by Robin Kaye
“No pressure there.” Storm couldn’t think straight with Breezy sitting on his lap, her breasts pressed against his chest, her eyes looking straight into his as if she could read his mind. Still, there was a niggling doubt, something was wrong, something big, but for the life of him, he didn’t know what. “You make me sound like a daredevil.” Breezy knew the score, and she still wanted him. Who was he to let her down? “I sit at a desk all day and design boats.” And when Pop recovered, Storm could leave—go back to Auckland and never have to see her with that boring, safe guy she’d settle for. “The only danger I’ve encountered besides you and your frying pan is a paper cut.”
Bree snorted—she was the only woman alive who could make a snort sound sexy. “Get real. I read all about that accident you had a few years ago in the Sydney-to-Hobart race. You and your crew were almost killed. Your boat was lost at sea for two days. They called Pete. We thought you were dead.”
“Shit, that was nothing.” Nothing he’d discuss with her. That stormy night in the Bass Strait, his boat fell off a wave and capsized. For a while he’d thought he was a goner too, and the only woman he thought of while he waited to die was sitting on his lap right now, wanting him.
He wasn’t sure how long they’d been capsized. Thirty seconds, two minutes—it was a blur. When another monster wave hit, the force of it righted the boat and ripped off the mast. He and the crew worked frantically to save the boat, hacking at the rigging that punched holes into the vessel, turning it into a sieve.
A box of chocolate PowerBars burst in the capsize, water filled the hull, and the PowerBars got sucked into the bilge pumps, clogging them. He and the crew spent two days bailing water, waiting to sink until he was able to get the engines running again so they could limp back to Eden. In the three years since, Storm hadn’t been able to even think about a chocolate bar without wanting to blow chunks.
He’d watched his life flash before his eyes for two days, over and over and over, on a continuous loop. Leaving Breezy was his only regret.
“Storm, what do you want?”
To love her for as long as she’d let him. Sure, he wasn’t convinced he knew the meaning of the word love, not really. All he knew was whatever he felt for her was stronger than anything else he’d ever experienced. There was only one other word that covered everything. “More.” He tangled his fist in her hair and tugged her face toward his. “Now.”
He kissed her, letting all the feeling he’d held in check for so long flow into her, like wind into an unfurled sail. The kiss was hot, wild, but just when he thought he was kissing her, she turned the tables and changed the dynamics.
Bree took over. She attacked his mouth, swamping him with sensation, taking all he had and shooting it back at him tenfold. Damn, for a woman who claimed not to allow men to kiss her, she sure knew what she was doing.
She sucked on his tongue, raking her teeth over it, sending a lightning bolt through his entire body.
He slid her T-shirt up her back, learning the feel of her, the nip of her waist, the softness of her skin, the play of her muscles under his roughened fingertips.
She pulled her mouth from his and ripped off her T-shirt. She’d definitely changed since the last time he’d seen her topless, and with her breasts at eye level, he let his mouth do the communicating while he pulled her boxers as low as he could get them. His hands slid up her thighs to her heat. Her scent was intoxicating. He wanted to lay her out before him and taste every inch of her body. And he didn’t want to do that here on the damn couch. He pulled his mouth away from her breast. “I’m breaking one of your rules. I’m picking you up and taking you to bed.” He flipped her into his arms and stood.
Her boxers slid down to her ankles, and she kicked them off. “Okay, I won’t punish you just as long as you don’t run out naked again. Once in a lifetime was enough.”
“I’m not running, but I’m not averse to punishment either.” He waggled his eyebrows and then kissed the tip of her nose, watching her eyes cross. He bit back a laugh.
“Hurry.”
Storm set her on the bed and took his time running his hands over her, memorizing the texture of her skin, and her reaction to his touch. “Breezy, you’re even more beautiful than you were before. I didn’t think that was possible.”
A blush crept from her chest to her face, her pale skin opalescent in the light that stole through the open door.
