by Jo Leigh
God, she was the most beautiful creature on earth. Her skin was as smooth as satin, and her curves were the essence of what was magnificent about women.
Unfortunately, his little—or should he say big—problem wasn’t going anywhere, so he found his seat and put the towel over his lap. It was important not to focus on Taylor at the moment. He’d be much better off thinking of say, Joe Panzer, the thug he’d been tracking back in New York.
Only, Joe was far away, and Taylor was bending over really, really close. He could see the curve of her breasts, and he was lost.
He took hold of her shoulders and brought her down on his lap. “I can’t get enough of you,” he said.
“Yes you can. You have to. We’re leaving in two days.”
“I don’t want to think about that.”
“Me, neither. But I can’t help it.”
He nibbled her earlobe. “Hey, let’s just leap off that bridge when we come to it, okay? This is our vacation, and we’re the lucky ones. Did you see that guy who just left? He’s so jealous of us he could spit.”
“I know. And believe me, I’m happy.”
“That doesn’t look like a happy face.”
Instead of the smile he expected, he got an actual frown.
“What?”
She quirked her head slightly to the left. “Tell me about your day.”
“Uh, I woke up without you—”
“I don’t mean today. I mean your normal, average day.”
“Oh.” He really didn’t want to talk about his life, but he also didn’t want Taylor to move. Every time she moved, even a little bit, she rubbed him just enough to make him go a wee bit crazier. “It’s not very exciting.”
“Tell me.”
“And there really isn’t an average day.”
She yanked on his hair. Not hard, but enough to smart.
“Ow.”
She didn’t say another word. But then, she didn’t have to.
“Fine. I get up. Normally around six-thirty or so. But it depends.”
“On?”
“Whatever I’m working on. If I’m tailing someone who’s a night owl, then I have to be a night owl, and I sleep during the day. If I’m doing white-collar investigations, I do the nine-to-five thing.”
She settled down, doing that wicked thing with her butt. “That’s better.”
“I’ll say,” he whispered.
“Hmm?”
“Nothing. Okay. I have coffee. I like coffee. I grind it myself. It has no vanilla or hazelnut or chocolate in it. It’s just coffee. Strong.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And sometimes I have breakfast.”
“Not always?”
“Not if it’s nine at night.”
“But you try to eat healthy?”
He turned his head for a second. “I try.”
She grabbed his chin so he was facing her. “How often do you succeed?”
“At least once a week, I eat something green. That isn’t mold.”
She sighed. “Okay. Continue.”
He closed his eyes and pressed his chin against her bare shoulder. “I work out six days a week. There’s a gym two blocks from my place. Nothing fancy, just weights. And I run.”
“At the gym?”
“Around.”
“Tell me about your place. Is it an apartment?”
“A co-op.”
“Big?”
“For Manhattan? Huge. For anywhere else? No.”
“Do you have a bedroom?”
“And a small office. Really small. But it holds my computer stuff.”
“Go on.”
“Actually, I like where I live. I’ve got a great king-size bed that I spent a fortune on. I can’t afford to be down with a bad back, or not sleep well.”
“A comforter?”
He nodded. “Navy blue.”
“Good sheets?”
He shrugged. “Sheets.”
“Hmm.”
He looked up to meet her troubled gaze. “Sheets are a chick thing.”
“Not after you’ve slept in Egyptian cotton.”
“You want the rest?”
She grinned.
“I have a decent TV. I get cable. I like watching the Sci-Fi Channel. And Discovery.”
“No Playboy Channel?”
“Sometimes.”
“Your living room furniture.”
“I’ve found some decent pieces. I like old wooden furniture. And leather. I have one of the top-ten great couches.”
“What about the kitchen?”
“Great coffeemaker. Excellent knives and pots. I don’t cook much, but when I do, I don’t screw around.”
“Last question about the co-op, I swear,” she said, crossing her heart. “What about art?”
“Art?” He was a little distracted by where she’d crossed herself. Real close to the edge of her bikini top.
“On the walls?”
“Oh. Yeah. Nothing fancy. Some stuff I’ve accumulated over the years. Things that I like.”
“Anything I’d recognize?”
“Probably not. I tend to go to small art shows, flea markets, that kind of thing. No posters by Erte or Van Gogh prints.”
“I see.”
“So, do I pass?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Phew.”
She laughed. “You couldn’t have failed, you goose.”
“So is it my turn?”
“Yes, I suppose it is.”
“Okay. What do you want?”
She stilled. Completely. Not the reaction he was hoping for, but he supposed she had expected him to ask about her furnishings. He didn’t give a damn about those. He wanted to know what all this meant.
“Tell you what,” he said. “Why don’t you reach over and get our drinks while you’re thinking.”
“Great idea.” She uncurled her arm from around his neck and reached for the drinks, but she could only reach his. She ended up getting off his lap, and he stole the moment to do something he should have done when they entered the cabana. He closed the curtains. Then he sat down again. This time, he didn’t use the towel, although if she looked, she’d see that despite the conversation, his hormones were fully engaged.
Handing him his drink, she took a long sip of her piña colada, and then she climbed on top of his lap again. Once they were settled, he drank, then put the glass down on the floor next to him.
