The combination of anxiety and attraction had all but rendered him mute. His brothers’ don’t-screw-it-up advice had been ringing in his ears, his scalp had been prickling annoyingly, and his rod had almost swelled out of jeans. Then she’d smiled that awkward time-to-get-out-of-my-house smile—Sam knew that smile—he’d worn it several times—but had never had it directed at him. And he’d panicked. He’d known that he had to come up with something and the only thing that had popped into his near-paralyzed brain was Martindale.
But the more he’d thought about it, the better he liked the idea. He was shooting this particular wedding at Grand Court on Ravenwood Estate, a brand new four-star hotel situated on the pastoral grounds of the Estate, a two-hundred and seventy-five room French Renaissance-style palace nestled in the Blue Ridge mountains. The house was cram-packed full of original furnishing and art objects collected by the late owner, Remington Rutledge. It was awe-inspiring, particularly to history buffs and antique lovers. Delaney, he knew, would love it. She’d confessed that she’d never been to the estate, but that she’d always wanted to go. Her eyes had taken on a particularly keen sparkle while they’d talked about it.
In addition to the house, the grounds in and of themselves were a sight to behold. The gardens were spectacular, and the estate boasted a winery as well. Were that not enough, little antique stores littered the downtown area, a veritable Garden of Eden to an old-stuff junkie.
For a weekend getaway, Sam knew he couldn’t have picked a better place. He’d be working off and on throughout the weekend, but there would be plenty of time for them to get out and explore during the day, and other than the after-rehearsal dinner, they’d have the nights to themselves as well.
Sam didn’t want to push Delaney—he instinctively knew that tactic wouldn’t work with her, particularly right now. But he also knew that time was of the essence. They’d shared a phenomenal night together and she’d either been so unmoved or spooked by it that she’d left, rather than spend the night with him. Sam preferred to think that she’d been spooked. Given the night they had, the alternative simply wasn’t possible.
To further give him pause, when he’d made that unexpected visit to her house, she’d been ready to show him the door only minutes after he’d arrived. Sam knew she wasn’t interested in anything permanent with him. Intrigued by him? Yes. Attracted to him? He mentally snorted. No doubt.
But she’d made it perfectly clear that she was no longer interested in any long-term relationship. She was keeping him at arm’s length. He could feel it. Though she’d been perfectly amiable, she’d been guarded as well. She’d been just flirtatious enough to let him know what she wanted out of this weekend—sex. She wanted a weekend with no worries, no strings, and no emotional involvement. She wanted to indulge in a little scandalous behavior—the kind she’d been accused of, but had clearly never participated in—wanted to test her limits and stretch her boundaries. In short, she wanted his body, which under normal circumstances would have been equally agreeable and flattering.
But these were hardly normal circumstances.
Sam didn’t just want her for the weekend—he wanted her forever.
His wolflike genes had howled at her, singled her out as The One. As bizarre as it sounded, he knew it, and knowing it made it all the more nerve-racking. He couldn’t afford to screw things up with her, couldn’t put a single toe out of line—to that end, he’d called and formally withdrawn his portfolio from her company. That was a potential bomb he didn’t want blowing up in his face and he instinctively knew it had the potential to be catastrophic. He didn’t know why, but the warning was there all the same.
Nevertheless, he still didn’t know quite how to proceed. He’d been denying the Martelli phenomenon since puberty, had decided when his mother died that marriage simply wasn’t for him. He’d honed his seduction skills, but had never—never—once considered how one might go about attracting a female permanently. He’d never had the need.
Until now.
Sam blew out a silent breath and his gaze inexplicably darted to the woman in his passenger seat. Need and something else, something desperate, landed a blow to his midsection, making his fingers tense on the steering wheel.
Oh, hell, Sam thought. Hopefully, those wolflike genes that had pointed her out as The One would also lead him in the right direction when it came to making her his. God knows he was going to need all the help he could get, because frankly, while he knew exactly what buttons to push to make her come, he didn’t have any idea how to go about making her happy…or making her his.
