“Two shots of tequila says he goes down on her.” She said it without turning back to look at him, though she could feel his presence beside her.
“Oh, darling, that’s cruel. To yourself, I mean. A man never goes down on a woman unless he loves her.”
The small hairs on the back of her neck stood up when he said “darling”.
“That is patently untrue.”
The hot breath of his laugh caressed her shoulder. She heard him shift closer. Out of the corner of her eye she glimpsed a large, manicured, gold-ringed hand holding a glass. Ice clinked and the aroma of expensive whiskey hit her nostrils. She’d bet anything that the shiny watchband secured a Rolex to his wrist. None of it impressed her as much as his presence, so palpable he may as well have already been sinking inside her, right through her little black dress.
“You’re right. I’d go down on you in a heartbeat and I don’t even know your name.”
Jesus, she was turned on just by his voice. She’d forgotten the couple in the corner, though she still kept her eyes fixed on them. Instead, she imagined she was that woman, and the man was her new friend.
The man had the woman turned around now, pressed against the wall, chest-first. His fingers tugged at the hem of her skirt, pushing it up above her hip. Not even the shadows could conceal the white, round shape of the woman’s ass, a thin strip of dark fabric crossing one hip. That disappeared with a jerk of the man’s hand.
Rowan felt the touch of a large, warm hand at her hip, a thumb grazing a pattern into the bare skin of her back just above the fabric of her low-cut dress. His touch was gentle and cool, but left a promise when he removed his hand. When his hand disappeared, he murmured behind her, “I think you owe me a drink.”
“Wait for it,” she said. Whether it was the way the man in the corner was clutching the woman’s ass, or some particular change in his posture, she had the sense of what he might do next. She had to restrain a laugh when he sank to his knees and buried his face between the woman’s ass cheeks. Rowan could imagine the ecstatic sounds coming from the woman’s throat by the way her chest thrust out and her head flew back, mouth open while the man tongued between her legs from behind.
“Did I call it or what?” she asked, turning around to gloat, only to be greeted by an empty barstool.
Chapter 2
Obsessed was an understatement for her frame of mind the following week. Alternately pissed and confused, she sometimes wondered if she’d hallucinated the entire conversation, but that small patch of skin where he’d touched her still tingled. Finally after several sleepless nights imagining his shadowy presence behind her doing more than just talking, she resolved to go back to the bar, find him, and confront him about leaving her hanging. The only problem was that she’d never actually seen his face.
It might be futile. She had no idea whether he’d even be there again, much less talk to her. But in spite of all the pretty faces she could see in the bar—attractive men who she knew at a glance would happily go home with her—she could no longer settle. Where was he, and how in the world would she be able to tell if she’d even found him?
“Looking for someone?” The rough, accented voice sent a charge like a lightning bolt straight down her back. Rowan closed her eyes and savored the pleasant tingling sensation between her thighs for a second.
“Maybe I found him,” she said, turning her head slightly. There was no mistaking that voice and now that he was close again she recognized the mildly spicy scent of his aftershave. This time she’d be damned if she let him get away from her. She turned and looked up into dark eyes and an expression that gave new meaning to the term smoldering.
“I think you owe me an apology. And a drink,” she said when she finally caught her breath.
He nodded. His eyes drifted lower, tracing the outline of her bosom while one large hand reached toward her, fingertips grazing along the contour of her waist and hip. The light contact through her dress may as well have been skin on skin the way the heat of him sank into her.
“I’m very sorry,” he murmured. “But if I had stayed last week there would have been a second woman indecently exposed in the corner of the club. I pride myself on my ability to maintain control, but you…” The words trailed off and the muscles in his clean-shaved jaw flexed. His fingertips dug into her hip, subtly pulling her closer.
Rowan’s lips curved into a pleased smile. That she could cause such a meticulously put together man to doubt his self control thrilled her. Something else about him excited her, too, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. Something in those dark eyes of his seemed almost otherworldly, and he exuded the kind of sexual energy that usually attracted her to a man.
“That’s a lousy excuse,” she said. She resisted the tug of his hand even though it took all her willpower not to sink against him. Looking at him now, she wondered what ethnicity he was. The dark features and accent fit together in an alluring combination, but none of his clean angles gave her a clue. His accent was also hard for her to place. The scent of him was the worst culprit in enticing her to bury her face against his neck and just breathe him in. She decided that the other details didn’t matter.
“How can I make it up to you?” he asked, settling his eyes back on hers.
“Start by telling me your name, maybe. Then buy me that drink. I’m Rowan.”
“Rafe. And I have better tequila at home.”
“If that’s an invitation, then I accept.” The words came out before she had the chance to censor herself. She had established personal rules when meeting new men, particularly in venues like the club she liked to frequent. Don’t go home with them the first night was one of her first rules. But the enticement of expensive tequila along with a man who smelled as good as he did—and looked at her like he’d like to mount her right there, damning his own sensibilities—was enough to throw her judgment completely out of whack.