He liked the cabana this way. A little on the dark side, but the candles on the table illuminated them both enough to see what was important. She still pondered his question while he went back to studying the rise and fall of her chest.
“One hell of a question there, Ace.”
“I know. But I still want an answer.”
“So do I.”
“What do you mean?”
She sighed, resting her head on his. “I don’t know what I want. Except that I want more of this. What I have with you.”
“Are you saying you want to continue this after we leave Vegas?”
“Yes. Maybe.” She squeezed his shoulder. “I don’t know. All I’m sure about is that my plan went to hell in a hand basket. And now…”
“Now you have to face some things that maybe you didn’t want to?”
She nodded.
“Like maybe you weren’t rejecting those guys because they weren’t great in the sack?”
Her head jerked upright, and she looked at him accusingly. “What?”
“I’m just guessing here, but something tells me this whole thing isn’t just about sex.”
“It is so.”
“Oh?”
She stood and walked over to the other chair, all the way across the table from him.
“Look,” he said. “I don’t mean to upset you. You’re the one that decided you liked this truth business.”
“I told you the truth. It is about sex.”
“Okay. If you say so.”
“Dammit, Ben. It can’t be about more than sex.�
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“Why not?”
As she sat, she picked up her towel and covered herself. “’Cause I don’t want it to be.”
“Ah, good answer.”
“Stop it.”
He went over to her side, knelt by the chair and took her hand in his. “Listen, Taylor, I think you’re an incredible woman. I can’t imagine any man in his right mind not thinking you’re incredible. The odd thing here is that you haven’t found one that you find just as great.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“No. It isn’t. And it’s a lot harder when you have a built-in defense mechanism at the ready.”
“Who died and made you so smart?”
He laughed. “It’s a lot easier to see from over here, that’s all.”
“So what’s your story? Why aren’t you blissfully happy with a wife and two kids?”
“Tried it.”
“And she was gay. Right. So what about after her?”
He shook his head. “Haven’t had a lot of interest.”
“In women?”
“In a relationship.”
She leaned over, resting her chin on his head. “Oh, Ben, don’t you dare tell me you think she went gay because of you. That’s not possible.”
“I don’t think that.”
“Good.”
“But I also know that her being gay wasn’t all that was wrong with our marriage.”
She sat back. “Oh?”
He stood up. Not so much because he wanted to get away, but because he was getting a cramp. He walked over and got his drink. “We were always more friends than lovers. We had separate lives. Separate interests. It was like having a roommate, not a wife.”
“Do you think that’s why you married her?”
“More than likely. And to be honest, if she hadn’t decided she wanted a real marriage, I wouldn’t have complained. I was happy with things the way they were.”
“Oh.”
He shrugged. Took a drink. Felt the burn all the way down. Thought about telling her the darker truth that came after the marriage ended. About his doubts, his fears. But she didn’t need to hear all that garbage. “I’m not a complicated man, Taylor. I like things simple. And I try like hell to be honest with myself. I’m not the kind for marriage and all that. I’m good at looking at other people’s lives. Not my own.”
She didn’t say anything. For so long, he went back to his chair, sat down. Drank some more. Wondered if he should have kept his big mouth shut.
Then she stood, so abruptly, he almost dropped his glass. “Let’s go to my room,” she said. “Okay?” She put her drink down, slipped on her cover-up. “Let’s just forget all this and do what we do best.” She stood over him. “Please, Ben. Let’s just go.”
He wasn’t about to argue.
BEN TOOK THE SOAP from the little dish on the side of the shower and rubbed it between his hands until he’d built up a fistful of suds. Then he smiled as he sidled up real close to her, with the water hitting her back. He began at her neck. His slightly cooler hands, slick with lemon-scented bubbles, rubbed her slowly, tenderly. She let her head fall back, closed her eyes and let him take her to another world.
The combination of the water sluicing down from the crown of her head, his body rubbing against hers, and the divine feel of his soaped hands massaging her flesh was almost too much to take. She had to steady herself with her hand against the shower wall, especially when he moved down to her chest. She’d had massages before, but no one had ever done this. No feeling had ever come close.
His touch was intimate, reverent. Just below the slippery soap was a hint of coarseness, of masculinity, that was echoed in the sheer size of him. He circled her skin, taking his sweet time, slowing even farther when he got to her breasts.
One hand caressed each globe. Round and round, but not touching her nipples. Her very erect, taut nipples that were aching for equal time.
She almost stepped to the side to force the issue, but she didn’t. There was too much pleasure in the tension.
He moaned, and she pushed her chest out, knowing he couldn’t wait, either. His palms cupped her, and the touch, light as the bubbles of soap themselves, made the world spin. Nipples were great, wonderful, but no one had told her they could do this.
“Oh, God,” he whispered.
All she could do was nod. Just the one time, because she was so damned unsteady on her feet.
His hands moved down her body, killing her with disappointment, thrilling her with anticipation.
She was drowning in bliss as he touched her, rubbed her, anointed her with his healing strokes. As his hands shifted below her waist, he stepped closer, rubbing himself against her belly. His fingers trailed down through her curls until he slipped inside her slippery folds.
