Ready

by Lucy Monroe

  “Most of them are right. Just because the relationship doesn’t work doesn’t meant they didn’t love those men. Anyway, you weren’t the first man I made love with.”

  “In a way, I was.”

  She knew immediately what he was getting at. He was the first man to give her the kind of pleasure most women would kill for. “I hate to break it to you, but it’s really not the same.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  For such a smart, logical, and usually rational being, he was certainly leading with his emotions on this one.

  “I don’t think so, and if you were thinking more logically, you wouldn’t, either.” But he wasn’t thinking completely reasonably because his heart was involved.

  She wanted to sing hosannas and shout the “Hallelujah Chorus.”

  “Joshua, a woman doesn’t have to sleep with ten different men to know when the right one comes along. I’ve never felt about another man the way I feel about you.”

  “You loved Mike.”

  “Yes, I did, but what I felt for him was so shallow compared to what I feel for you that there’s no comparison.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She stared at her sexy, badass mercenary and shook her head with exasperation. “Cryin’ out loud, Joshua. What do I have to do, write it across my forehead? Yes, I’m sure. I love you and it isn’t just because making love with you is so awesome. I love the deep well of integrity inside of you, I love being with you. Believe it or not, you’re peaceful to be with…for me, anyway. We fit on a level that has nothing to do with the physical. But most of all, I love the man your past has made you to be, the man who looks at the present with the eyes of a protector and the heart of warrior.”

  Dark brown eyes turned suspiciously bright and he nuzzled her neck. “So, let’s get married. You’ve got a month off. We can take a long honeymoon, maybe travel to a jungle as tourists for once, or something.”

  She wanted it more than anything she’d ever desired, but if he didn’t love her, wouldn’t he grow bored with their marriage?

  “Are you sure you want marriage?”

  “Yes.” He kissed her again, this time his lips hard and insistent, but she fought losing herself in a sensual daze.

  She needed answers to tough questions and she wasn’t hiding from asking them anymore.

  She pulled away, her breathing as rapid as her pulse. “Joshua, do you love me?”

  He took so long to answer that she began to despair it wasn’t going to be the right one.

  When he started talking, his voice was low and furred with feeling. “For a long time I thought you were making up an image in your head of someone I wasn’t, someone you could fall in love with, but you saw me more clearly than anyone ever has.”

  She was glad he realized that. “I don’t love you for who you could be, but for who you are.”

  “Yes. That’s an incredible feeling, sweetheart.”

  “I’m glad.”

  The question was, did he feel something similar?

  “The first time I saw you, I wanted you.”

  She smiled in memory. “I could tell. You were intense.”

  “You were scared.”

  “I didn’t want to lose myself again.”

  “Loving someone shouldn’t make you less than what you are, it should make you more.”

  “It does.” She’d finally figured that out.

  “I know.”

  Her heart stopped and then started beating so fast, she felt faint. “You do?”

  He cupped her face, the hot water lapping around them. “I love you, Lise Barton. Please say you’ll marry me because letting you go would mean tearing my heart out.”

  Emotion choked her and she could barely get the word out of lips stiff with joy. “Yes.”

  His kiss was filled with the promise of every tomorrow.

  They made love there in his underground jungle paradise, using love words they’d kept locked deep inside.

  Afterward, they called Jake and Bella to tell them the good news. Her brother wanted them to get married on the ranch and Lise agreed without a murmur of protest.

  She didn’t care where she got married so long as she got to spend the rest of her life with her Wolf.

  Two weeks later, she walked out of the bathroom in their honeymoon hideaway located in the heart of the Brazilian jungle.

  The bedroom was lit with candles, soft drums played outside the window, and an array of exotic orchids and other flowers filled the room with their scent. Joshua was lying on the bed, propped up on his elbow and wearing nothing but a wolf’s smile.

  “Come here.”

  She shook her head. “I’ve got something to give you.”