DELANEY DIDN’T KNOW how much longer she could feign sleep. She’d been awake for the last several miles, though she hadn’t betrayed so much as a blink or a muscle twitch. Sam had plugged CCR into the CD player and “Proud Mary” currently played on his customized system.
Though his tastes clearly leaned to the old and eclectic, he nonetheless had a savvy sense of current technology. She’d noticed a sophisticated computer system in his loft, as well as a top-of-the-line plasma TV. Both were pricey items and she’d concluded that his business had to be extremely lucrative to support his discriminating tastes.
For that matter, his antiques hadn’t come cheap either. She’d noticed—and coveted—a Victorian Davenport desk, among other things, that would have required a substantial amount of cash to own.
Delaney had been trying since Wednesday afternoon to figure out what exactly had made her agree to come on this trip, and then wondered even more what had possessed her not to call and cancel it.
Now, easily three hundred miles from home, she still hadn’t figured it out.
She’d alternately berated herself, and then wondered what to pack. How screwed up was that? Still, Sam had unwittingly hit upon a hidden desire and a weakness—she’d wanted to see the Ravenwood Estate for years, but had never had the time—nor made it—to make the trip. She’d always been too busy at work, or learning some other new hobby to make someone else happy. Never enough time for herself.
If he had asked to go anywhere but there, she most likely would have said no. Common sense, she hoped, would have prevailed. But the combined temptation of the trip and a weekend spent in his bed—on top of, beneath, and next to his wonderful body—was simply more than she could pass up. Given the chance, Sam Martelli could become every bit as addictive to her as chocolate.
It would have been extremely difficult just to pass up the weekend in his bed part—Delaney inwardly shuddered with a blast of desire—but given the wary intensity of her feelings, she was almost certain that she would have told him no.
In fact, though she’d been absolutely melting inside, she’d been ready to show him the door seconds after she’d opened it and found him standing on her front porch. She’d firmed her resolve, had been mentally chanting her new men-sucked, baby-steps, little-victories cheer.
But one thought-shattering brush of his sexy lips against hers, one tender entreaty, and a promised trip to a place she’d always wanted to go…and every bit of that resolve had been blown away like a dandelion seed in a soft wind.
If he’d taken her lips in a kiss designed to conquer, in one that had made her a slave to the attraction, Delaney knew she would have declined the invitation. She would have been irritated enough to have said no. But apparently—frighteningly—Sam had known that as well, and had done the one thing guaranteed to make her capitulate—he’d persuaded, not pressed.
The fact that he’d seemed genuinely interested in spending time with her—just her—and didn’t want to further his own career via her success was no small part of her decision as well. Unlike losers one and two, he wasn’t shopping for a job, shopping for an account. It was heartily refreshing.
Rather than continuing to chastise and berate herself for being a fool, Delaney had decided to take advantage of what he’d offered. His invitation couldn’t have come at a better time. She’d taken off the rest of the week, so her schedule was clear and, despite that one embarrassing mo
ment when the light had blown her cover of darkness at Sam’s, she’d still made a tremendous amount of progress when it came to her modesty.
Besides the incredible night spent with Sam, one look at her pictures had told her that.
After Sam had left, Delaney had held her breath and cautiously opened her packet of boudoir photos. She’d barely recognized the woman in those pictures as herself. To say that she’d been surprised would have been a vast understatement—she’d been completely shocked.
The first few shots, she’d been tense and had worn a hesitant smile but still looked surprisingly…sexy. Looking at them with a critical eye, she could honestly say that she looked good. Not great. She’d never be cover-model material. Delaney inwardly chuckled. Even if she could forego a little thing like food, she’d been genetically built on a small, hippy scale. But she was healthy and toned, and she supposed something could be said for that.
As the session had progressed, she’d relaxed and Delaney could see first the spark of lust, then the steady build of fire, as frame by frame, her lips curled just a little more seductively, her body grew just a little more languid. A wicked gleam had danced in her eyes and she’d looked happy, for lack of a better description. Sam had done a fantastic job of capturing her on film. More than her body, and her designs, just her.