As he circled her clit with the pad of his finger, he captured her lips in a kiss that made all other kisses fade. His tongue, like quicksilver, darted, thrust, retreated, tasting everything, leaving her breathless. Her hand went from the wall to the back of his neck as she steadied herself and him while she gave as good as she got.
He never let up with his fingers, teasing her mercilessly. Her muscles tensed from her calves to her thighs, all the way to the back of her neck. She was going to come, soon. It wasn’t fair. She should have soaped her own hands, returned the magnificent favor he’d given her. She vowed to do that the second she could focus on something besides the orgasm that shut out the rest of the universe.
Her head fell back with her cry, her hands grasped his neck, his shoulder, squeezing as the wave built and climbed and brought her to her toes.
Somewhere out there she heard his low chuckle, but the bastard didn’t let up, even though she was so sensitive the pleasure bordered on pain. But then, the hint of discomfort fled with an onslaught of ecstasy that lifted her beyond anything she’d known. She yelled out so loudly, she drowned out the shower, but she didn’t care. Nothing mattered but the sensations, the bliss, the man.
He brought her down gently, as if she were a wild creature who needed to be tamed. His hands, still slick, petted her sides, her hips. His body bolstered her, kept her upright. And then he kissed her.
She opened her eyes, finding he’d done the same. Seeing his gaze, she moved back, even though she didn’t want to break the kiss. More important though, was to see him. To be amazed at the emotions so clear on his face.
His hand moved to her cheek. “You’re crying.”
She wiped her eyes, knowing the moisture hadn’t been from the water behind her. “I didn’t know.”
“I’m hoping they’re happy tears.”
She laughed. “I think that’s a pretty good assumption. My God, Ben. That was…”
“I’m glad.”
“But you.”
“What about me?”
“I just take and take. It’s not fair.”
He stepped back. Glanced down. It took Taylor a second to realize that he wasn’t rock-hard any more. “You?”
He nodded. “It’s all your fault. You’re so amazing, I couldn’t hold back another second.”
“Wow.”
He grinned. “I’ll say.”
“I’m going to need a moment or two here, just to catch my breath, but then, Ben Bowman, it’s my turn. You are going to get in my bed, and you’re not going to move until I say you can.”
“Oh, really?”
She grabbed his hands and swung them around his back. Of course he could have broken her hold in a second, but he didn’t. “Really.”
BEN GRIPPED THE SHEETS and tried to remember how to breathe. In fact, he was stunned the sight in front of him hadn’t stopped his heart. Taylor, crouched over his body, slowly lowering herself onto his cock, her head thrown back in a delicious moan, her hands on her breasts, squeezing her nipples as she rode him with slow, torturous intent. Oh, yeah, he knew she was out to drive him crazy, and she was doing a damn fine job of it.
Thank God he’d come in the shower, because just looking at he
r naked body, her blond hair whipping around her shoulders, the more than obvious pleasure she was feeling, was enough to send him to the moon and back.
He gasped in a lungful of air as she settled fully on him. When she straightened and met his gaze, the fire in her eyes was as exciting as the way she gripped his length.
“I told you you would like me on top.”
He nodded.
“So next time, what are you going to say?”
He opened his mouth, but no words came out.
Taylor laughed. Rose up just an inch. “I didn’t quite get that.”
“Please,” he said, his voice sounding more like Darth Vadar than was comfortable. “Anything you want. Anything.”
Her grin turned evil, and so did her laugh. But he didn’t care because she was on the move again, lifting her body up until she almost lost him, then hesitating an agonizing minute, only to give him back the will to live as she lowered herself once more.
The only problem with this perfect moment was that he couldn’t kiss her. But he wasn’t complaining. In fact, he was more grateful than he’d ever been in his life.
Her hands went to his chest. He watched, amazed, as her eyes fluttered closed and her rhythm quickened.
“Come for me,” he whispered, praying he’d last until she got off. “Come on, baby. Do it.”
If she heard him, she gave no sign. But it didn’t matter. Because she was speeding toward a climax and there was no turning back. As for him? He just hung on for dear life.
HALF AN HOUR LATER, Taylor tried to catch her breath while she stared at the sprinkler in the ceiling. The sex hadn’t been a fluke. He’d…
What had he done to her? It was as if her orgasms had a password that only Ben knew. Frankly, and she’d never admitted this to anyone but her Eve’s Apple group, she normally preferred getting off by herself. Her trusty vibrator had been there through thick and thin. It never tried too hard or crapped out before she was done. It never hogged the covers, or smirked when she wanted cold pizza afterwards. She liked the control, and, unlike most women she knew, she preferred going right to sleep after.
And here was Ben making her feel just plain sorry for her pitiful vibrator. The good old boy had done his best, but it was a distant second to making love to the man gasping to her right.
Three times. She’d come three times, and not just little whoopee orgasms, either. Big old honkin’ O’s that had hit her so hard she’d nearly blacked out. She wasn’t exactly sure how he’d pulled off the feat, but my God, she was thrilled he had.