The sleek, black convertible Porsche that pulled up outside the club a moment later screamed wealth. The luxurious leather of the seats caressed the backs of her thighs when she sat. She lowered the visor to look in the small mirror in an effort to disguise her covert study of him after he shut her door and rounded to the driver’s side. He moved with slow, easy grace, like a panther. As eager as he had sounded about getting her out of the club, now that he had her in his clutches he seemed intent on taking his time.
The idea of herself as his prey excited her. She normally couldn’t stand domineering men, but so far he’d never once commanded her to do anything. He’d merely made a suggestion and she’d fallen right into his trap. Instead of struggling to get free, she had a strange urge to let him devour her.
“It’s a chilly night, do you want the top up?”
“Cold never bothers me. Leave it down.” In truth, she always ran a little warm, but tonight her blood felt like lava. When he put the car in gear and revved the engine he let his hand drift from his gearshift to brush the skin on her thigh. He left his hand resting just above her knee, removing it only to shift gears as he drove.
She spent the first few minutes of the drive wishing he’d do more than caress that small patch of skin just on the inside of her thigh. When they were on the Coronado Bridge headed toward one of the richest neighborhoods in the city, her anxiety spiked enough to subdue her libido just a bit.
She became painfully aware that she might be getting in way over her head if a man as rich as he seemed to be was interested in her. Before she had a chance to comment, his hand began to slip up her thigh, the tips of his fingertips grazing her sensitive skin. She inhaled sharply at the intensity of his caress. His fingertips might have been live wires the way they caused a steady current of pleasure to sink through her skin. He didn’t stop at the hem of her dress, either, but pushed past it.
The cool wind tugged at the wayward strands of hair that had escaped their binding. The breeze across her heated skin did nothing to cool her need. She sighed and spread her legs a little wider on the seat, aching f
or him to keep moving higher.
A low growl came from the driver’s seat when his fingertips pushed past the barrier of her panties and slid between her wet folds. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes when he found her clit and began to stroke it. She was so lost to his touch she almost didn’t register the question he asked her.
“Where do you come from, Rowan? Why haven’t I met you before?”
“I—why would you? Oh God, don’t stop.”
When his hand disappeared, leaving her hot center cooling from the night wind, she opened her eyes.
Without looking at her, he asked, “Who are you?”
Confused and frustrated, she said, “I’m just Rowan. I never knew who my parents were, so really I’m nobody. I promise I’m not a gold-digger, if that’s what you’re worried about. I have my own money.”
Rafe laughed and darted a quick glance at her. His eyes sparkled. “It doesn’t matter yet, but I will find out somehow, even if you can’t tell me. I’m not worried about my money, either, even if you were a gold-digger, as you say, there are worse qualities than desiring wealth.”
The depth of his interest should have disturbed her. The truth was she had tried to find out her parents’ identities but had run into dead end after dead end, and nearly depleted all her savings in the process. She was still doing well enough financially to dig a little more, but had given up the search as a lost cause. Her parents hadn’t wanted her, so why should she bother?
“Be my guest if you want to waste your time,” she said. She shifted in her seat and tugged the hem of her dress back down, irritated by the remaining dampness between her thighs and the lingering ache he’d left by not finishing what he’d started.
She was on the verge of demanding he turn around and take her home when she noticed him shift in his seat. The slight movement brought to her attention the pronounced bulge straining at the front of his expensive trousers. She smiled at him when he caught her looking and reached across, placing her hand on his knee and sliding it up.
Rafe’s right thigh flexed with the pressure he exerted on the accelerator. He took one hand off the wheel and placed it over hers, pressing her palm harder against him and tilting his hips.
Rowan’s head buzzed from knowing she’d done this to him. She explored his hard length through the fabric, her pulse picking up with each increment of what she discovered was a very large cock, the head of which seemed to want to escape from his waistband.
With any other man, she might have unfastened his pants, unleashed his erection, and taken him into her mouth while he drove. But that would have been too easy and she had the urge to test her own limits almost as much as his.
Chapter 3
The gated compound he drove into a few moments later was beyond the scope of what Rowan had expected. Rowan may not have been impressed by his attire earlier—many of the men she’d seen recently could afford an expensive suit and a nice watch and fancy car—but the scope of his wealth in light of where he lived made her reassess him yet again.
“Now it’s my turn to ask, who are you? As young as you are, this has to be family money.” And whose family? She’d heard of a rich drug lord who kept a house in the area, but Rafe didn’t have the look of that kind of man. Not that she knew what that looked like.
Rafe cut the engine and delicately removed her hand from his crotch where she’d left it resting, forgotten in her interest with her new surroundings. He lifted her hand to his mouth and brushed his lips across her knuckles. “I’m older than I look, but yes, my family’s wealth goes back for several generations. I’ve traced it to the Pharaohs.”
Egyptian, she thought. That seemed to fit, even with his fair, smooth skin.
His look of a cat on the prowl was even more pronounced when he came around to open the door for her. Her heartbeat sped up when she stood and his hand shifted to her low back, pulling her to him. She stepped into his embrace, peering up into his dark eyes. His arousal pressed hot and hard against her belly.