He followed the path of her blush to her lips and sank into her mouth, taking his time, teasing her with his tongue, his caress, listening to the sounds she made, the way her skin jumped under his hands.
“Storm, please.”
“I’m trying, Breezy, but pleasing you will take some time. Good thing we’ve got all night.”
“You don’t understand. I need—”
He slid his hand between her legs and filled her with two fingers. She was tight. She was hot. She was wet. She was his.
Bree pushed herself onto her elbows, and the sight of her with the light pooling around her, the tip of her pink tongue wetting her bottom lip, her hair falling around her shoulders, just about knocked the wind out of him. He hadn’t had many special times in his life like this. This, he knew, was a biggie. He stared, memorizing every nuance, every image that made this moment one he would recall until the day he died.
Bree reached for the button fly on his jeans.
“No, not yet.” His hand stilled hers, pressing it against his bulge.
Her tongue peeked out as if she couldn’t wait to taste him. She ran her hand over his erection and squeezed. He held back a groan and sucked in air.
Breezy rose to her knees, scooted to the edge of the bed, and brought her mouth to his stomach—her wicked tongue traced the muscles, her hand pressed against the front of his jeans.
Having her mouth so close to his dick sent all the blood in his body flowing south. “Bree, you’re killing me, babe.”
With a yank, the buttons popped, and his erection sprang free. She took her time looking. “I didn’t get to see you the last time we were together. The only thing I really saw was your bare chest, and your naked, retreating ass.”
She ran the tip of her finger over the sensitive head, and her touch had him locking his knees to keep from falling. He gritted his teeth.
“You were so busy driving me crazy. Your mouth and hands seemed to be everywhere all at once.” She looked into his eyes and reminded him of a cat cornering a mouse. “At the time, I didn’t know how to please you.”
“God, Bree.”
“But I do now.”
* * *
In theory.
Okay, so Bree talked a good game, or she thought she did anyway; she just wasn’t sure she could live up to it. She’d had sex a few times, but frankly she didn’t know what all the fuss was about.
Her first time had been miserable. She didn’t even know the guy’s name. After Storm left, her virginity had become a curse she’d wanted to vanquish. At the first opportunity, she’d snuck out her bedroom window, went to a party, and hooked up with the first guy who noticed her.
Bree lost her virginity in a bedroom the size of a walk-in closet that smelled vaguely of dirty socks, but then it could have been the guy—a guy who unfortunately seemed as inexperienced as she. It had been as pleasurable and lasted as long as the polite conversation one might have after dialing a wrong number.
Still, the deed was done, and she’d been hopeful the second time would be incredible—or at least not awful. She’d read her share of romances; she’d heard all about the fireworks, the rush of pleasure, the way the heroine looks into her lover’s eyes and is transported to another dimension.
After the third try, she’d given up on the idea of an orgasm that wasn’t self-induced. Since she was much better at getting herself off than were any of the men she’d dated, she figured dating and sex were a complete and utter waste of time. Still, she dated a little—she didn’t want to be a nun. She’d gone after the safe, stable men her mom would appro
ve of, but they all left her cold and bored. It was easier to bury herself in work than to face the constant disappointment. No one had ever made her feel half as much as Storm did just by looking at her.
Storm lifted her chin, bringing her back to the present. His eyes dark, his pupils almost blacking out the beautiful blue irises, his breathing as erratic as hers, heat pouring off his body.
“This shouldn’t be so hard.”
He quirked a smile, which shocked her. Smiling had never been part of sex—at least not in her limited experience. “Breezy, if it wasn’t hard, we’d have a real problem, or at least I would.”
She closed her eyes and felt her face flame as she tried to swallow, but her mouth was so dry, it took a few tries. This was just one more in what was becoming a long line of sexual disasters. Could her sex life get any worse? Yeah, but only if he ran away; then again, maybe that would be a blessing.
“Breezy? Look at me.”
“Do I have to?”
The bed dipped beside her as she sank down on her heels.
