THIS PERFECT KISS

by Christie Ridgway

  There was a long silence and she thought perhaps, like Iris, he'd fallen asleep. But then he spoke, his voice slow and quiet. "Maybe we just need to close our hands, Jilly. Close our hands and refuse to let the dream go."

  As she turned to look at him, the door to the theater abruptly swung open. Without even cursing her cowardice, she just as abruptly slid further down in her seat, hoping whoever it was—and she knew exactly who it was—wouldn't see her.

  Greg glanced over his shoulder. "Uh-oh. I think here comes my cue to leave."

  She considered begging him to stay, but that wouldn't change the fact that she'd made a bargain with Rory. "See you later," she mumbled.

  In the darkness she saw the white flash of Greg's smile. "Buck up. His bark is worse than his bite." He lifted Iris into his arms and was gone.

  Her heart starting to thrum against her breastbone, Jilly waited for Rory to take Greg's place.

  Instead, it was the seat directly behind her that squeaked as he settled into it. "Greg's right, you know," Rory said, his voice dispassionate. "I actually think you'll like my bite."

  Jilly's womb clenched. Oh, my God. Just his voice in the darkness could seduce her. Swallowing hard, she mentally scrambled for some modicum of self-preservation. Tell him you've changed your mind. She'd find another way to get him to listen about Iris. Stand up and say you won't barter your body.

  Then he touched her, his hands light against her shoulders. He pressed his long fingers into her tight muscles, gently massaging them, persuasively working at the kinks.

  Jilly tried pretending his touch relaxed her. But every second of his hands on her body coiled her tension tighter and tighter. Her breasts swelled, her nipples went so hard they ached, and between her hips there was a heated heaviness that wasn't going to be satisfied like this.

  He lifted the hair off her nape, and Jilly held her breath. Then his hot, bare palm touched the naked flesh of her neck. She almost shot off the plush velvet cushion. Biting back a moan, she tried holding onto the arms of the seat, but then he stroked her skin gently once more and she surged to her feet.

  "Now, Rory," she said hoarsely. She couldn't take any more anticipation without exploding from the lethal cocktail of nerves and desire. "I want it to be now."

  * * *

  Clamping down on his lust, Rory eased his grip on Jilly's wrist as he led her up the stairs to his bedroom. Now, she'd said. Surprise, surprise, he thought angrily He should have known she would just want to get it over with.

  He took a calming breath, forcing himself to slow his pace up the stairs. She'd used him. And when she'd been caught, she'd used her body to get what she wanted. Yeah, he was the one who'd proposed the deal, but still, she'd betrayed him.

  He wanted to punish her, he wanted to ravish her, he wanted to ish her in every possible position until the little sex kitten had completely lost her strength to scratch. Maybe then he could sleep. Maybe then he could think of her saying, "I need to make sure Rory trusts me," without feeling so damn sick inside.

  It seemed that ten years older hadn't made him that much wiser after all.

  Once inside his room, he slammed the thick door shut behind them. Jilly jumped at the sound, but the sun had gone down and his bedroom was blacker than the theater. He couldn't see her face.

  He dropped her arm and put his hands on his belt buckle. "Get undressed," he said.

  She sucked in a breath, the sound ragged in the gloomy atmosphere.

  Rory paused. His eyes were adjusting to the darkness and he could make out her outline. Her head was lifted in the direction of his bed, an outrageous affair of gruesomely carved wood that hulked in the corner like a monster from a horror movie.

  Hell, the thing gave him nightmares sometimes.

  "I call it Quasimodo," he said.

  He felt her gaze leap to him. "Wh-what?"

  "Quasimodo," he said again.

  He heard her swallow. "You call your … your—part Quasimodo?"

  Oh, shit. He was in trouble here. She thought he named his penis after the hunchback of Notre Dame? An urge to laugh, to cup her cheek in his palm, to kiss away the aghast expression he imagined on her face, threatened to eclipse his anger.

  But she'd made a fool of him. "No, cupcake," he corrected her wryly. "That's what I call the bed."

  He could swear he heard her sigh in relief. "It is big."

  "And so's the bed."

