by Heidi Rice
Her eyes jerked to his face as he lobbed the wet sweater into a wicker laundry basket beside the washing machine. Stepping closer, he lifted the helmet out of her hands, a confident smile edging his lips. She could have sworn she could feel the heat of his skin. Or maybe that was just her body temperature going haywire, because she was about to pass out?
She drew in a lungful of air. And tasted the clean spicy scent of him.
‘You cold?’ he asked, dumping the helmet on a shelf. She shook her head, knowing speech was probably a bad idea.
‘Come on, the apartment’s a lot warmer.’
‘Okay,’ she mumbled, as if she needed any more heat.
Having retrieved her bag from the bike box, he hooked it over her shoulder, then guided her towards a wooden staircase that led out of the back of the garage into the rain. ‘You’ll need to lose the ankle-breakers,’ he said, the weight of his palm on her back causing the now familiar sizzles of electricity. ‘The stairs get slippery in the rain.’
She nodded, still mute, and slipped off the slingback shoes. Before she could bend to pick them up, he scooped them off the floor.
He clasped her hand and they dashed through the rain together, drops splashing on the wooden decks as they climbed to the top landing. Her breath sawed out as he led her through terrace doors into a long, narrow room with high ceilings and a marble fireplace thrown into shadow by the twilight. The starkly modern leather sofa and chairs and huge flat-screen TV contrasted with the old-world charm of the cornices on the ceiling. A light clicked on illuminating a spotlessly clean, granite and glass kitchen at the far end of the room.
‘I’ll get some towels,’ he said, disappearing down a corridor to the right of the kitchen.
She shivered violently. The room was warm, cosy even, with the sound of the sleeting rain lashing the terrace doors, but the sight of his naked back retreating from view did nothing to stop the shaking.
Dropping her bag on the kitchen counter, she spotted her mobile in the side pocket, its message light flashing.
She read the text from Tess. ‘Where r u???’
She paused with her fingers over the key pad. What should she say? How did she explain where she was and what she was planning to do? She took in a shuddering breath.
Keep it brief. Keep it simple. And don’t go into too much detail or you might chicken out.
She keyed in: ‘I’m with Nick.’
The mobile buzzed almost instantly with Tess’s reply. ‘OMG! U wild woman.’
A smile quirked on Eva’s lips, excitement dispelling the last of her terror. Finally, dull, swotty Eva Redmond was having a conversation like the ones she’d once overheard in the changing room before PE class or in the common room at university. The conversations she’d listened to with avid interest and secretly envied, but had never once been a part of. Because the girls she’d eavesdropped on—the pretty, confident girls who had boyfriends and a social life and didn’t stress about their exams or their homework nearly as much as they did about their next date—those girls had never talked to Eva. In fact they had probably never even known she existed.
Eva tapped out: ‘Don’t w8 up,’ the last of her doubts lifting off her shoulders. Who knew it would feel so liberating not to be invisible any more?
Tess’s reply flashed back. ‘LOL. Go 4 it!’
She shoved the phone back into the bag, next to the file folder that contained her notes on the D’Alegria case. A wayward grin spread across her face. There would be time enough for work tomorrow. Tonight, Eva Redmond was finally going to get the chance to play.
She peeled off her wet tights and buried the sodden mass in the pocket of the leather jacket. Maybe she didn’t look her best, but she planned to look as presentable as possible. Clammy water dripped down under the collar as she heard the soft pad of footsteps in the hall.
Appearing out of the shadows, Nick walked towards her with predatory grace, a towel draped around his neck and his feet now as bare as his chest. The exhilaration caused by her girly text conversation peaked and Eva’s teeth chattered.
Without a word, Nick took the tab of the jacket zip between his fingers. The rasp of the tiny metal teeth releasing cut through the soft patter of the slowing rain. He pushed the jacket off her shoulders, tugged it down her arms and dumped it on the sofa. Carefully locating the last of the pins in her hair, he pulled each of them out then ran his fingers through the wet curls, gently parting the tangles. The rain glistened in his damp hair as he drew the towel from around his neck, then gathered the ends of her hair and rubbed.