She’d let him have her right here if he wanted. He seemed to sense it, and his gaze grew more heated. Both his hands rested gently on her shoulders and his thumbs traced the line of her jaw. He bent his head and pressed a gentle kiss against her lips. She opened up with a small moan, flicking her tongue out to taste him. The sweet taste of licorice met her tongue, along with the flavor of the whiskey he had been drinking at the club. His tongue was velvety softy when he teased back, but teasing was all he did. His hands tugged slightly at the clips that held her hair and a second later she felt the tightness of the bindings disappear and the heavy weight cascaded down her back.
Rafe pulled away with a smile, gazing at the mane of red tresses he’d released. “You have such gorgeous hair. You should always wear it loose.”
Before she could thank him for the compliment, he wrapped his large hand around hers and led her up a long, stone path to the front of his house.
He hadn’t been joking about old money, which was apparent from the decor inside his house. Rowan was no expert in antiquities, except where her particular niche of interest was concerned, but his collection would give any aficionado a field day, regardless of their interest.
She paused in the foyer before a life-size carved jade replica of the same figure that graced her throat. Her fingers went to her necklace involuntarily as she gazed at the huge red dragon before her. Something in its shape and sleek curves seemed so familiar.
“Don’t worry, he’s only a replica, but he is older than most.”
“This is beautiful! And it must be valued in the millions.”
Rafe pursed his lips. “On the antiquities market, perhaps. I don’t sell pieces from my collection as a general rule, however. He was a gift to my parents from an old friend.”
“Someone…gave this to your family?”
“Yes. But I can see what a connection you have with him. He’s yours, if you’d like. A red dragon for a red enchantress.”
She jerked her head around to stare at him in shock. “You can’t be serious.”
Rafe reached a hand up to hers where it was still tightly clutching her necklace. She let her fingers drop and he stepped closer to her. His fingertips lightly brushed her throat when he picked up the small medallion and inspected it.
“I believe he belongs to you, Rowan, but I have one condition.”
He stood so close to her she could feel the heat radiating off him. His fingers let the pendant fall back against her throat but he kept contact, tracing her collarbone to her shoulder. The same little zings of electricity seemed to shoot into her skin wherever he touched.
Anything, she wanted to say, but the word caught in her throat. Anything to keep him touching her like this.
“He is yours, but he stays here, and you visit him frequently.”
She swallowed and pulled back from his touch, suddenly needing a breath. Being close to Rafe was like standing next to a black hole and trying not to get sucked in. If she wasn’t careful, she would lose herself completely.
“Are you thirsty?” he asked in a low voice. The reminder of his original offer only released her slightly from the pull of him.
“I could use a drink, yes.” She didn’t think it mattered what he served her now. She just needed something different to focus on for five minutes so she could come to her senses. She’d come with him merely seeking a night of sexual release. Not even three steps through his door, and she already found herself craving more than his attention. It wasn’t even his obvious wealth that interested her, but the atmosphere in which he lived. Why did this huge house, decorated to the hilt with some of the oldest, priceless artifacts feel more like home to her than her comfortable Midtown apartment?
Impulsively, she kicked off her shoes in the entryway before following him barefoot through a wide, arched doorway into another room. This one at least had more modern furnishings, but they were no less exquisite in their craftsmanship. The value was in the artistry, not the age, she decided.
&nbs
p; The allure of all these things he surrounded himself with was nothing compared to the draw of Rafe himself.
Rowan downed the tumbler of liquor in three quick gulps and contemplated leaving again. Her need to maintain control was quickly eroding amid her desire to let him take her to bed and keep her there forever.
He refilled her drink and studied her quietly while she moved to stand by a nearby bookcase, feigning interest in the leatherbound volumes on one shelf.
“You’re afraid of me,” he said. “Why?”
She sipped the smooth tequila this time and turned to face him. “I’m not afraid of you. Just my reaction to you. To everything.” She let her eyes take in the rest of the room before settling on him again. “I never had this growing up, but…”
“Where did you grow up?” Rafe remained standing near the liquor cabinet, sipping his own drink
“Foster care, mostly, until I learned I had a knack for finding treasures in the most unlikely places. I have my own small collection like this, you know.”
“We’re alike in a lot of ways, I believe. You’re a very special woman, Rowan. I think you know that, but what I don’t think you know is precisely how special.”
“I’m simply a confident woman who gets what she wants. That’s all.” She believed she enjoyed sex more than the average woman, too, but until today had always managed to keep her emotions out of the equation.
He smiled slowly and nodded. “Yes, but you are much more. Take out your contact lenses so you can see.”
His request confused her. “But I need them to see.”
“You don’t. You’re only hiding behind them because no one ever told you the truth of how beautiful you are. Did you ever wonder what it meant? What it is about you that causes men to fall at your feet and women to despise you? It’s more than just your beauty.”
His commentary chilled her. It was like he’d gotten deep into her head. He set his glass down and walked closer to stand just within reach.
Shifters Gone Wild: A Shifter Romance Collection Page 69