“What’s the matter? Changed your mind, have ya?”
His Brooklyn Kiwi accent was almost comical. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “No, I’m just…you know, nervous.”
Storm’s arm came around her, and he kissed her neck, “She’ll be right.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s a Godzone saying. It means don’t worry. Everything will work out.”
“Would you mind speaking English—the Brooklyn kind, please? What’s a Godzone?”
“New Zealand. It’s like a perfect place; people call it the Godzone. Sorry.”
“Oh.” Great, Storm would take off for the Godzone, and she’d stay in Red Hook. Granted, all the work she’d done had made it a better place to live, but it was still a far cry from the Godzone Storm had run to. She slid off the bed. “You know, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. I—”
He kissed her, cutting off whatever it was she had planned to say. The words left her brain as quickly as his tongue slipped between her lips. This wasn’t an it’s-okay-I-understand kiss. This was more of an I’ll-die-if-I-don’t-take-you-now kiss, the kind she’d read about in all those romances. Damn, it was as good as the up-against-the-door, I’ll-kiss-you-to-keep-from-strangling-you kiss he’d planted on her earlier, but different. There was no anger now. There was frustration, sure, but this frustration was of a purely sexual nature. A hand slipped around the back of her neck, sealing her mouth to his, and his arm banded around her waist. He held her against him as if she were made of fine china he was deathly afraid he’d drop and break.
Bree had waited a decade for this one moment, this one night, this one finite space in time. Storm was hers, and she was his until he left. This was what she’d been missing all these years.
“Breezy.” The roughness in his voice slid across her skin like sandpaper, scraping her every nerve.
She slid his jeans down until he could step out of them. His taste and scent were nothing short of amazing—the same as she remembered. Fingers skated down her spine, and Storm slid his leg between hers before he tumbled them back onto the bed.
He kissed her chin and nipped it before moving along her neck. His hand skittered down her side to her hip, pulling her closer as his mouth blazed a wet trail to her breast, sucking it deep into his mouth as if wanting to drink her in.
He was doing it again—overwhelming her. Everywhere he touched drove her higher. All she could do was grab his head and pray he never stopped. With his every touch, need formed like a fireball within her. She didn’t know what to do to reciprocate. God, she felt like such a loser.
“Storm?”
“Hmm?”
He didn’t stop—well, only long enough to switch breasts. Not that she really wanted him to, but some direction would be helpful.
His hand slid over her stomach and lower; his mouth followed, coming dangerously close to—“Oh, God.”
She tried to pull away, but he held her hips and pulled her closer. She could only imagine that the shocked look on her face caused the smile he shot her before he dipped his head.
The first touch of his mouth knocked the wind out of her. Her heart, already pounding against her ribs, shot into overdrive, and when he found that one spot, she saw stars, and if she hadn’t been imagining things, she might have screamed.
Bree had read Cosmo; she’d heard all about oral sex from Rocki; but no matter how incredible it sounded, it could not be compared to the real thing. Bree grabbed the sheets and held on as if anchoring herself against the tidal wave of feelings bombarding her. She writhed beneath the assault of his mouth, his teeth, his tongue, filling her and making her feel empty at the same time. She wasn’t sure how much more she could take, but damned if she didn’t want more. And Storm gave it to her—she was on a roller coaster, and they hadn’t even hit the first drop. She saw stars, and fireworks that would rival those on the Fourth of July over the Hudson River.
* * *
Storm held Breezy as she lay boneless in his arms. Her words ricocheted through his mind: I don’t like you, I don’t want you here, and I don’t trust you…. There wasn’t much he wouldn’t do to please her, except sell his soul. As he lay there looking at her, he realized suddenly that was what she’d asked. She turned to him with a smile on her lips, and when she looked into his eyes, it faltered.
“Bree…I can’t do this. I’m sorry.” He forced himself to let her go and slid off the bed. Grabbing his jeans, he tugged them on, thankful he didn’t have a zipper to deal with. In his condition, that could have been painful.