  “I know you do, but I can’t have it with six feet separating us.” Then, apparently too impatient to wait for her, he came up off the bed in a rush and pulled her into his arms, into his body, into his love.

  They fell together on the bed and she forgot about her present until he made a noise of surprise and grabbed the small, rectangular box from where it had fallen under his muscular butt. “What’s this?”

  “Open it and see.”

  He undid the ribbon and lifted the black lid off the gold box. She knew what was inside. A small white stick with two blue lines.

  He looked up at her. “Is this what I think it is?”

  She licked her lips. “What do you think it is?”

  “A pregnancy test.”

  “Yes.”

  “The blue lines mean it’s positive?” he asked, his voice giving nothing away about how he felt, but the throbbing erection against her thigh was another story.

  She nodded. “I’m going to have your baby.”

  She found herself flat on her back and he loomed above her, the biggest smile she’d ever seen on his face, his eyes molten ingots that burned her with his pleasure. “I was right.”

  She smiled up at him, her heart so full, she was afraid it would overflow in happy tears. “Yes. Our bodies are very compatible.”

  “So are our hearts. I love you, Lise.”

  She whispered the words back into his mouth as he kissed her with passion and tenderness that made her glad she’d taken a chance on loving a badass mercenary with a tendency to boss other people around.

  As she’d told him once, some risks in life were worth taking.

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  Nan’s heart skittered to a stop, seized up for a moment, then banged back to life, hammering at her rib cage. Okay, just one little backslide, just one night. She deserved it. And besides, Delia had eaten three doughnuts.

  It didn’t have to be a backslide. Damon Connelly might be the kind of man who liked to talk after sex. She could find out a lot of information that way.

  Who was she kidding? She was rationalizing. She knew it and she wanted to ignore it, but she made a last-ditch effort to control herself.

  “I’m not having casual sex these days.”

  Damon’s eyebrows twitched. It was such a turn-on. “It won’t be casual. I promise.”

  He stepped toward her. She stepped back against the table. His hands slipped around her waist. He lifted her up and sat her down on the top.

  Nan reached back to steady herself. Her hand squashed into the baguette, but she was beyond caring.

  He eased a hip bone between her thighs, then stepped between them. Pulled her forward until she was straddling him. Her skirt rolled up her thigh. She locked her ankles behind him and pulled him even closer.

  He groaned as body parts came together in a teasing dance. Then his mouth covered hers so violently that she fell backwards. He grabbed her around the shoulders and held on, assaulting her mouth with thrusts of his tongue. Mashing his lips against hers, driving her teeth against her lip, drawing blood.

  He eased up and ran his tongue along her teeth and lips, licking the
blood away. “Sorry,” he mumbled and went in for a second offensive.

  This time he was gentler. It was even better, knowing that he was holding himself back. It gave her a chance to reciprocate.

  She was vaguely aware of her cell phone ringing; a faint echo from inside her purse that she’d hung over a chair back. She briefly considered reaching for it, but couldn’t let go of Damon.

  His hair was soft and just the right length for wrapping around her fingers. She did and pulled. He groaned again and deepened the kiss. This time she fell backwards onto the tabletop, taking Damon with her.

  The French bread went down for the count. Neither of them noticed. Damon’s hands were everywhere, roaming at will, his touch hitting every spot but the one that needed it most.

  “Not a table, either,” he said against her ear. And suddenly she was lifted up. And being carried across the room, her legs still locked around his waist.

  He shouldered the door open and stepped into the hall.

  “Bedroom,” he said.

  “Yes,” she answered. Didn’t understand why he laughed.

  He started down the hall with her clinging to him. Paused and threw the first door open. It was the closet. A muffled expletive and he started up again. The bathroom.

  “And behind door number three…” she said breathlessly.

  “Aha,” said Damon as he opened the door to the bedroom.

  Anticipation rushed through her. Just one little backslide, she promised. He’d be gone in twenty minutes—forty, max. But until then…Shit. He’d stopped just inside the door. Why was he just standing there?