  There was another heartbeat of silence, yet suddenly he couldn't bear for her to say anything else. Looping his arm around her neck, he drew her to him. "Jilly," he said against her curling, tickling hair. "You're going to kill me."

  She pressed her forehead against his shirt. Tension hummed in her taut frame. "Rory I—"

  "Shh." He kissed her forehead, her cheek, her ear. She shivered. "Give me and Quasimodo a few minutes of your time, honey."

  He should be stripping her down, laying her flat, filling her with himself. Hell, she'd agreed to it, asked for it, and he'd been wanting to do all that, only that, since the moment she'd put her cherry-tipped toes on Caidwater land. But instead, he found himself playing with her hair and lightly brushing his evening whiskers against her soft cheek. He lingered, kissing, at that tender, scented spot behind her ear.

  Her dark curls clung to his fingers and she made this sweet, uniquely Jilly half hum, half moan. His groin tightened like a fist. Do it, his devil prompted. Strip her, take her, drive the ache away.

  Yet something else inside him ignored the voice and he lifted her hair so he could bend his head and kiss the back of her neck.

  She shuddered, like a leaf raffled by a stiff, hot Santa Ana wind, and he closed his eyes. With as much control as he could find, he bit down.

  Her body jerked and she moaned, sharp and needy.

  He licked the spot. "I said you'd like my bite," he whispered against her ear. He chased the goose bumps running down the side of her neck with his tongue.

  Then he touched the tiny button at the throat of her tight, sequined sweater. "How many?" he said.

  She clutched his upper arms and he knew desire spoke for her. "How many do you want?"

  He squeezed shut his eyes. She was really, really going to kill him. "How many buttons?" By some miracle, he managed to get the words out.

  And should have saved his breath. "Buttons?" she repeated dazedly.

  He wanted to laugh again. To kiss her with tenderness, even though she'd deceived him. Instead, he unfastened the first button and kissed the inch of skin revealed there, right below the notch at her throat.

  "Oh, God," she said.

  "Keep praying, baby."

  Beneath ten pearl-sized buttons was something of satin and lace. White. It gleamed in the darkness and he unhooked it with an easy flick of his fingers, his knuckles grazing the inside curves of her breasts.

  "I want to see." He made to move away to turn on a light.

  "No!" She caught his hand and softened her voice. "Please, Rory I like it … dark."

  He shook his head, though he curled his fingers around hers. "Hasn't someone told you, sweetheart? You're wasting a lot of impact with the lights out." The men who'd shared her bed—

  "Please, Rory."

  He didn't want to think about them anyway. "Fine." Her fingers released his.

  So it was time to do it. He had her half naked, he had her permission, he had the darkness she wanted.

  So why the hell was he hesitating? Annoyed with himself, he reached out and efficiently pulled the sweater off her, catching her bra straps at the same time to bare her quickly. Her clothing fell to the plush carpet with an almost soundless thwat.

  She sucked in another nervous breath.

  Rory found himself slowing again. He cupped her shoulders with his hands, palming her hot skin, then stroked down to her wrists. Her breasts were pale in the darkness, he couldn't see them as clearly as he wanted to, but they lifted as he drew up her hands.

  He ran his tongue across the bumps of her knuckles. She gasped. Lor
d, she was erotically charged in the most unlikely places. His erection pressed hard and tight against his pants as he thought of undressing her and discovering each one. He licked again. She gasped again. "Do you like that?" he whispered.

  "I—I like what you like."

  The tiny, artful break in her voice stilled him. Then he remembered. Dammit. She might sound as unsure as a prom date in the backseat of her boyfriend's car, but this was a woman built like a sex toy—and because she wanted something from him, she'd given the go-ahead to play.

  Determined to keep control of the situation, he stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest. "Strip," he said harshly.

  She looked around, a bit wildly.

  "Not the wallpaper, sweet thing. Yourself. Take the rest of your clothes off."

  She shivered.

  The show of vulnerability almost made him pause again. Goddamn it. "You're cold," he said, knowing she wasn't. "I'll light the fire." Because he wanted to see her, see the body she'd bargained with, see the expressions crossing her face, he moved toward the room's tiled fireplace. In the winter months Mrs. Mack kept a fire built and match-ready.

