by Kylie Brant
And yet she understood him, and he her, in a way he never could have foreseen. Circumstances had thrown them together and stripped them of their usual guard. With defenses lowered, vulnerabilities peeked through. And every moment with her had him more intrigued.
He caught the cord of her neck in his teeth and drew a gasp from her. The sound called to something primitive buried deep inside him. Caution reared, distant but insistent. There was danger here. Feeling too much too fast wasn't his normal way.
But the unexpected could be damn inviting. The foreign an almost overwhelming temptation.
She twisted against him, and he pulled her closer, inhaling the scent found below her ear, at her temple. Her skin was silky there, baby soft. And he was suddenly eager to explore the rest of her, to discover all the textures of her body. Find out what made her sigh and moan and gasp.
Need rose in him, edgy and fierce. He tugged the blouse from her waistband and slipped his hand inside, finding sleek skin molded over fascinating curves. He covered her breast with his palm, felt the warmth of her radiating through the lace. Her heart was hammering against his hand, and he knew its pace matched his own.
He took her mouth again and felt her hand slide to his hair, fisting there. Her flavor was heady, and it was difficult to get his fill. Especially when her tongue was flicking the roof of his mouth, sliding along his teeth, darting daringly against his own. He was certain in that instant that whatever the outcome of the night, he wouldn't regret this. Or her.
Tori didn't know how long it was before she became aware that the car had stopped. James barely lifted his mouth from hers to murmur against her lips. "I want to take you somewhere. Show you something."
His low voice was raspy with desire. The same emotion was reflected in his hooded eyes. He caught her hand when she smoothed it over his hard jaw; pressed a kiss in its center. Closing her fingers, she trapped the warmth that lingered there. "Show me," she said.
He helped her from the car and then laced their fingers. Tugging her along with him, they started off across the drive at a leisurely pace. But when the limo moved away toward the garage, James shot her a grin of pure wicked sin. "This will be easier barefoot."
A delighted smile crossed her lips at the playful challenge. It was unexpected. And, like many other experiences tonight, showed a side to him she wouldn't have guessed at. Once he'd shrugged out of his jacket and tie, and they'd both shed their shoes and socks, he grabbed her hand again and they ran flat-out across the dew-kissed grass.
The yard was long, lush and rolled softly toward the shore of the lake. They dodged the shadowy gardens and ornate walks and raced across the lawn.
Tori reached her stride easily, lungs expanding with air that seemed unbelievably fresh, amazingly sweet. And when a glance at James showed that he was matching her stride for stride, an innate competitive streak kicked in.
She could hear his low husky laugh behind her as she pulled ahead, could imagine his long legs stretching to keep pace. And felt a flash of pure enjoyment as sensation layered over sensation. The damp grass beneath her feet and the studded velvet sky overhead.
And most provocative was the presence of the man beside her. A man who, until now, she never would have pictured doing anything so carefree.
A small building loomed on their left, several yards away. His arm snaked around her waist, spun her to meet him, and then they were both tumbling to the grass, rolling across it. By the time they came to a stop she was dizzy and laughing helplessly, pushing at his chest. "Get off me, you fool."
James propped himself up on his elbows and grinned down at her. "Is that any way to show your appreciation of my seduction technique?"
"You've finally convinced me that your reputation in that area has been overstated."
"I told you." His easy agreement was in contrast to the kisses he strewed along her jawline, leaving fire in their wake. "It's always a mistake for people to believe their own press."
Her hands linked around his neck even as a sneaky sliver of doubt stabbed her. "I've made my share of mistakes. I don't want to regret this. I don't want you to."
James paused. Her words, the shadow of uncertainty in them, unleashed a bolt of tenderness that was as unfamiliar as it was undeniable. "No. No regrets." To convince her, his kiss was slow, rife with promise. Her flavor was still sweetly unique. It still fired his hormones to instant readiness. But beneath the desire was an understanding that this wasn't going to be easily dismissed, or easily forgotten. And any regrets he experienced would be most likely to come at their parting.