Delaney had critically studied the pictures, sized them up professionally, and had come to the conclusion that Sam Martelli had one incredible eye, unparalleled talent. Lighting, composition, positioning, every detail was perfect. Were he not so obviously successful, she’d be inclined to offer him a position at the Chifferobe. Still might, for that matter. Sam’s photography was edgy and compelling, very sensual.
While her current staff of photographers did an admirable job, there was always room for improvement and his talent could definitely improve her catalogue. It was something to think about, anyway.
Delaney felt her body shift as he smoothly pulled the SUV off what she could only assume was an exit ramp. She didn’t think they’d had time to make it to Martindale yet, but who knew how long she’d been asleep? It could have been thirty minutes or three hours. Still, she hadn’t gotten a great deal of rest over the past few days, and her mouth had that dry, stale taste that indicated she’d been out for a while, anyway. She could use a bathroom break and something to drink.
She stretched, blinked sleepily and pretended to wake up. Sam looked over at her and smiled, making her heart skip a beat. “Hey,” he murmured. “Get enough rest?”
He wheeled the SUV into a gas station and pulled up next to a pump. Delaney shifted gingerly. “Yeah, I did.” She stifled a genuine yawn. She looked around, trying to see any distinguishing landmarks. “Where are we?”
Sam shifted into park and killed the ignition. “Almost there. We’re about thirty miles outside of Martindale. I’m going to fill up and grab a snack and a drink.” He arched a brow. “Can I get you anything?”
“Nah, I’ll get it.” She offered him a small smile. “I’ve got to find the little girls’ room, anyway.”
Sam nodded, and moved to take up the pump. Delaney strolled into the store, found the bathroom and attended to necessary business. When she came out, Sam had already grabbed a soda and was trolling the candy aisle.
The sheer perfection of him, the sheer size, hit her once more and something hot and achy vibrated in her belly. He towered over everyone else, dominated the space around him. Those dark brown locks were windblown, messy almost, and lent a curiously boyish look to his ruggedly handsome Italian features. His lean cheeks were slightly red from the cold. He wore a long-sleeved brushed flannel shirt in shades of green and gray tucked into a pair of worn, comfortable-looking button-fly jeans that hugged his muscular thighs and molded over that fist-bitingly wonderful ass.
A fire ignited in her womb, blazed up through her belly and licked her nipples. The breath stuttered out of her lungs in a small whoosh of longing and every wickedly depraved wonderful thing he’d done to her the night before last immediately leapt to mind. He looked up, smiled and absently licked his lips.
Astonishingly, Delaney imagined that talented tongue of his licking her in the most intimate of places. Remembered what he’d felt like there, between her legs, feasting on her until her body had bowed off the sheet and she’d screamed her release into the night.
She was standing in the middle of a convenience store in God knows where, holding a chocolate Yoo-Hoo and this was what she was thinking. It was crazy. Insane. She was hit with the almost insatiable urge to drag him into the bathroom, turn off the light and have him take her hard and fast against the damned door, the way she’d never been taken. Her sex slickened, drenching her panties.
Something about what she’d been thinking must have shown on her face, because a blatantly sexy oh-so-knowing gaze glimmered in those overtly hungry dark eyes and he carelessly put down his selections and stalked purposefully toward her. Delaney held his gaze, bit her bottom lip as a thrill raced through her, reckless and willing.
“Come on,” Sam said roughly. He threaded her fingers through his and determinedly tugged her back toward the bathroom. Anticipation sang in her blood, forcing a stuttered laugh from her throat. She thought she heard herself say okay, but couldn’t be sure.
Sam opened the door for her, then followed her inside. He simultaneously backed her against the door and flipped the lock, then framed her face with his hands and his mouth came down hungrily on hers. The first taste of him exploded on her tongue, made a low purr of approval sound in the back of her throat. He answered her purr with a greedy growl, sucked at her tongue, fed at her mouth.
