Redemption's Touch (Kimani Romance)

by Ann Christopher

  Before she could talk herself out of it, she fished the cell phone out of her robe pocket and called him. They’d texted each other since she’d been gone, but that wasn’t the same.

  “Hey,” he answered halfway through the first ring. “I was hoping you’d call.”

  “Hey.” It was really crazy the way the sound of his voice made her feel better. “How are you?”

  “The question is, how are you? Did you get some sleep?”

  Not really. Because she’d been thinking of him. “Yep.”

  “You don’t sound so good. What’s wrong?”

  Did he know her that well, or did she sound that bad? Suddenly she felt terrible for having bothered him at all. He was probably in the middle of some million-dollar deal and didn’t need to hold her hand. And she didn’t need to depend on him when his track record was so sketchy. “Oh, I’m fine. It’s just, you know, Sandro’s having a little trouble with his son. No big deal. I’ll let you get back to work. Bishop okay today?”

  “He’s fine, but—”

  “You have a good day, okay?” I miss you. God, I wish you were here.

  “Arianna—”

  “Bye.”

  Chapter 12

  Alone with her yammering thoughts, Arianna puttered around the house for a while. After weeks of intense studying and worrying about both the bar exam and Bishop, it was strange to think that the exam was behind her (what was she supposed to do with her time now, eh?) and Bishop was on the road to recovery. She still planned to spend the rest of the summer at Heather Hill, but what about Sandro and son? Who’d look after them and help them nurture their relationship? And what about a job—shouldn’t she find one somewhere and start her career as a lawyer?

  And what about Joshua? They’d agreed to discuss their relationship when she got back to Columbus, and that deadline was looming, but what would they say? Where would they go from here? Plus, the whole Carter thing was still outstanding, and she needed to tell him about that.

  She felt a little lost, a little forlorn.

  So when the swirling worries overcame her, she went for a long walk on the beach and focused only on the gulls flapping overhead and the sand squishing between her toes. That helped. Then she showered and went out to the terrace to lounge, watch the waves and read her book, whereupon she fell into a coma and slept for three hours. That really helped.

  She’d just wandered back into the kitchen and poured herself some chardonnay—the housekeeper had very kindly left clam chowder and some other goodies for her in the fridge, she saw—when the doorbell rang and she heard the low murmur of voices. Curious, she wandered down the long hall and into the entry, sipping her wine as she went.

  When she rounded the last corner, she got the surprise of her life.

  Joshua stood there next to the wide-eyed housekeeper, who seemed torn somewhere between vague alarm and feminine appreciation. The second he saw Arianna, his searching gaze latched on to her face and held.

  Arianna froze.

  “Ah, Arianna,” the housekeeper said, as though the most normal thing in the world was for a dreadlocked, tattooed and muscle-bound man to show up unannounced on their private estate and ask for Arianna, “you have a visitor.”

  Arianna was too shocked to speak.

  “Should I serve some iced tea?” the housekeeper continued.

  Arianna still couldn’t speak.

  “I’m good,” Joshua said, his eyes still on Arianna.

  “Well, if everything’s okay here, I’ll just go back to the laundry room,” the housekeeper said, now looking bemused, and left.

  “Hi.” A hint of a smile crinkled the edges of Joshua’s eyes.

  Arianna’s voice finally reappeared. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was…in the neighborhood?” he tried.

  Arianna shook her head.

  “No?” Joshua thought for a second and tried another tactic. “I was in the city and just stopped over for a—”

  She shook her head again.

  He quit with the excuses. “Could you make this easy for me, maybe?”

  “No. Sorry.”

  He stared at her, running his hand over the back of his neck. The poor lighting and early evening shadows couldn’t hide the flush as it crept over his cheeks. “I was worried about you. I…missed you.”

  Arianna blinked, trying to think of a way that his sudden appearance to check on her wasn’t a huge deal. “Joshua, traffic on and off the island is horrible during the summer. You can’t just—”

  “Helicopter,” he informed her.