The moonlight dappled the lawn, painting it with threads of silver. He wanted, quite desperately, to see her skin streaked with its pearly glow. To taste the areas bathed in light and explore those left in shadow.
To drive them both mad, he unbuttoned her blouse slowly, starting at the bottom, distracting each of them from his actions by pressing light, nibbling kisses to her lips. Two buttons open. The warm, smooth stretch of skin beneath his palm. He didn't look, but his imagination supplied him with an image that was temptation personified. Pressing her lips open with his, he found her tongue, sucked lightly.
Two more buttons undone. He heard the slight hitch of her breath when the night air met her bared skin. He kept his eyes closed and his touch restrained. Light brushes, fingertips on satin. Anticipation thrummed through him. Muscles grew tight with tension. And her mouth opened more eagerly for his, her hands clutching at his shoulders.
When the last two buttons were released, he gave a slight tug and the fabric parted. And only then did he raise his head, open his eyes and send up a fervent prayer.
Her long lean form was a delight to the eyes, a treat to the senses. Spreading his hand over her rib cage, he kneaded lightly, watching the shadows meld into glistening ivory and back again. The lace covering her breasts was rough in comparison to her skin. He wanted to see her wearing nothing but moonglow. He unsnapped her bra and tossed both it and her blouse aside.
Her breasts were high firm mounds that begged for a man's hands, for his mouth. He took a nipple between his lips and sucked, filling his palm with her other breast. He was aware of her hands in his hair, pulling him closer, but even more aware of the taste of her, unspeakably erotic; the exquisite softness of her curves; the bite of need in her nails digging into his shoulders.
Tori fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, lacking his finesse or restraint. She wanted to feel their skin pressed together; chest to chest; hips to hips. When she had the garment unfastened, her hands streaked inside, in a hurry to chart every inch of flesh she'd bared.
He had the long, spare build of a runner, lightly padded with muscle. She wasn't surprised to find strength lurking beneath the polish, but she was tempted by it. Incredibly so. Hands greedy, she slid them over his torso. There were surprising hollows beneath angles, sleek skin stretched over bone and sinew. The ribbon of hair trailing below his navel was silky where she traced it, the muscles quivering beneath her touch a stark testament to a need that mirrored her own.
She dragged her eyes open, tried to focus. He was leaning half-over her, part of him in light, the other in shadow. He still cupped her breast, the thumb rubbing over her nipple, drawing it to a tauter point. Odd, with the distrust that lay unspoken between them, that at this time, in this place, she trusted him as no other. Hunger painted his face nearly savage, but it wasn't fear that quickened inside her at the sight.
Leaning forward, she ran the tip of her tongue over his collarbone, tested it lightly with her teeth. Then lost her breath when, with one quick move, he had her in his arms and was rising, like a statue of a Roman god come to life.
She stretched, muscles tight with anticipation, and hooked an arm around his neck to anchor herself. The other was free to roam across his hair-roughened chest, finding the flat nipple hiding there and flicking it teasingly.
He nipped her throat for her efforts, then laved the spot with his tongue. With a sense of disorientation, she realized h
e'd brought them to the building she'd seen earlier.
"Look out there. See that view?"
Obeying his low, raspy voice, she turned her gaze on the lake and caught her breath. The half-moon hung low in the sky, painting the ripples in the water with a pearly stripe of ivory. The sky was an endless glittering spread of midnight, deep and unpenetrable.
"I've been all over the world, and nothing can match this spot for beauty." His eyes looked dark in the night, fathomless. "I'll never look at it again without remembering you here. Remembering this moment."
Her heart did a slow roll in her chest. An aching thread of tenderness, far more dangerous than passion, filled her. Words failed her, but words weren't needed.
His mouth found hers, gentleness quickly turning to something sharper. More urgent.