Eva stood trembling under his ministrations, her heartbeat rioting. A muscle in his jaw flexed while he concentrated on the task. The bodice of the dress felt like a corset closing off her air supply. Her heavy breasts swelled against the constriction as the ends of the towel fluttered over her cleavage.
Finally satisfied, he looped the towel round her neck. Holding the ends, he tugged her up onto her tiptoes. She opened her mouth on a little gasp and his tongue plundered as she placed her hands on his stomach to steady herself. The hot smooth skin tensed under her palms and her fingers touched the rough edges of the scar. As he lifted his head her breathing became so jagged she felt as if she were about to faint.
He let go of the towel, and she dropped back onto her heels. His palms cradled her elbows, his thumbs stroking the sensitive skin on the inside as his lips lifted on one side in a lopsided smile. ‘I’ll have to take the dress off, to dry you properly.’
The rough murmur seemed to prickle over her skin, scraping over each of the places that throbbed with need. She looked back at him, and felt the spark of impulse, the sizzle of desire and anticipation. All her life she must have had this wildness lurking inside but it had taken a man like Nick Delisantro to locate it and bring it galloping to the surface.
‘I’d like that,’ she heard herself murmur, her voice low and sultry and nothing like her own.
His lips quirked as he placed his hands firmly on her waist. ‘You would, huh?’
She nodded.
He didn’t reply, but anchored his hand on her hip and turned her to face the terrace doors. Lifting the hair draped over her shoulder, he trailed tiny kisses down her neck, sucking and nibbling and sending her senses into overdrive. The reflection of them, backlit by the kitchen light, was so erotic her knees trembled. He stood behind her, his head dark against the stark white skin of her collarbone. The zip at the back of the dress released, freeing her breasts from the too-small bodice as firm fingers eased the straps of the dress down. His eyes met hers in the rain-splattered glass as he undid the hook on her bra with a deafening click. He peeled the purple lace off leaving her naked to the waist.
His teeth fastened on the cord in her neck, feasting on the sensitive spot as his fingers traced the outline of her areolas. She raised limp arms, fastened them around his neck and arched into his hands, desperate to feel more, to have it all. She sobbed, her breath trapped in her lungs as hot callused palms cupped her breasts and caressed.
She shuddered, the pleasure so intense her knees buckled.
He swore, the harsh expletive making her eyes fly open. Grasping her waist, he spun her round to face him, then cradled her breast, and fastened his lips on the aching peak.
She held his head, the hair damp against her palms as he teased the swollen tip with his tongue, his teeth. Her thighs quivered and she moaned, scolding heat scorching down her torso to the bundle of nerves at her centre.
He raised his head, ending the devastating torment, and then shoved the dress past her hips. It settled around her ankles, leaving only the tiny swatch of lace covering her sex. She’d never felt more vulnerable, more exposed in her life, but as she saw the glazed desire in his eyes power surged.
‘Put your hands round my neck,’ he demanded. She obeyed, mesmerised by the hard glint of passion darkening the golden brown as he swept her up in his arms. Kicking the heavy velvet out of his way, he strode across the front room, then down the narrow c
orridor to the back of the apartment. Shoving open a door, he walked into a large room, its hexagonal shape marking it out as the pergola she’d admired from below.
Her breasts ached, and every inch of her skin tingled as he laid her on the large bateau bed that dominated the room. Moonlight streamed through the window, highlighting the harsh beauty of his torso. She panted, trying to calm her breathing, wipe the fog of arousal from her mind as he grabbed a foil packet out of the bedside table and flung it onto the coverlet. She clasped her arms across her swollen breasts, the heady feel of his teeth, his tongue still a visceral memory as he unsnapped his jeans, ripped open the button fly and kicked off the wet denim and cotton boxers beneath.
Her heart rammed into her throat as she got her first sight of the column of erect flesh that thrust out from the nest of hair at his groin. A shocked gasp escaped her lips as she gauged the impressive length and thickness.