  Helicopter.

  Her head spun with this information. Joshua had dropped whatever he was doing to hop a plane, and then a helicopter, to come out to the Hamptons and see her. Because he was worried about her and missed her.

  And she was utterly, hopelessly and desperately in love with this man.

  “That’s quite a gesture.” There was more, but she didn’t say it. God knew what she’d confess right now if she kept talking.

  “You’re quite a woman.”

  Yeah, she thought. It was definitely love. Like she’d never known it.

  “So.” Looking a little awkward, he shifted on the balls of his feet and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Are you going to kick me out?”

  “Oh, no.” Something unstuck within her, and she smiled, unable to keep the crazy joy locked up inside. “I think we should go for a swim. You can borrow Sandro’s trunks.”

  The pool was a hidden masterpiece of sparkling blue, surrounded on three sides by swaying masses of black-eyed Susans, hostas, grasses and, by the smell of it, heather. The long fourth side gave the illusion of disappearing into the roaring navy surf in the distance and, beyond that, the horizon. If he wasn’t so excited to be with Arianna, his belly so tied up in delicious knots of hope and desire, he’d have taken a moment to be stunned by this secluded heaven on earth here in the Hamptons.

  She was already there, swimming at the far end.

  “Hey.” Ignoring his stomach’s crazy flip, he began the long walk to where she paddled, treading water. “You started without me.”

  Seeing him, she stretched out and moved in his direction, her arms circling in an easy doggy paddle that didn’t splash the water. “You can swim, right?”

  “Don’t worry.” Kicking off his flip-flops, he took off his shirt and glasses, tossed his towel on a chair and dipped a toe. “I’ve got gills.”

  She laughed, and the sound was a seductive dance across his skin and up and down his spine, so thrilling he couldn’t stop a shiver. “Come on in.”

  He dove, slicing through the bathwater warmth and heading straight for her. Without his glasses, things were a little blurry, but he could see her beautiful face, smiling as she approached, and the wet tail of her black hair as it swirled around her shoulders.

  She reached for him and, hell, that was clear permission to reach for her, but just as his hand skimmed her shoulder, she laughed and flipped, emerging several feet away. Now on her back, she swept one arm overhead and then floated, drifting, and that was when he saw them.

  Nipples. Two of them. Sticking out of the water.

  Holy shit.

  Struck stupid, he gaped, his mouth flapping as though hinged. “Arianna,” he said finally, his voice strangled, “what happened to your bathing suit?”

  With a wicked laugh, she stroked by, still out of touching range, flipped again and reappeared on her stomach, her round ass sticking out of the water behind her head. His eyes bulged so hard he’d swear he could feel their connective tissue stretching and tearing. His glasses! Why hadn’t he worn his glasses?

  “I didn’t mean to offend you,” she said. “I’m happy to wear something. Would that make you feel better?”

  “No,” he barked. “That would not make me feel better.”

  “Whatever makes you happy.”

  “This is making me pretty happy right now, I gotta tell you. Where’s the housekeeper?”

  “I gave her
the night off.”

  Gave her the night off.

  Joshua gaped, unable to believe his massive good fortune at being alone on this estate with a naked and apparently willing Arianna. This couldn’t be happening. Or, if it was happening, there was a speeding meteor heading in his direction and he had mere seconds to live.

  At least he’d die happy, though.

  She came closer, treading water now, her grin mischievous and wry. As he watched—and, yeah, he was staring, and it never occurred to him to pretend he wasn’t—she swirled those arms again. While he struggled not to drown, what with all his blood being diverted away from his kicking legs and straight to his rock-hard penis, she rose out of the water just enough for her breasts to bob to the surface and linger there, walnut-tipped and plump, the water sliding over them with gentle lapping sounds.

  He swore. “On second thought, if you’re just planning to torture me, then maybe you should wear, I don’t know, a wet suit or something.”

  “Poor Joshua.” Sultry as a water nymph, she reached out and, her actions hidden by the water, scraped her nails low over his belly. He groaned. “Do you want to touch me?”

