The raw need in her voice galvanized him, and he stretched out over her on the cramped wooden bench, creeping his way up her body, pressing his face to her breasts for a quick nuzzle. Then he cupped her face in his strong hands and gave her a long kiss that was…aaah, yesss…deep, urgent and unbearably sweet. Then he returned his attention to her body, slipping his fingers along the curve of one breast and under her dress.
“Yes or no?” he whispered.
“Yes.”
He worked the zipper and eased the straps and bodice down over her arms, baring her to the balmy air. Her puckering nipples had barely bounced back into place, before he claimed one and then the other with his mouth. He squeezed them together and suckled, rhythmically and hard, his swirling tongue doing unspeakable things to her, until her hips writhed and her cries drowned out the trickling fountain.
Crooning with unmistakable pleasure, a purely male sound that came from deep in his chest, he slid lower, past the bodice and skirt of her gown, both of which were now bunched up at her waist, and stopped at the V between her legs.
She went still, the wait making her crazed. His hot mouth latched on to the meaty part of one thigh, sucked it deep into his mouth and scraped it with his teeth as he let go.
The pleasure collected all over her body and pooled in her throat, all but choking her. And her breathing? Forget it. As he turned to her other thigh, the rippling contractions began deep in her belly, gathering strength.
And that was before he licked her core—one long, leisurely swipe of his tongue that made her writhe to get away and writhe to get closer.
“Dawson,” she gasped. “Don’t do this to me—”
He lifted his head and spoke in that implacable voice, digging his fingers into her hips to keep her in place. “Yes or no?”
“Dawson—”
“Yes or no?”
A hysteria-tinged burst of laughter bubbled out of her, and she shook her head even as she stretched out, stared at the silvery panes of glass overhead and reached up to grab one of the bench’s wooden slats to anchor herself against what he was about to do.
“Arianna?” he whispered.
The rising impatience in his voice drove her on.
“Yes.”
That dark head lowered again, and this time the rumbling laughter was his. His clever mouth zeroed in on her engorged nub for another lick or two, a swirl, and that was all it took. She came, her body shuddering and then going rigid, her ecstasy ringing through the greenhouse on a single high note of astonishment.
He rose up over her again, his unforgiving weight pressing her hard against the bench’s seat. She didn’t care. Raising her sluggish arms, trying to reconnect herself to something sturdy after that soaring pleasure, she thrust her hands deep into his dreadlocks and brought his mouth down to hers. The kiss was urgent but controlled, his hair thick and softer than the Egyptian cotton of her sheets at home.
“Was that good?” he murmured against her lips.
“So good.” The words were slurred because she could hardly speak when he’d turned her body to molten gold. “So good.”
“Are we done?”
Done? Oh, he was funny.
“Not by a long shot.”
She felt his grin before he slipped away and sat up, heaving her along with him. Straddling his lap, she hiked up her skirt, enjoying the slither of the silk against her skin. His hands went to her butt, kneading and drawing her closer, until they were face-to-face and the intimacy of staring into his dark eyes was almost more than what they’d just shared.
“Arianna.”
The way he said it—equally tender and rueful, as though he wasn’t sure what they were doing here, with each other, like this, but he was going to go with it—sent shivers skittering up her spine.
“Yes?”
He reached between her legs, stroking her swollen wet flesh until she was just this side of insanity. He watched her the whole time, absorbing all her reactions, every sigh, blink and involuntary twist of her face.
Then, still staring at her, he moved his hands to his belt and worked on that. The slow slide of his zipper was next—too slow, as though he wanted to give her plenty of warning and opportunity to stop the proceedings in their tracks.
Stop? Not in a million years.
“I have a condom,” he told her, freeing himself.
What? Condom?
Condom! Good thinking. She knew there was something she’d been forgetting in the thrill of his hands all over her body.
“Thank God.”
He grinned, then put his hand on the back of her head to bring her in for another kiss, a rough, quick one this time. “Is that a yes?”
“It’s a yes.”
He didn’t waste any time. Fishing a red packet out of his pocket, he opened the thing and worked it on. She tried to stay out of his way and give him the space he needed to get the job done, but that was impossible when she couldn’t keep her hands off him. Trembling with excitement, she palmed his face and kissed him. Forehead, eyes, cheeks—everything she could reach and nuzzle and taste.
And then she came to his mouth again, just as he lifted her to her knees and positioned himself beneath her, poised and straining with the need to slide inside her.
She paused, taking a second to stare at his amazing face and wonder why he’d been sent into her life now, when she’d least expected it, to affect her like this.
“Dawson,” she whispered, licking her way between his lips.
They kissed and kissed, and the tension built, threatening to pulse outward in a single wave and shatter the glass all around them. For the first time all night, she felt a flicker of fear, and it had nothing to do with having sex with a man she’d just met.
Sensing this, he broke the kiss and looked up at her, concern knitting those heavy brows. He must have seen something in her face, because he reined himself in until she felt his restraint in every iron-hard muscle beneath her.
“What is it?”
She knew he would stop if she asked, but she didn’t want him to stop. She just wanted him to understand.
