddenly it felt as if they'd slipped back in time, as if they were playing out a bedroom scene from an old Hollywood movie. His brows were still knit in puzzlement, and he was frowning at her like she was some haywire dame out of a forties musical that he didn't know quite what to do with. What was more, he was perfect for the part! He just looked so goddamn tough with those bullet holes all over his body. He reminded her of all the old movie tough guys rolled into one, men who were as deadly as the weapons they carried and yet incapable of handling one seemingly harmless female. It was corny. It was adorable! She wanted to melt.

  "Geez, you're cute," she said impulsively, laughter bubbling in her throat. Her fingers feathered the dark thicket of his two-day beard, reveling in its roughness. "I can hardly stand it you're so cute. "

  "Cute?" It was all he could do to manage the word.

  There wasn't any time for an explanation on Gus's part. She'd meant it as a compliment, but he didn't seem to take it that way. He backed her to the wall and held her fast, his hands sliding into her hair, his elbows splayed against the wood slats for leverage. With a searching purpose, he lifted her dark tresses high off her neck and probed the depths of her eyes as if he were looking for something he'd lost. "Cute?" he breathed.

  "I didn't mean—" She accidentally brushed her leg against his and he released a harsh breath, lifting her up the wall.

  "Let's see what you know about me, " he whispered.

  The diamonds in his eyes had gone dark with desire, and the latent sexual power that flared through his hardened body truly put the fear of God in Gus. He'd turned her heart into a triphammer, and if she'd thought her legs were weak before, she'd been wrong. This was weak. Her bones were melting like a gelatin dessert at room temperature.

  "But I—" She was still trying to explain when his lips touched her and put an end to whatever silly thing she'd been planning to say. His hips came up against hers with hot, thrilling force. She could feel the hardness she'd been fantasizing about. She could feel it where she'd been fantasizing about it, and it spoke to her in ways that words never could have.

  He kissed her swiftly, his hands in her hair, his tongue stealing into her mouth, raping it sweetly. He kissed her roughly and passionately, just as she had predicted. And he was going to make love to her that way too, like a car bearing down on a blazing stretch of desert road, thrusting itself into higher and higher gears, speeding faster and faster until it spontaneously combusted in flames. She could believe that his mother had named him Satan. He was going to take her straight to hell.

  She broke the kiss, a breathless gasp on her lips, a sudden realization in her heart. "What's your name?"

  "What?"

  "I don't even know your name! I've never seen you before yesterday. "

  "So what?"

  "So I'm about to have sex with a man I don't know."

  "Has that ever stopped you before?"

  "Of course! What are you saying, that I'm promiscuous?"

  "What are you saying?" He laughed at her. "That we haven't been properly introduced. This isn't a date, Gus. I kidnapped you. They don't cover that in the etiquette books. Possession is nine-tenths of the law, and even if it weren't, there isn't any law out here but me. I'm the sole proprietor of this desert oasis, this palatial shack, and Gus Featherstone. I hold uncontested title. I'm the man, you dig?—and until somebody takes you away from me, you're mine, scraped knees, incredible breasts and all. "

  "Just what I always dreamed of, being kidnapped by a rap singer." She'd wanted to be contemptuous, but that was the best she could manage.

  "You don't want to hear me sing, trust me." He reached down and scooped up the bar of soap she dropped. "In the meantime, no hostage situation is complete without a little torture, and I think I can speak for everyone here, including the lizards, when I say that I do want this to be a complete experience for you."

  Soap suds sluiced into her cleavage as he drew the bar across the shivering swells of her breasts. "Prepare to be tortured," he informed her softly.

  "I won't cooperate with this, " she said. "You'll have to use force. "

  "In that case—" He took her by the shoulders and turned her around before she could protest. "Prepare to be forced."

  "Excuse me?"

  "I'm going to scrub your back whether you like it or not. It's your turn. " He began to soap her lightly, his huge hands nearly engulfing her shoulder blades.

  Gus held on to the plumbing pipe and shivered involuntarily as he worked his way down her back, purling the delicate linkage of her spine. Silly man. He was undoubtedly acting out some adolescent male fantasy, and well, all right, she'd have to play along with it fo
r a while. Let him amuse himself, let him imagine some helpless, nubile love slave to his heart's content. She was totally in control of the situation. She even knew what was coming next...

  A breath bubbled in her throat and she closed her eyes for a moment. He was going to touch her the way she'd touched him, and the anticipation building inside her was surprisingly strong. Secretly, it was rather delicious. She could feel that same glittery sparkle of fear and exhilaration. It was like the diamonds dancing in the shower spray, like the diamonds burning in his eyes. The facets were so bright, so sharp, they hurt.

  "I'll let you know when I've had enough," she said.

  "Ummm... you do that."

  The pipes were rattling and the shower stream had fallen off to a drizzle, which meant the holding tank must be nearly empty, but Gus was oblivious for the most part. She had his hands to think about. His palms sluiced into the small of her back, flowing like warm water, and then his fingers spilled onto the soft curves of her bottom. He cupped her, squeezing gently and the pressure sent out streaming ripples of surprise and shocked delight. "Whoopsie, " she murmured.

  "What did you say?" His voice was irresistibly husky. "Had enough?"

  "Well—" Excitement deepened the natural arch of her spine.

  His lips found her nape, hot and steamy. He was murmuring how good she felt, how perfect in his hands. His light, illicit touchings stirred her into a sweet frenzy, and her flesh grew uncomfortably heated. The way he'd taken control made her feel taut and urgent, as if this were her first sexual experience, and she were being tenderly initiated in the pleasures of the forbidden. A questing fingertip played about the cleft of her buttocks, tickling and feathering, tantalizing her for a flurry of seconds before it dipped into the sensitive space.

  "I think—"

  "Enough?" he asked.

  "Yes... ahh, almost."

  Gus sucked in a breath, swaying on her tiptoes as he rode the crest of that tight, lush place. It was torture, all right. His caresses were almost unbearably stimulating. They had her twitching and tingling with pleasure. She honestly didn't know how much more backscrubbing she could take, but she wasn't quite ready to cry the E word yet.