Hot Property

by Susan Johnson

  “I’m sorry about that, too.”

  Oh, crap. Is this where a diplomat would say to the other side—it seems we are nearing detente?

  It didn’t help either that moonlight bathed the room in a silvery glow, inviting one to feel the bewitchment, exciting desire. The luminous chiaroscuro shadows also added potent dimension to Nick’s powerful form as he advanced on her— intensifying his brute virility.

  My God, he was large!

  She took a small breath, pulled the covers up to her chin like some nineteenth-century virgin, and stared at him wide-eyed.

  Nick abruptly stopped at the unexpected image of innocence. Then he recalled Zoe’s ravenous appetite for sex and he moved forward again.

  “You just said you didn’t think you should be here. I’m thinking maybe you were right.”

  “If I hadn’t just finished a bottle of whiskey trying to forget you, maybe . . .” He shook his head, as if to get his bearings. “I’m going out of my mind,” he murmured, taut and low.

  “Why?” She shouldn’t have asked, but she was a woman.

  He blew out a breath. “Because I want you more than I should, I guess. Because I want you every waking minute and in my dreams, too. You’ve taken up all the space in my brain, swamping reason, making me crazy”—he grinned—“in a good way. So do me a favor or have pity on me. Think of it as an act of charity if you like.”

  It was a staggering concept that she might be having sex with Nick Mirovic out of kindness. He really must be drunk. Most women would be willing to do just about anything to have him climb into their beds. “How drunk are you?” Zoe asked.

  “I don’t get drunk.” He held out one hand. “Look, steady as a rock.”

  He probably shouldn’t have used the word rock, because it instantly suggested other rock-hard images that effectively shut down the rational part of her brain. “I suppose I could do you a favor,” she said with a faint smile.

  “Bitch,” he said, with a grin, jerking his T-shirt over his head. “And I mean it in the nicest way.” He reached for his zipper.

  A second later, he was standing nude and gloriously aroused only inches away and there wasn’t a female on earth who could have resisted. Moral issues and equivocal doubts disappeared like the shoreline in a hurricane.

  God’s gift to women was close enough to touch, tonight might be her last chance at the full realization of her orgasmic potential, and whatever Nick’s reason for being here . . . she was in full agreement.

  “Lift up your arms,” he softly said.

  She did.

  He pulled off her nightgown and dropped it on the floor. Then he lifted the covers and climbed in.

  “I’m going crazy for wanting you. I don’t know how else to say it.” He blew out a disgruntled breath. “And at the risk of offending you, I wish I didn’t feel this way. It’s not a good time for me, but there it is and it’s freaking me out.”

  She smiled. “That’s sorta sweet.”

  Coming up on one elbow, he gave her a grumpy look from under his long lashes. “It isn’t anywhere near sweet for me, babe. It’s a real head trip.”

  “Just for the record, I wasn’t sleeping. I was thinking about you.”

  His smile was instant and heart-stopping. “Is that a fact?”

  “I was also thinking about eating you alive.”

  “Welcome to my world, babe.” He grinned. “We’ll take turns.”

  Zoe grinned back. “Now that I’m off your hit list, you figure I won’t make mincemeat out of your dick anymore—right?”

  “You can’t blame me for being cautious.”

  “I might need some makeup time tonight,” she murmured, her gaze on his erection.

  “You got it.”

  He was going to be a perfectly lovely first course, she decided, pushing him onto his back.

  “Hey, don’t be so rough,” he teased, although she’d barely touched him.

  “Brace yourself”—she grinned—“it’s my turn tonight.”

  “Apparently one of us likes it rough,” he drolly noted, glancing down at his surging erection.

  “Why am I not surprised? He likes it every which way.”

  “I know something else that likes it every which way,” he softly murmured.

  “Don’t start,” she said. “I want to make this last.”

  He was well-mannered. He didn’t say what he was thinking: Lasting for you could be measured in seconds. Spreading his arms wide, he smiled and said instead, “I happen to be available all night. No extra charge after midnight.”

  “Good,” she said in a sort of faraway voice, like her mind was somewhere else as she gazed at him. She was imprinting him in her memory as he lay waiting for her, intent on taking home a souvenir album of memories that recorded the passion, tenderness, covetous lust, and now the taste and feel of him as well.

  She started at the top, gently kissing his silky brows, his eyelids, his fine, straight nose, his sensual mouth that tasted of whiskey tonight, not peppermints. And he welcomed her kisses like a fond lover would—with tenderness and affection, with winsome restraint.

  As she stroked and caressed him, he kept his hands clenched at his sides, knowing if he touched her he was lost.