“If this is going to be the only time between us, just tell me, okay?” God. She hoped she didn’t sound too clingy; few things killed a promising erection like a needy woman. “If you tell me the truth right now, I promise not to get my heart broken, and I won’t chase after you or anything, and I’ll be fine. But I just…please tell me, okay?”
“The only time?” He blinked, looking as though he was having trouble translating what she’d just said from English into a language he understood. “With you?” He paused, cocking his head to consider her. “Have you lost your mind?”
“No.” She was just insanely vulnerable where he was concerned.
Unsmiling, he took his length and stroked her with it, easing her down just a little, until her body began to relax and prepare for some of the stretching she’d need to do to accommodate him.
“You’re going to have to find a place in your life for me for a while, Arianna,” he told her. “Got it?”
“Got it,” she whispered.
“And while we’re having this little heart-to-heart—that man from the breakup you didn’t want to tell me about. He’s not coming back for you, is he? Because I may have to kill him.”
In Dawson’s arms like this, it was hard to believe there’d ever been a Carter, or anyone else, or ever could be. “It’s over. Way over.”
“Good.” His lips curled into a slow smile. Grazing her mouth again, he slid another inch inside her, and they both gasped at the friction. “Yes or no?”
“Yes.”
With that, she impaled herself until he was so deep inside her it felt as though nothing could ever separate them.
Chapter 4
Arianna sat on the bench and buckled her strappy sandal. Dawson, who’d already straightened his clothes and gotten rid of the condom, watched her, searching his memory banks. He wasn’t aware of taking off her shoes, but he’d had his hands over
every part of her that he could reach, so it was entirely possible.
He studied her, endlessly fascinated. At the moment, his attention was riveted to the moonlit gleam of her leg where her skirt fell away, and to the curve of her breasts as she bent at the waist, and, hell, to everything else about her. He suspected this woman would have him under her spell—and it was a spell, because no other woman had ever affected him like this; not even close—for some indeterminate period yet to come, but he didn’t want to think about those ramifications right now.
Right now they needed to address Arianna’s growing embarrassment and the heat from her face, which had to be glowing red even if he couldn’t see it clearly in the dark. He had his hand buried deep in the thick hair at her nape, massaging her. For comfort, he told himself, but whether he was comforting her or himself was open to debate.
Either way, he couldn’t stop touching her.
Finally the elaborate shoe-reattachment ritual was finished and there was nothing else she could do to postpone the moment when she had to look at him. Her dress was arranged, her hair fluffed. Nothing to do now but figure out where they went from here.
Like he knew.
She leaned back against the bench and they sat, silent, floundering and surprised by this turn of events. God knew he couldn’t have foreseen any of this when he put on his suit tonight.
“You okay?” he finally asked.
She ducked her head and grinned, risking a sidelong look at him that had a hard, tight knot of lust coiling in his gut. Again.
“I think you know that I’m much better than okay.”
Good. This confirmation made him want to puff out his chest and pound it, to tilt back his head and roar with satisfaction until the sound echoed all around the world. He resisted the urge but couldn’t prevent a quick curl of his lips.
What now?
The two of them had vaulted into uncharted territory tonight. He felt like an early explorer who’d reached the edge of the known world, where the map ended and the legend read Here Be Dragons. He didn’t like the unknown, but on the other hand, he liked her uncharacteristic shyness even less.
“So why won’t you look at me?”
She ran a hand through her hair, struggling for words. “It’s just that…I’m not sure what happened here.”
“Neither am I.”
“There’s a lot we don’t know about each other.”
Ain’t that the truth? “I know.”
“You wouldn’t know this about me, but I’ve never—”
“Don’t.” Tightening his grip on her nape, he pulled her in for a hard kiss. “Don’t,” he said again when they pulled apart, both breathless, and she tried to keep talking.
He couldn’t stand it. The idea of her doing what they’d just done with some other man made him…whoa. Already he could feel his blood pressure ticking higher, his pulse rushing in his ears. He didn’t want to go there, didn’t even want the thought to fully form. It might make his brain implode.
And double standards of any kind, even his own, pissed him off, so they wouldn’t go down this road, not even a step or two.
Besides, his screaming instincts told him that Arianna didn’t give herself lightly, not to anyone. Which scared the hell out of him, because what did she think she saw in him that made him worthy of such an honor? Whatever it was surely didn’t exist.
“You don’t owe me any explanations,” he told her.
“Of course not, but I need to tell you—”
“Arianna. Knock it off. I know you had a life before tonight.”
And so did he, not that now was the time to get into it.
She started to say something else, but he stroked her under the chin to soften his words. “Anyway, don’t you want to resume your interrogation? You haven’t asked about my zodiac sign yet, or what size shoe I wear.”
She tried to glare, but her eyes crinkled at the corners and she dimpled, ruining the whole effect. When she gave up, tossed all that thick hair over her shoulder and flashed him the full, glorious smile, he felt something inside him turn over, and turn over hard.
The funny thing was, he didn’t even want to fight it.
“What about your favorite magazines?” she asked. “Why don’t we start there?”