“Again?” Breezy bolted to a sitting position and stared at him. “You’re doing it again? You’re running away?”
Storm couldn’t meet her eyes; he didn’t want to have to come up with an excuse. Instead, he picked up her robe and handed it to her. “I’m not running.”
“Could have fooled me.” She speared her arm through the sleeve and scrambled to the other side of the bed. “Get out.” Her voice rose and quavered. Bree belted the robe so tightly, it looked as if she’d cut off her circulation, and her gaze skittered around the room as if searching for something. “You know what? Never mind. I’ll leave.” She tossed a big handbag over her shoulder before skirting the bed.
“Breezy.” Storm held up his hands and stepped in front of the door. “Can’t we talk about this?”
She tried to get past him, but he blocked her so she got in his face, well, as much as she could, considering she was barefoot. “You want to talk?” she yelled. She stepped back, cocked her hip, and crossed her arms. “Well, by all means, let’s talk about why I’m such a sexual pariah that you ran out on me twice.”
“Bree, you’re not a pariah. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you. I’m not running. I just can’t—”
“What can’t you do, Storm? Close the deal? Stay the course? Finish the job? Fuck me?”
“I can’t use you.”
“I gave you permission. Hell, I wanted to use you too.”
“Yeah, I know. You made that very clear. The thing is, I don’t want to use you, and I don’t want to be used either. I’m not your boy toy, your one last fling. Don’t you get it? This isn’t just sex to me. It never has been, and it never will be. If sex is what you want…If that’s all you want…I can’t do it. I want…” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “No, I need more.”
“More? More of what? According to you, this is a two-week thing, and then you’re leaving to go back to New Zealand.”
“That was before I saw Pop. Before I knew about you and Nicki. Everything has changed. I’m staying for as long as it takes.”
“You’ll stay until Pete can take care of himself and Nicki—I know. But then as soon as that happens, you’ll be out of here so fast, you’ll leave skid marks.” Bree laughed, and not a funny laugh either. “You know, Storm, I thought between the two of us, I was the coward. I’ve stayed here where I felt safe and cared for when I
could have gone anywhere, and I’ve waited for a boring prince charming, but at least I never lied to myself.”
“Breezy, I ran away once, and I’ve spent the last eleven years regretting it. I’m not the same man I was then.”
She scoffed. “The only differences I see are about thirty pounds of muscle, that scar bisecting your left eyebrow, and a different haircut.”
“Then you don’t know me at all.”
“Maybe not, but I know me. This is the end. I’m going home tonight. I don’t need you breathing down my neck, so when Pete comes home, you can stay alone at my place across the hall until you turn and run again.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. You can stay here, or you can stay at your own place. Your choice. Where I stay is mine, and I’m not leaving—not even to sleep across the hall. Deal with it.”
Breezy looked about ready to rip him a new one. She stood shaking, furious. He squashed the urge to kiss her as he had earlier, and he wondered what it said about him that seeing her all fired up and mad was almost as much of a turn-on as seeing her naked.
“From now on, Storm Decker, you stay the hell away from me. Are we clear?”
“Crystal.” Bree was back to hating him. Maybe he deserved it. He should have said no when she climbed on his lap. He’d thought he could take what she offered but then realized he couldn’t. Okay, well, he could have; all the parts were working and then some, but then his conscience got in the way. She might say she wanted a relationship with no emotional attachments, but he didn’t believe it. It would hurt her. He wouldn’t allow that to happen again. It might kill him, but he would wait until Bree was ready for a serious relationship with him. “I’ll work at the bar, I’ll take care of my family, and I’ll prove you wrong. I won’t touch you until you want more than just a fuck. If you want to make love to me, Breezy, you let me know.”
He was through with regrets. Before this was over, he’d prove to Breezy and himself that he was worthy of her respect, her trust, and, although he had no idea how he’d manage it, her love.