  “Hmm?” she asked.

  Damon jerked. “Just looking.” Then he moved again, across the room, and they fell on the bed together. He loomed over her, expression stark, eyes glittering with something scary.

  A part of her brain, the part that was still trying to think rationally, was clamoring for her attention. She didn’t know anything about Damon Connelly. She was nuts to let this man into her house, much less into her bed. And then the part of her that was responsible for her being sent to Camp Wilderness spoke up. You’ll get information this way. And have a hell of a ride along the way.

  She consigned her rational self as well as her good intentions to the bottom of Long Island Sound and reached for the buttons of Damon’s shirt. It made the tussle in the parking lot look like an amateur sting. This was a fight to the finish. They groped for each other, getting in each other’s way, but neither yielding ground.

  Finally, Damon pushed her to her feet. His shirt hung by one arm. His trousers were halfway unzipped. Her dress was up by her waist. He steadied her on her heels, then pulled the dress over her head in one smooth movement. She stood before him in nothing but four-inch heels and a beige silk thong.

  A sharp crack of sound, somewhere between a laugh and a cry, escaped from deep in his throat. He was breathing hard and taking her in.

  He yanked the sleeve over his wrist and tossed his shirt past her. She started to reach for him.

  “No,” he said. “Stay right there. Just like that.” His eyes were feasting on her. Scrutinizing every inch of her. While her insides were tugging with desire, with impatience, and with shear physical need. Her thong was wet with anticipation.

  Damon shucked off his trousers, boxers, shoes and socks. Then he stood before her.

  She licked dry lips and his cock jumped in response. What a sense of power. So why didn’t he come to her or draw her toward him?

  They stood facing each other, not more than four feet away, discovering everything they could by sight, but Nan was eager to get to the touch and taste part. And so was Damon if she knew the signs. And she knew the signs.

  Then he moved and she was in his arms, their bodies pressed together, sharing heat, exchanging desire. He didn’t kiss her this time or suckle her, but scooped her off the ground and laid her gently across the bed. He lifted her leg, slipped off her shoe, and held her bare foot in his hand.

  His tongue flicked across her toes. Nan wriggled. Jesus. The man even made feet erotic. He nibbled each toe, then slid his tongue up her instep leaving a heated wet trail to her ankle.

  Oh, boy. She didn’t think she could wait for him to make his way all the way up her leg. She reached for him again, but he pushed her hand away. Continued to lick and nibble his way up her calf and thigh. Exquisite torture. It was time to reel this baby in.

  “Damon,” she whispered.

  “Soon.” He nuzzled the crease at her hip, just inches from where he needed to go. She wondered if he needed a road map. She shifted under him, trying to give him a clue. His breath puffed out over her belly, making her shudder. He was teasing her.

  Nan’s whole body clenched in anticipation. Okay, she was going to die without ever getting to the really good part.

  Finally, his tongue slipped beneath the tie of her thong. He followed the string to the triangle of fabric. She felt the rasp of his tongue on her skin, now just centimeters to the left of home.

  “Damon.”

  He kept moving, bypassing where she needed him, then coming back a little closer and skirting off to the side again. She was squirming beneath him. Out of control, helpless to make him hurry.

  Then his tongue slipped out of her thong and he moved away. Nan felt a wash of disappointment.

  But he moved back to her, his mouth inches above the fabric. His head dipped, his teeth closed over the silk triangle, soaked from both their body fluids. He jerked his head. The fabric ripped as the thong came away in his mouth.

  He tossed it to the side and dove to his final destination.

  Nan whimpered. She never whimpered, simpered, or whined. But she felt like doing all three. She fell into a vortex of pleasure. The movements of his tongue, the nip of his teeth diffused waves of heat through the rest of her body; drove an acute tightening deep inside her.