Once inside the screened gazebo, James reluctantly set her on her feet. His mouth traced the curve of her shoulder as he swept his hand over the surprisingly delicate line of her spine, found the intriguing hollow at its base. Her slacks impeded his exploration, and patience proved elusive. He managed the zipper but wasn't as careful with the scrap of silk beneath. There was a sound of shredding fabric, before he filled his hands with her silky bottom.
There was more, far more than he'd imagined to stroke, to knead, to explore. The curve of her waist, the underside of her breast, the sleek line of thigh, the slick softness of her femininity. He tolerated, for as long as he was able, her hands at his waist, unfastening his pants. But when she inched the zipper of his trousers down one excruciating inch at a time, he was certain he was being punished for forgotten sins. Breath hissing between his teeth, he stepped away, stripped off the remainder of his clothes and drew her close again, marvelously close.
Bending his head, he took her nipple between his lips and filled his mouth with her. Her broken cries torched the fever of his desire. Stoked it higher. He could feel the hunger rise in him and strove to check it. Not yet. There were too many discoveries he'd yet to make. And far too much of the night remained to rush through this now.
And then those intentions fragmented when she found him, wrapping knowing fingers around pulsing heat and stroking him to madness. His eyes went blind. His lungs strained for oxygen. And the sharp and vicious edge of need grew keener.
His hands became increasingly urgent, just shy of desperate. He caressed her thighs, found her damp cleft and pressed rhythmically. When she softened against him he cupped her femininity and slid a finger inside her damp center.
The cry that escaped her scraped over nerve endings already taut and straining. She was exquisitely soft, tight and warm. Even days ago he would have sworn that lovemaking could hold no surprises for him. And yet here he was, sensation raining over him, a storm in his system. And the indisputable cause of that was the woman going wild in his arms.
Her response shredded the veneer of civility he was usually careful to maintain. It called forth an untamed element that he'd always been aware of, had always hidden. It drew from him a determination to take all she had to give and then push her higher. Further. Until the image of what had passed between them was etched forever in her memory, as it would be in his.
He felt the precise moment when she stiffened against him, surprise and pleasure drawing her up into a tight fist of need. One more stroke, one deep touch would send her crashing over the edge, leaving her gasping and limp.
He withdrew his fingers, muffled the low whimper she made with his lips. When she went over the first time, it would be with him buried deep inside her, with every inch of their bodies touching, straining toward release. And it would have to be soon. Sweat slicked his forehead, and he couldn't see through the haze of his own desire.
Moving more from memory than sight, he tumbled them both to the futon. Ragged breaths mingled. Greed took over, on both their parts. Damp skin pressed against damp skin. Hands raced over tense muscles. Mouths met while teeth clashed and tongues battled. Control shredded.
He had a moment of clarity, as the hunger sliced through him with a single savage stroke. Blindly he reached for his pants, dug out the foil-wrapped package in the pocket. And then what was left of his tattered control was tested, as Tori took the condom from him and sheathed him with it, fingers staying to caress.
His brain misted, reason receded. Moving her hands away, he slid over her body, positioned himself between her thighs. His intent was to go slow. He entered her by excruciating inches, his throat clogging at the tight perfection of her, his muscles quivering with restraint. And then intent was shattered when her hips rose wildly, forcing him deeper, faster.
He needed to see her face. He dragged his eyelids open, fought for focus. Her eyes were open, dazed and huge, fixed on his. And in that moment he was certain that what they shared was a first of sorts for both of them.
She clutched him closer, the tiny sting of her nails on his back whipping his hunger to fever pitch. His hips lunged against hers, each frantic movement edging them closer to a brilliant culmination. He felt her body buck beneath his, swallowed the helpless cry on her lips. He tried to fight against his own climax, but she was liquid fire around him, her inner muscles clenching and releasing, milking his own response. With his gaze still locked on her face, her name on his lips, he felt the sensations slam into him. He surged against her one last time before following her headlong into pleasure.
Time and distance were qualities necessary to steady the pulse and resettle sanity. Tori hadn't seen James all day, which, she considered, was for the best. Perspective, she decided, was something she very much needed to restore.