  He half raised his hands as her mouth trailed soft kisses down his chest, almost tempted beyond reason to cut to the chase. It had been a long, long evening of horniness suppressed; he couldn’t remember when he’d last denied himself sex. But somehow he fought the urge to roll her on her back, mount her, and screw her till he dropped.

  Although when her mouth closed around the head of his penis a few moments later, he drew in a breath of apprehension first and then restraint. He quickly started counting backwards from a hundred in threes so he really had to concentrate. But as she drew his rigid length deep into her mouth, when he felt his cock hit the back of her throat, he forgot about counting, he forgot about everything on the face of the earth except raw, agonizing, unbelievably awesome pleasure.

  Why her mouth should feel any different from any other woman’s baffled him in some distant corner of his mind. But damned if it didn’t, Nick decided. It not only felt different, but better in the way a million dollars was better than a buck. He wasn’t going to last much longer.

  She never swallowed, Zoe reflected, recognizing his climax was fast approaching. She just didn’t for any number of reasons—all selfish. Tonight however, she knew she was going to break precedence. She had no idea why.

  It was probably a collective, arcane, incoherent teeming mass of willingness, weakness, prodigal sensation, Robert Herrick’s love poems—where did that come from—and heart and soul desire.

  She could feel his hands on her head, the constrained pressure like that in his abs and quads. He was too large for her to completely swallow—no more than half his length fit in her mouth. When she’d attempted more, she choked, he’d winced, and they’d both been more careful after that.

  The sight of his cock sliding back and forth over her lush, pink lips, the feel of his dick bottoming out in her throat, the way her ripe boobs brushed his thighs as her head rose and fell over his cock, all contributed to one of the more cataclysmic highs in his life. Okay, the most cataclysmic high.

  “That’s it,” he said through clenched teeth. It was politesse, a courtesy call, and whether she took him up on it or not wouldn’t impair his fast-approaching orgasm.

  But she didn’t move.

  His climax exploded like that of a man who had been living as a monk in the wilderness and celibate for a decade.

  He came and came and came.

  Like a man possessed.

  And she swallowed, and swallowed, and swallowed.

  When she never did.

  It was a rash, rapturous, headlong, and hot-headed collaboration that finally ended when Nick touched her cheek and whispered, “That was fucking heaven.”

  Sitting up, Zoe smiled. “You have a rather talented mouth as well.”

  “Speaking of mouths
.” Grabbing the sheet, he reached up and wiped her mouth and chin. “My come dripping down your face, babe—it’s a real turn-on . . .”

  “Everything’s a turn-on for you,” she murmured, taking note of his rising erection.

  “Only when you’re around.”

  “I doubt it, but thanks. In terms of truth and full disclosure, if it’s okay with you, I’m going to take a rain check on the tasting menu. I want the real thing . . . as usual I know—you don’t have to grin like that. I’m addicted to your beautiful cock.”

  “He might need a short intermission.”

  “It doesn’t look like it.”

  “Give me a few minutes and I’ll last longer. You want it to last don’t you?”

  “Not really.”

  “I forgot. You’re the babe who wants to come ten times in ten minutes.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  Nick rolled up into a sitting position, and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “It’s definitely not a problem.” He rose to his feet.

  “Then where are you going?”

  “I have a little present for you.” He walked across the room.

  “Give it to me later.” She fell back into a sprawl and watched him.

  He turned from the dresser. “You’ll like this one.” He pulled open the top drawer and lifted something out. “Here.” Sitting on the edge of the bed, he held out a black lacquer box.

  Zoe pushed herself up on the pillows, took the box, and lifted the lid. Two gold Ben Wa balls rested on a cushion of red silk. “You brought these here?” She shouldn’t have asked. Why did it matter anyway whether he had or not?

  “Not exactly. I found them in the plane in my flight bag.”

  “So these are some other woman’s?”

  “No. They were given to me a long time ago. I forgot about them.”

  “They’re not used?”

  “Brand-new, babe—look, you broke the seal. And if it’ll bring a smile to your face, Alan brought them back from Japan for me.” Or they were left behind by some woman whose name I can’t remember. “How’s that?”

  “You could be lying.”

  “But I’m not.” When it’s about sex, it’s never a lie.

  She smiled then. “I have no idea why I’m pressing you. It’s really stupid. I apologize.”

  “I’m not offended, okay? Press all you want.” This from a man who normally said he didn’t have a phone when a woman asked for his phone number.

  “I’m thinking it must be all the recent turmoil—that’s a euphemism,” she said with a grin. “Anyway, I’m addicted to sex when you’re around.”

  “It must be something in the air. I’ve got a hard-on that won’t go away.” Taking one of the gold balls from the box, he deftly slid it up her vagina. “How’s that feel?”