Her mind engaged, and she felt a flutter of panic as the blaze of lust flooded between her thighs. She knew all about the mechanics of sex, had spent years day-dreaming about this moment. But she’d never seen a naked man in the flesh before. Let alone a naked man who was fully aroused. And she hadn’t day-dreamed about anything quite that… She took a steadying breath, desire and panic twisting together in the pit of her stomach. Anything quite that enormous.
He grasped the foil packet off the bed, rolled on the latex sheath with ease and efficiency. She glanced up as he settled onto the bed beside her, dragged her easily into his arms, his erection now butting her thigh.
‘Hey, what’s this?’ he said, sounding puzzled and amused as he took her wrists, to lift her clasped arms away from her breasts. ‘Don’t get shy on me, now.’
She struggled to breathe, knowing she had to relax, or this would be a thousand times more uncomfortable. Should she tell him? That this was her first time? But then he dipped his head, captured one aching peak between his teeth, and she raised off the bed, pushing her body instinctively into the exquisite torture.
Don’t think. Just feel. And don’t tell him, or he may stop.
As her fingers fisted on the sheet, her body bowed by the renewed onslaught of sensation, she knew that, however painful the initial penetration, she didn’t want him to stop.
He explored her body with his tongue, his teeth, his lips. Suckling hard then drawing back, transferring from one breast to the other. His hand flattened against her belly. She bucked, shocked by the intensity of sensation rocketing up from her core as he cupped her, then discovered the slick burning nub. He circled and retreated, teasing her with fleeting caresses that took her to the brink but were never enough. She clung to his shoulders, sobbed out incoherent pleas for him to do more.
He gave a rough laugh. Then he touched, right at the heart of her. She opened her thighs, bumping against the knowing brush of his thumb, the nerves exploding.
She cried out, the orgasm cascading through her in strong, sure, wonderful waves.
Quivering, shaking, she kissed his cheek, laughed with delight, the rush of achievement, of abandon sensational as she floated in afterglow.
‘Thank you. Thank you,’ she murmured, tears of emotion, of joy sliding down her cheeks.
The sense of validation was triumphal. Sex was more wonderful, more fulfilling than her wildest fantasises, all she’d had to do was wait—for the right man to unlock the secret passion inside her.
‘You’re welcome.’ He chuckled, sounding surprised and amused. His brows drew together as he stared down at her in the moonlight. He touched his thumb to her cheek, lifted a drop. ‘That was quite a show. Do you always cry when you come?’
The inquisitive, vaguely mocking tone brought her sharply back to reality, the hazy joy clearing to be replaced with embarrassment. Appalled at how exposed she felt—and at how much she’d let him see.
This means nothing to him.
‘Not always,’ she lied. She choked out what she hoped was a frivolous laugh. ‘You’re good at that.’
He grinned, the flash of pride almost boyish. ‘Only good, huh?’ he said, clasping her hips in large hands and positioning her beneath him. ‘Let’s see if I can do better.’
She had a moment to tense, prepare for the devastating entry and then he plunged hard.
She cried out, the pain raw and shocking, as his girth thrust through the barrier of flesh.
‘What the hell?’ He reared back, stopped dead, the penetration so deep she could feel every inch. ‘Are you okay?’
She nodded, robbed of speech, the pain still raw, still brutal. ‘Don’t stop,’ she said, through gritted teeth, determined to bear it.
He cradled her cheek, still lodged impossibly deep. ‘Are you sure? You’re so tight.’
‘It’ll be all right in a minute,’ she said and prayed that it would be.
‘Relax,’ he murmured. ‘You’re tense.’ He stroked his hand down, pressed his thumb to the punch of her pulse. He didn’t move, didn’t thrust. And slowly the pain receded. To be replaced by an impossible pressure. He smiled down at her, and she wondered if he somehow knew.
‘Let’s see if we can go for better than all right,’ he said, then lifted her hips.