  “Yeah,” he said hoarsely.

  “How much?”

  Licking his lips and swallowing convulsively, he tried to be cool, but that ship had already sailed. “I’m shaking with it.” He hesitated, but hey, why not be honest? “I’m dying with it.”

  “Then come here.”

  They flowed together, and the second she came within reach, she wrapped those silky limbs around him, clinging like a drowning victim. Her mouth was already open, her tongue surging for his, and they nipped, licked and sucked their way to a pulsing rhythm that matched the thrust of their hips. She tasted so freaking perfect, God, and the flexing globes of her bare ass felt just right in his hands. Losing control by the mile, he ground her against him, searching for that one right spot between her legs, and when he found it, her sharp cry was his sweet reward.

  One ounce of sense remained, and he hurried to use it before it shriveled up and died. “Yes or no, Arianna?”

  “Yes,” she said against his lips. “It’s always yes with you. Pool house.”

  He’d already seen it at the far end of the pool. Lit and welcoming, it had open French doors and sheer white panels that fluttered at all the windows. “Pool house. Great.”

  He let her go, which was hard. She swam to the steps and climbed out, the water streaming down her body in glittering ribbons. Staring to his heart’s content, he watched and noted the contraction of every toned muscle as she walked. She was glorious—all sleek curves and gleaming skin, her ass a delicious heart topped with two deep dimples. Humbled, he filed this moment away because he knew nothing like it would ever come again.

  Reaching a chaise, she turned, giving him the full-frontal view of gently bouncing breasts and that black triangle between her legs. She didn’t bother with a towel. Instead, she grabbed a big scarf-type thing—sarong, wasn’t it?—wrapped it around her body and tied it at the neck. Only, the sarong was sheer and white and she was soaking wet. The mind-blowing result was a tantalizing view of everything through a tissue-thin layer that clung to her skin. Jutting nipples and the heavy, round curves of her breasts…slightly rounded belly…that sexy mound at the top of legs…the legs…

  Light-headed with lust now, far beyond any sexual experience he’d ever had, and he’d had plenty, he opened his mouth and struggled to put it into words, to tell her—

  “Arianna.”

  She paused and waited.

  It was all there on the tip of his tongue, too much for him to ever possibly say. He floundered and then managed to get part of it out: “Thank you for giving me another chance.”

  She stared at him for long seconds, almost like she saw everything he couldn’t say and understood it better than he’d ever guess. And then, just when the moment became too significant, too intense, too much, she smiled gently and it was okay. Every one of his fears—of betrayal and abandonment, of never belonging, never being judged worthy or loved—eased back to a manageable level.

  What could be so wrong, with a smile like that in the world?

  What could happen?

  Couldn’t his life, just this once, turn out okay?

  Yeah, came the answer. With her, it could.

  Arianna held out her hand. “You can thank me in the pool house.”

  After a quick stop in the bathroom for a couple of fluffy towels, they headed straight for the small bedroom. Just as the complete darkness registered with his overheated brain and he was thinking of lodging a protest, she clicked on a lamp over on the dresser. The room came into focus: lots of expensive country-style furniture centered on a four-poster bed.

  And the only thing he really needed to see, Arianna—the best thing that ever had, or possibly could, happen to him. She stared into his face with utter focus, the way she’d done that first night, and there was a glow in her expression, an amazing half smile that was his reward for the struggles he’d had up until now. If someone showed up to ask him if it’d been worth it, his “yes” would come without hesitation.

  Spectacular. Yeah.

  Every moment with her was spectacular, and this was off the charts.

  They didn’t talk. There was too much to say.

  First things first. She was wet, and he wouldn’t be doing his job if he let her get cold. So he concentrated on peeling that sheer nothing up her thighs, over that black triangle, past the wide curves of her sweet hips and amazing breasts, and off, to the floor. A certain amount of regret hit him; he’d miss that tantalizing view of her body partially hidden from him.