He laughed, and then she laughed, and then suddenly nothing about this whole situation was even partially funny. He was here at Heather Hill for a reason that had nothing to do with her. His plans couldn’t include her. Even if they could, she was so far above him she might have been the Hope Diamond, orbiting on the International Space Station, while he was a slug buried deep in the earth.
Arianna exuded class and money, the kind of breezy joie de vivre that told him she’d never been hungry a day in her life, never struggled for money, status or basic fairness, never wondered who she was or if she was loved.
And he?
He was an innocent ex-con who didn’t have jack or shit, other than a few dollars in the bank. Well, make that a lot of dollars.
Arianna may as well try to strike up a relationship with a great white shark as with him. It’d have more of a chance of success. The knowledge spurred him to grim honesty, because God knew she’d never done anything in her life to deserve him.
“You can do so much better than me.”
He saw her sudden frown in the darkness, the flattening of her fine brows into an intransigent line that seemed like a clear warning: she wanted to kick his ass for saying something so stupid. But at the last second she changed course and shrugged, laughing at him.
“Oh, I know,” she said on an exaggerated sigh. “I’m only here out of pity.”
He snorted. “Pity works for me.”
She kissed him again and then got up, shook out her skirt and took his hand to pull him up, too. “We should get back to the party. I’m starving.”
A sudden flare of panic caught him by the throat. He didn’t want her to leave and didn’t want to go back to the party. Inside this greenhouse was a private sanctuary where a woman like her could belong with a man like him. Out there, reality crouched in hiding, waiting to knock him back to his rightful place at the first opportunity.
Tightening his grip on her hand, he swung her around, reeled her back into his arms and wished he could suspend time. While she was in here, she didn’t have to know who he was or the crimes he’d been accused of or the world’s low opinion of him. Out there, disaster could only follow.
He wrapped her up and kissed her, absorbing her peep of surprise into his mouth and running his hands all over those delicious curves, again, imprinting everything about her and this interlude. Then he let her go.
“What was that for?” she gasped, cheeks flushed with pleasure.
“Remember this,” he said urgently. “Don’t forget.”
That wide-eyed gaze held him. “Do you think I could?”
God, he hoped not.
Nodding, satisfied for now, he opened the door for her and they walked outside into the night air, which had cooled since they last felt it. They held hands, saying nothing, and meandered back up the path to their terrace.
Across the way, high on the hill, the main house was still lit like a city skyline, every window glowing bright, and candles and lanterns flickered along the paths and in the various gardens and courtyards. The music had switched since they’d been gone, and now a live singer hidden somewhere sang—no kidding—“Strangers in the Night.”
“Did you try the pasta bar?” she asked, resting her head on his shoulder.
He thought back. “Was that the one in the music room?”
“No, that was the sushi bar. The pasta bar was—oh, is that your phone?”
It was, vibrating in his pocket. They paused at the outer edge of the terrace surrounding the house, where the designer-clothes-wearing, champagne-drinking crowd was starting to get thick again, while he fished it out and glanced at the display.
“Sorry. It’s one of my property managers on the West Coast,” he told her.
>
“Oh. Well, why don’t you talk to him, and I’ll meet you at the pasta bar in the solarium. I’ll just see you in a minute.”
“Okay,” he said, even though he didn’t want her out of his sight. It was too soon and she was too precious, but he wasn’t the obsessed stalker type, so he dialed it back as much as he could. “See you in a minute.”
They both took a step away from each other, but neither wanted to let go. Their arms stretched between them, extending the connection, until Arianna, with that sultry laugh that drove him wild, snatched her cool fingertips from his, waved and went into the house.
The French door shut in his face, but he watched her weave through the crowd until she was gone and the normal emptiness echoed through him.
Loneliness, his old pal. Showing up to keep him company. Again.
Looking down at his phone, he took a couple steps back toward the far end of the terrace and searched for a quieter spot with better reception. It was the wrong place to multitask, though, because he plowed straight into someone.
“Sorry,” he began, glancing up. “I didn’t see—”
Jesus. It was Franklin Bishop.
They both froze, as though they’d run headlong into an electrified brick wall.
Dawson had thought he was prepared for this moment, but readiness turned out to be an illusion. All the old emotions, the ones he thought he’d beaten into submission, came flooding back: Anger. Outrage. The bitter sting of betrayal.
The old guy wasn’t doing too good, either. After the initial surprise, he staggered back a step, a weathered hand going to his temple. His mouth opened and closed…once…twice…but no words.
The years had done their work on him. He looked spry for his age, true, wiry and smoothly brown-skinned, with only the white-on-white hair and dark spots across his forehead to give him away. But the bottom line was that time hadn’t stood still for any of them, and this was an old man who’d be staring down the end of his life before too much longer.
And that was a kick right in Dawson’s gut.
Time to go.
“Excuse me.” Dawson tried to edge past him, not inside to Arianna, but to the front of the house, to his car, to escape. He would get Arianna’s number somehow and call her later, or find her tomorrow. He had resources; he could do that. She’d be pissed, yeah, but he’d make her understand that something had come up.
Redemption's Touch (Kimani Romance) Page 3