  She was caught up in the moment, yo-yoing between trying to guess what he would do next, and not caring at all as long as he kept going. She was turned on by the unpredictability of it all, and totally helpless to reciprocate. Finally giving up, she succumbed to the escalating rhythm of his tongue and her response to it.

  She grabbed his hair, pulling him into her. He urged her toward the brink, winding her tighter and tighter, until the spring uncoiled and she rocketed through space. Damon hung on all the way, riding her until the last contraction subsided.

  He followed his tongue up the center of her body.

  “Can’t wait,” he said and thrust into her, before she could even say “condom.”

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  Hal Lindsay yanked her down across him and kissed her. Fast and hard, his tongue diving between her teeth.

  She stiffened, affronted by the unexpected familiarity.

  His mouth gentled. His tongue delicately caressed her lips as he rumbled something persuasive.

  She sighed, captivated, and her jaw relaxed, admitting him. Then it was too late for objections as her sanity fled under his expert attentions.

  He kissed her like a devil intent on sweeping a woman’s soul away. His neat goatee caressed her cheeks and chin as his tongue claimed hers. He tasted of bourbon and sugar…and man. She moaned and her fingers caressed the whisker stubble on his cheeks. He was warm, and real, and infinitely better than any lonely dream.

  Lindsay growled something and stood up, lifting her into his arms as if she were a petite demoiselle, not an overly tall Amazon. Fire flowed down her spine, from her throat to her core, at his easy mastery of her.

  “What the devil do you think you’re doing?” Rosalind gasped, stunned by how easily he carried her. Her breasts firmed, all too aware of the heat of his big body.

  “What do you think?” Lindsay wasn’t even slightly winded.

  “Put me down!” she protested, trying to deny her own reaction to him.

&nb
sp; “Not yet.”

  She considered shouting for help but decided against it: only his servants could hear her. Besides, the warmth building between her legs made it difficult to argue with him.

  The terrier limped after them, his tail wagging jauntily. The undershirt was now just a distant lump on the carpet, an inconsequential oddity in the magnificent hallway.

  Hal pushed open a door and dropped her on his big carved mahogany bed, taken by his grandfather from a British merchantman during the War of 1812. The crystal lamps and brocade coverlet had come from France by way of New Orleans during the last war; legally paid for, unlike the bed. Winds from an approaching thunderstorm set the Irish lace curtains to dancing at the windows. Lightning sparked the sky in nature’s fireworks.

  But his prize was more unique than anything captured by his ancestors. He’d beguiled her into his house as neatly as he’d grabbed that last pot at Taylor’s house with an unexpected bluff. And now he could savor her to the fullest.

  She fascinated him. He had a million questions for her, ranging from how she’d managed to disguise herself to her opinions on lower Mississippi riverboat traffic. But none of them came to his lips, not once he’d felt her lovely ass as he carried her. He needed more of the woman hidden inside that far too concealing frock coat.

  His cock lengthened at the prospect.

  Hal caressed her jaw lightly, surprised at how his fingers trembled. “Where did you get the name Frank Carstairs from?” he asked hoarsely.

  She tilted her head slightly to consider him. Hal smiled inwardly; of course, his little poker shark would want to think first. He’d enjoy burning all that cool consideration out of her. Damn, he’d like to see her knocked off balance and into overwhelming lust, after watching her icy control at the poker table.

  “My mother’s maiden name was Carstairs,” she answered slowly. He continued to fondle her, wondering how he’d ever mistaken cheeks this smooth for a man’s.

  “And Frank?” His fingers trailed through the fine locks of hair at her temples.

  “My second name is Frances.” Her head turned slightly to follow his touch.

  “Mine is Andronicus.” Hal traced the outer curve of her ear and knew he deserved a medal for making conversation when his cock was this hard. But he needed to wait, needed to seduce her, his little poker shark who was all too comfortable with the guns at her waist. Damn, she was a better challenge then piloting the Belle through the great rapids before Fort Benton.