Delaney wound her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him, shamelessly begging for whatever he could give her. Her body craved his, desperately needed an orgasmic fix. Her pulse beat hotly between her legs, making her squirm more closely to him. Her nipples were pearled, her breasts achingly heavy and need raked across every nerve ending.
She felt him hard against her belly and groaned into his mouth. God, how she wanted him. She couldn’t get close enough to him, though she’d practically scaled his body and crawled under his skin.
Sam left off her mouth and trailed a hot brand of sensation down her neck, and then lower still into the valley between her breasts. He reached and tweaked a nipple, forcing a startled “oh” from her lips. He bent down, sucked her through the thin fabric and wrenched another sound of pleasure from her throat. He positioned his hips between her legs and rocked in that absolute perfect place, one of the brass buttons from his jeans hitting squarely on her throbbing clit. Delaney’s mouth opened in a silent gasp, and she pressed herself even harder against him, frantically mimicked his thrusting hips in a perfect rhythm. The bright sparkle of release hovered just out of reach and she so desperately wanted it.
Needed it.
Breathing hard, Sam left off her breast and increased the pressure and tempo beneath her waist. “Tell me what you want.”
Oh, God.
Delaney whimpered softly. She wanted him, dammit. “You know,” Delaney said brokenly, her voice a pleading rasp. And he did. He just wanted to make her say it, wanted to hold her accountable this time.
Sam’s mouth found hers once more, suckled and fed, a hot thrilling mating of the tongues that simulated the exact thing that she wanted.
“Say it,” he told her, his voice husky with want.
Delaney squeezed her eyes shut. She was mindless with need, was practically coming out of her burning skin. Her breathing came fast and sharp and every cell in her body clamored for him to fill her, for him to push her to the edge of ecstasy and back again. She felt hollow and empty and needed him inside her more than she needed her next breath. It was madness. Insane. Wonderful.
“You,” she gasped. “I need you.”
Sam smiled against her lips, then blindly reached over and flipped the light switch into the off position, sending the small room into immediate darkness. For her, she knew. The thoughtful gesture m
ade her chest tight, and when she could think clearly again, she’d properly thank him for it. But right now—
Sam reached down and pushed her pants and undies down and off, then dragged a couple of talented fingers through her drenched curls, fragmenting her thoughts.
“God, you’re wet.”
Delaney cupped him through his jeans. “You’re hard.”
He strangled on a laugh. “Well, that happens when you look at me….”
Delaney made swift work of the button closures, worked his pants and boxers down and wrapped her hand around the long, hard length of him. “Look at you like what?” Delaney asked distractedly.
Sam pushed himself against her hand once, then growled, drew back and fished a condom from his pocket and swiftly rolled it into place. “Like…nothing. I get hard when you look at me.” He chuckled. “Have been hard since I met you.”
Warm delight bloomed in her chest. “Well, I guess we’re even then. I’ve been wet since I met you.”
“Good,” he said thickly. “That means we’ll always be ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“This.” Sam lifted her off the floor, forcing her to anchor her legs around his waist, then leaned her back against the door and slid into her in one long, swift movement that was instantly satisfying, yet somehow insufficient. Delaney let out a small gasp, clenched her aching muscles around him and wrapped her arms more tightly around his neck.
Sam found her mouth in another searing kiss and pumped frantically in and out of her, harder and faster, then harder still. Her belly quickened, her thighs tensed and she hovered on the brink of release. Seemingly sensing her nearness, Sam abruptly changed tempo, still fantastic, but not enough to give her what she wanted.
The greedy sadistic wretch.
“Sam,” she pleaded, the frustration sweet. She clamped her muscles around him, equally dreading and enjoying the hot seek and retreat of his body inside hers.
Sam sucked in a tight breath and squeezed her bottom. “Say please,” he told her, a trace of laughter in his tone, clearly enjoying the power she’d unwittingly given him.
Picture Me Sexy Page 11