  The scratch and hiss of a wooden match sounded loud in the darkness. As the flames started to lick the wood, he turned.

  And nearly sank to his knees. His erection surged against his belly. She was naked.

  With nothing covering her curves, he could finally, fully, appreciate her luscious body. Delicate shoulders led to her full, pink-tipped breasts. A tiny waist, curvy hips, a triangle of dark hair at the vee of her thighs.

  He crooked two fingers, hoping she didn't know they were trembling. "Come here, honey."

  She walked toward him slowly, the fire's yellow-and-orange light flickering over her pale skin. He wanted to feel the fever of her nakedness, taste the burn.

  When she stood in front of him, he snagged her gaze and, holding it, deliberately licked the pads of his thumbs. Then he brushed them against her tightly ruched nipples, once, twice.

  Her back flexed and her eyes closed.

  He palmed the weight of her breasts, using his still-damp thumbs to circle the points, not touching now, but teasing her, teasing him. Her spine flexed again, a kitten stretching toward the sun, and he bent his head and took one nipple into his mouth.

  He groaned at the sweet taste and the aroused tightness. Grabbing her hips, he jerked her against him, taking her breast in deeper, sucking as if he could fill himself up with her.

  Her fingers speared his hair, holding him to her, and she protested when he lifted his head. "Easy," he whispered against her smooth, hot skin. He moved to her other breast, licking the point and then taking it into his mouth, toying with her nipple until she squirmed.

  He bit down.

  She gasped, her body slamming against his, her fingers digging into his scalp. He soothed her with warm laps of his tongue, and moved his hands from her hips to the sleek, smooth roundness of her bottom.

  "Kiss me," she whispered.

  But he didn't want to. He only wanted her body, he only wanted to bury himself in her heat, to ease the ache he'd been forced to live with since he'd met her. Kissing her would give her something of himself, and he wasn't going to let her get that close again.

  He licked up her neck, followed the curve of her ear, bit again, this time on her earlobe. Her skin heated with each pass of his tongue, each nip of her skin, even though he'd turned to protect her smooth flesh from the brunt of the fire's warmth.

  She grasped his face, trying to bring their lips together, but he eluded her mouth. Instead, he lifted her hair again and bent over her shoulder to circle his tongue around her nape, circling his hands on her soft buttocks in the same pattern.

  His breath rasped in and out. The flames and the shadows were like the two of them, heat and darkness rubbing against each other. His fingertips traced the back crease of her thighs and moved between her legs.

  "Jilly." He groaned her name because she was slick and wet and her inner heat was just inches away from his touch.

  Now. He stepped back from her to throw off his clothes, his gaze drinking in her dreamy eyes, the new darkness of her nipples, and the fine trembling of her body. Her mouth was wet and parted and he wrenched his gaze away from it. Her body, he wanted her body.

  "Ahhh." He pulled her against his nakedness. She twined her arms around him and lifted her face to his. The reflection of the fire lit her eyes. Everything about her was warmth and arousal. He could smell the perfume of her hair and, even headier, the scent of her skin. Grasping one of her thighs, he pulled up her leg so he could push himself against her, hard.

  She moaned.

  He smiled and bent to kiss her neck, then found her hand so he could press into it the foil-wrapped condom he'd taken from his pocket. She drew back, stared at it, stared at him, and licked her lips.

  He wasn't going to kiss her.

  Not even when her fingers fumbled so awkwardly to open the package. Finally, impatient, he took it from her, ripped it open with his teeth, and handed it back. His heart slammed against his chest as she slowly drew out the latex sheath.

  God, it was almost as if she didn't know what to do with it. But he knew her virgin act was just that … an act. She looked at the condom, looked at his erection, and took another step back. Her breasts quivered as she drew in a long breath.

  His life wasn't long enough to wait. He grabbed the condom out of her hand, slipped it over his throbbing erection, then grasped her wrist to draw her to the bed…

  But the fire was here, its light jumping against her breasts, her belly. Bending his head, he traced the colors down her body, licking nipple, ribs, swirling his tongue in her belly button as he sank to his knees.