She sucked in a sharp, ragged breath as he settled deeper still. She gave a low groan, grateful when the pain didn’t return, even though the pressure increased. His forearm strained beside her head, the muscles of his bicep bunching and releasing, as he held his weight off her. Then he drew his other hand down. Delving into the curls at her core with expert fingers, he exposed the swollen nub and flicked it with his thumb. She jerked, thrusting against him, the sudden rub of intense sensation both exquisite and shocking.
He continued to play, continued to circle and rub and flick until slowly, gradually, the swell of pleasure built again, unstoppable, unrelenting this time. The pressure then turned to a new exquisite pain as he began to move at last, rubbing some spot so deep inside, the pleasure intensified. She moaned, gripping his bicep to anchor herself and moved too, meeting the expert thrust of his hips with her own untutored movements.
She heard his harsh grunts against her ear. Felt him swell to even greater proportions, the fullness of his penis triggering a brutal, pulsing series of contractions that rolled over her. Then shattered, shooting her into oblivion.
Feeling, sensation, sanity returned in tiny incremental bits and pieces. The ragged pants of his breathing rasping in her ear, the musty scent of sex and sweat overlaying the clean fresh scent of rainwater and him, the muscled shelf of his shoulder resting on her collarbone, the large, but softening column of his erection still impaling tender flesh.
‘Damn.’ His low murmur cut through the silence. ‘That was good.’ He sounded as dazed, as disorientated as she.
He lifted off her, pulled out gently. She flinched, a groan escaping as her swollen flesh released him, the soreness a cruel reminder of the initial pain. She rolled away from him, and shifted across the bed.
As incredible as that had been, she felt fragile and wary. She’d never imagined, never realised, sex would be anything like that. The heady romances she’d read certainly hadn’t prepared her for something so brutal, so basic, the elemental nature of it nothing short of animalistic.
‘Hang on a minute.’ One muscled forearm banded around her waist, drawing her back into his chest. ‘Where are you off to?’ His lips nuzzled her neck.
‘I need to…’ Get away from you, she heard her mind shout, shocked by the renewed blast of arousal as his thumb played lazily with her nipple. She hurt, all over. She couldn’t possibly want to do it again. But still the molten heat between her thighs gushed back.
She lay motionless, clamped down on the need to struggle out of his grip. She didn’t want him to figure out the truth, that their coupling had been a life-altering experience for her.
She couldn’t bear for him to know now that she’d been a virgin. It would make this far too intimate. And it was intimate enough already. She’d assumed this would be anonymous sex, only t
o discover that the intimacy of the act meant there was probably no such thing.
‘I need to use the bathroom,’ she said.
‘All right.’ His hand stroked her belly in an oddly possessive manner. ‘There’s an en suite over there.’ His chin touched her shoulder as he nodded towards a door in the opposite wall. ‘I’ll keep the bed warm,’ he murmured, his hand skimming down her buttocks before he released her.
The proprietary words reverberated in her head as she shot across the room naked.
She couldn’t have been? Could she?
Nick frowned at the moonlight reflecting off the polished wood of the bathroom door, the niggling suspicion slowly but surely clawing its way through the sweet, heady buzz of afterglow.
Rolling over, he snapped on the bedside light, and flipped the duvet back. Then blinked several times at the two dark red splotches on the pale blue linen bed sheet.
He jerked upright, then cursed softly.
No way. Not possible.
He stared blankly for several long minutes at the evidence before him. Then raked his hand through his hair, the contraction in his chest forcing him to finally process the truth.
Eva the sexy anthropologist was a virgin. Correction, had been a virgin. Right up until the moment he’d ploughed into her.
He swore again, a lot more forcefully this time. And pushed back the sickening wave of guilt at the memory of her face, white with shock.
How the hell was that even possible? How could a woman as alluring and spontaneous and mind-blowingly sexy as she was have waited into her twenties to have intercourse? And why had she?
A picture of her wide blue eyes, petal soft skin and the tempting sprinkle of freckles across her shoulder blades formed in his mind. He gulped down the constriction in his throat. Damn. Assuming she was in her twenties. Why hadn’t he stopped long enough to ask her? To be sure?
He acknowledged the residual hum of heat in his groin, and had his answer.