The night they'd spent together defied description. Melting tenderness, primitive hunger and, laced through it all, a burning desire that had been quenched, over and over, only to quicken again. She had expected the love-making to be hot and, given her response to him, satisfying. She hadn't known that it could be meltingly touching at the same time. That it would wipe out every previous experience she'd ever had and stamp her indelibly with his touch.
A frisson of worry shot through her at the thought, and her spine straightened. Obviously lack of sleep had affected her brain, as well. She wasn't stamped. She didn't do stamped. Okay, it had been good between them, she told herself, struggling to pour herself into the dress he'd had the maid bring to her room. Great even. He'd needed someone last night, and she'd happened to be handy and available.
Maybe a little too available—where was the zipper in this thing? Contorting herself into an impossible position, she yanked at one of the myriad straps that crossed what she fervently hoped was the back and inched the dress up a fraction. But she wasn't going to waste time second-guessing herself. They'd both said last night they weren't going to do regrets. And despite how this thing ended, and it would end soon she was certain, she couldn't be sorry for something that had been … almost magical.
Once she finally got the garment on, she strode to the mirror, gaped in horror. Where was the rest of the material? In vain, she tugged at the hem in an attempt to lengthen it a few inches. And the back—she half turned to peek and gave a groan—was completely bare, save for the criss-crossing of stretchy straps that didn't seem to be much more than decoration. Certainly they meant she'd have to lose the bra.
She scowled at her reflection, considered her options. She could track down the maid and ask her to select something else. But she had no idea where to find the woman, and she was running short of time as it was. She was very much afraid that anything else in the collection would be as bad as or worse than this one.
Finally giving up that idea, she shifted so she wouldn't be faced with her reflection and dragged a brush through her hair. She started to strap on her watch, then noticed that the functional style would hardly go with the dress. Muttering beneath her breath, she laid it back on the dresser and snatched up the shoes that went with the dress. Resignation filled her when she noted the heels. They added a good three inches to her already over-average height. In the bright-red dress, which she had a sneak
y suspicion James had selected on purpose, she now looked like a flaming Amazon.
A knock sounded as she attempted to jam her cell phone into the tiny matching purse. Starting for the door, she didn't get two steps before she darn near twisted her ankle. Cursing the uncustomary heels, she hobbled the rest of the way and threw the door open, glowering at the man standing there holding a flat case in his hand.
"Why don't you just take a gun and shoot me? It'd be less painful."
Brows raised, James strolled in, his gaze traveling over her form and lingering on the shoes. "Is it the dress or the heels? Both, by the way, are very becoming. I knew they'd suit you."
She shut the door behind him, with a little more force than necessary. "The dress is about four inches too short to wear in public, and the heels should qualify as lethal weapons. I'm not sure I could chase down a suspect in them, but if I happened to trip one I could always use a shoe to beat him to death."
Tori saw the smile quivering on his lips and the admirable effort he took to firm it. Neither endeared him to her. "Easy to be amused when you're not the one attending this thing half-naked wearing stilts."
"I don't suppose it will improve your mood to add some glitter to the mix. You're not the type to go gooey-eyed over jewels." He flipped open the jeweler's box to reveal a gold necklace dripping rubies and diamonds. Taking it out, he said, "Turn around and I'll fasten it for you."
She didn't move. Couldn't. She was very much afraid her mouth was agape, as well. "Is that real?"
"A hundred grand worth of 'real.'" Since she still hadn't moved, he stepped behind her and fitted the necklace beneath her hair. Latching the clasp he turned her in his arms, studying her critically. "Perfect."
"Are you crazy?" Each jewel seemed to burn like a brand. "I can't wear this." She slapped a hand over it, as if to keep it in place. "What if I lose it?"
"Then the insurance company used by Hansen, Hansen and Smith are going to be very upset with the store manager. I've borrowed this for the night. I'll messenger it back in the morning."