  "Rory…"

  He pressed his mouth right above the triangle of curls, then rubbed his cheek against the sleek give of her belly. Her knees buckled and he caught her hips to ease her down to the carpet. The dark curling ribbons of her hair spread out around face and her mouth was dark, too, an almost bruised-looking pink, though he hadn't allowed himself to touch it, taste it.

  He pushed her knees up and apart and came between them, teasing himself with the wet curls at the apex of her legs. Closing his eyes, he fought for control, forcing himself away from the slick softness.

  "Please, Rory," she whispered.

  "I will," he promised. "But first, first let me—" He stopped. No, not let me. She was his for the taking. The way he wanted to.

  He traced her soft folds and watched his thumb disappear between them. He pressed.

  She gasped, but her body gave, and her eyes closed as he pushed deeper.

  Her hips rose off the carpet. "Rory, kiss me," she pleaded.

  But he wouldn't. Not when the inner muscles of her body squeezed down on his thumb so tightly. He drew it out, pushed it in again. Her hips lifted again, too. "Rory."

  He glanced at her face. Her eyes were closed and she bit down on her lower lip, hard. He drew his thumb out, and painted her folds with the wetness, finding and circling the small, hard nub. Her thighs opened and he looked at her pretty, pretty body, revealing and softening and glistening in the firelight.

  For him.

  Holding himself in check, he continued playing with her prettiness, stroking, circling, dipping into her ever-opening body to test the wetness, until finally her hips lifted, her back bowed, and she cried out.

  Tremor after tremor shook her, but he held fast, his thumb firm against the pulsing nub.

  And then her body quieted and he positioned himself against her wet, open place, and drove inside her body

  She cried out again.

  Hell. Rory froze, her body pulsing hotly against his erection. Tightly. Too tightly.

  He looked at her face, locking his jaw against his need to keep pushing into that exquisite heat. She was biting down on her lower lip again, her entire body fighting against the pain of his intrusion.

  Pain. Oh, God. She had been a virgin.

  She'd tricked him
yet again.

  Then, suddenly, her body relaxed. Her inside muscles still clung to him firmly, but her thighs opened and then came around his waist. He slid deeper. "Jilly—"

  "Yes," she whispered, her voice husky with new satisfaction and renewed desire. Her hands clutched his shoulders. Her hips lifted and he slipped deeper still.

  Nothing could stop him now from driving inside her again. From closing his eyes and finding the rhythm that stoked the heat and teased higher the fire in his blood. Her hips rose to meet him with each thrust, taking him in, in, in.

  At the very last instant, he opened his eyes. The firelight had turned Jilly's cheeks to gold and she glowed like a tempting, sexy angel. Pleasure gathered in his body, coiling for its final leap. As it took off, Rory fused his mouth to hers and tasted heaven.

  When it was over, he rolled off her small body, sucking in harsh, rapid breaths. "Why, Jilly?" he asked hoarsely

  She shook her head, staring at the ceiling. With a sigh, he stood and picked her up in his arms, struggling to control a dangerous mix of tenderness and anger. Once beside the bed, he drew back the covers and set her on the sheets.

  She was trembling again, so he pulled the blankets around her. He raked his fingers through his hair, studying her face. "Why, Jilly?" he asked again, his voice harsh. "Why the hell now? Why me?"

  She just shook her head. Rory wanted to pound the walls in frustration. Was nothing the way it should be in this cursed place? Winter was as warm as summer. Grown men had four-year-old aunts.

  A conniving, deceptive little kitten turned out to be a virgin. The convent school, the nuns, the celibacy vow had all been true.

  "I want to go home," she said.

  And because Rory suspected it was the only thing she would say, he let her go.

  * * *

  Jilly held onto the truth of why she'd agreed to Rory's bargain as tightly as she held onto her tears. Letting herself think only of the beauty of his lean strength in the firelight, of the heated glide of his touch, of the erotic sting of his bites, she made it home, made it through the night, made it through the entire next day at Caidwater.