  This was better, though.

  Taking the towel, he ran it over her head and gently squeezed her hair. Back, shoulders and arms came next, slow and easy, because they had all night, he’d waited a long time for this and if he couldn’t get his words to work, he sure as hell could touch her right. The sounds she made told him he was headed in the right direction. Jesus. He remembered those sounds. Low, humming croons of pleasure vibrated in her throat, as though anything he did to her was perfect and she’d be satisfied with just this.

  He, on the other hand, wouldn’t be satisfied until her sounds filled up the house. So he trailed that towel down her belly, skimming it with a light touch, until he reached that lovely cleft between her legs. There, he stroked.

  Bingo. A sharp cry rose up as though he’d surprised her. Nice. He liked that. What if he stroked again, harder? A moan this time, with the added bonus of her eyes widening and clouding over at the same time. It drove him wild the way she stared and stared at him, like he was the important one between the two of them, as though she didn’t want to miss any of his reactions when he was so fascinated by all of hers.

  The towel had served its purpose, and he needed his hands on her. Tossing it aside, he cupped that amazing face and kissed her slowly, gently, keeping it to a tiny taste even when she wanted more and her frustrated tension shivered under his hands.

  Nice and easy tonight. That was the name of the game.

  Leaving that sweet mouth with a little reluctance, yeah, he cupped a breast in each hand, squeezed them together, stuck his tongue out and licked down her neck, heading for those pointed nipples. He circled each one with his tongue, getting no closer than her areolae—damn, they were darker now, a deep blackberry that looked unbelievably sweet—aaannnd no. Not yet, sweetheart. She’d begun to writhe, to try to bring his head closer by digging the tips of her short little nails into his nape, but he was pretty sure she could go hotter and melt down a little more.

  That would be fun.

  What if he worked his way up the other side of her neck, using his whole mouth this time, licking and sucking his way to her lips? Ah, yeah. She liked that. Gasping with a whole lot more desperation than she’d shown a minute ago, her lungs heaving for air under his hands, she opened for him, and he kissed her a little harder this time, a little deeper.

  Those sounds of h
ers changed. They broke down a little, became a little more animalistic and raw. Cool. Except that this wasn’t a clinical procedure for him, and he couldn’t pour everything into her without taking a little bit for himself. He was way too hard for that, his blood too hot and his skin too tight.

  So he pressed those breasts together, plumping them up even more, scraped his tongue across each nipple one time, just to refamiliarize himself with her texture, which was pebbly and velvety, like the sweetest summer raspberry, and sucked. Hard.

  This time her cry was shocked, strangled, and her knees went soft as she arched to give him more access. That was when he slammed headfirst into the limits of his control.

  Bed. Now.

  Popping that nipple out of his mouth and taking just a quick second to appreciate the way her breast stretched and jiggled back into place, reforming those three perfect circles—nipple, areola, breast—he grabbed her up in his arms, swung her around to the bed and laid her down.

  Arianna, who seemed to have been born with an extra female gene that made him pant, want and ache more than he’d ever done in his life, arched for him, arms high overhead, back curved, belly softly rounded, juicy thighs parted just enough to reveal how ready she was and how she glistened for him.

  His foolish hopes of playing Iron Man of Steel and stretching her pleasure out forever gave their final gasp and died. Yeah, he was a punk. Quick Draw McGraw, that was him. He’d be lucky if he lasted two seconds, but screw it. Now. He needed to be inside her NOW.

  Too bad his limbs no longer worked. Jerking and kicking his way out of his trunks, he lunged for the condoms she’d cleverly left on the nightstand. Good girl. But then she shifted to her side, rested her face on her hand and gave him a smile that was all glittery eyes and sultry promise, and his spasming heart lurched its way that much closer to full cardiac arrest.

  “It’s not time for that yet,” she told him.

  “But—”

  With a laugh, she crept on all fours to the edge of the bed, cupped and squeezed his balls and took him deep into the hot pulsing slickness of her mouth.