  She couldn’t answer him right away; she was trying to catch her breath. “Not bad,” she whispered a few moments later.

  He smiled at her skittish understatement. “Ready for more?”

  She took a small breath because a deep one would have restarted the wild strumming deep inside her. “I’m not sure.”

  “Yeah you are,” Nick said, slipping the second little globe up against the first.

  If she wasn’t trying to keep from coming, she might have taken issue with his cool assurance.

  He jammed his hand against her swollen vulva and pressed upward.

  With a brief shudder and a breathy cry, she immediately climaxed.

  Maybe he’d drunk too much tonight, or did he prefer that defense to facing the truth?

  She had begun to matter to him—beyond the obvious sexual attraction. And not only was this the worst possible time to consider anything other than transient sex, he didn’t want to get involved with a woman who treated fucking as casually as he did.

  It didn’t have anything to do with Zoe. It was just that after Trish and all the nastiness and revelations of their divorce, he was more wary than usual. It was only sensible to move on. He wasn’t ready for more than casual sex anyway. Maybe he never would be.

  Having talked himself down off the cliff in terms of pissed-off indignation at something he shouldn’t give a rat’s ass about, he returned to what he did so well.

  Exerting a delicate pressure on the snugly ensconced little gold balls, he transported Zoe into the land of Nirvana and orgasmic bliss five times in rapid succession.

  He finally stopped when her screams grew faint.

  He deftly slipped out the small globes. As she involuntarily twitched under his touch and softly groaned, he understood he probably should have stopped a couple of orgasms ago.

  Bending low, he gently kissed her cheek. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. When she didn’t reply, nor open her eyes, he questioned both his sanity and sobriety. Christ, what came over me? Why did he feel the need to retaliate because she was so fucking hot?

  When her eyes fluttered open, he suddenly felt strangely whole again, as if her well-being colored and illuminated his world, gave it meaning. “You’re amazing,” she whispered, “this is amazing; my wanting you with such urgency on the other hand—is scary.”

  “No, it’s charming and awesome.” He smiled. “I’m counting my blessings.”

  “How much time do we have?” Even while basking in pleasure, she felt as though the Titanic was going down.

  “Plenty of time. We don’t have to leave early.” Sitting up, he lifted her onto his lap. He held her close, gently kissed her, and whispered all the sweet, seductive words, the disarming, captivating words about sexual desire and longing. About his fascination for her.

  And soon, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back, not gently but with her familiar impatience.

  He smiled against her mouth. “I’ve never felt this good,” he said.

  They made love more leisurely as the night progressed, savoring every sensation and pleasure, knowing full well that time was running out.

  When at last sunlight filled the room, Zoe looked at Nick and said, “Thank you for everything”—she smiled—“for saving my life and giving me pleasure. And now we have to go,” she added, pretending she was a responsible grown-up.

  “We probably should.” He’d been up for an hour, waiting for her to wake. Although, if taking out Harry wasn’t urgent, he would have willingly stayed.

  “Do I have time to take a shower?”

  “Absolutely. I’ll go make us some lattes.” Throwing the covers aside, he quickly rose from the bed before he was tempted to follow her into the shower. If he did, they wouldn’t be going anywhere today.

  Thirty-four

  When Nick walked Zoe into the airport that afternoon, he surreptitiously scanned the small concourse for anything that looked suspicious. Willerby’s people weren’t likely to be here, but Harry could have been thorough enough to have watchers at all the local airports.

  However, no one looked out of place in the throng of summer tourists with their camping gear. Even the occasional business type catching a flight to the Cities or Chicago didn’t have an earpiece that shouldn’t be there or the wrong kind of shoes with his suit or a briefcase with nothing in it.

  He’d learned the hard way how to spot the smallest irregularity. After seeing people blown up in Kosovo by some lunatic who looked as ordinary as the next guy, or by sniper fire from a window with lace curtains you learned to never take anything for granted.

  It looked like they were in luck today though.

  There didn’t seem to be any sign of Harry’s people.

  After checking Zoe’s luggage, Nick suggested a coffee while they waited for her flight. For the next half hour they drank bad coffee and politely talked of generalities like strangers might, a continuation of their unexceptional conversation on the car trip from Ely.

  But they were both struggling by the end to dredge up innocuous subjects. Finally it came time for Zoe to go to her gate and board.

  In the absence of any talk of the future, both understood today was a pol
ite adios. They were grown-ups; great sex did not necessarily equate with anything enduring. It was the pink cotton candy of life—delectable but quick to melt away in your mouth and disappear.

  They carefully kept their distance on the short walk from the café to the entrance accessing the gates.

  “Thanks very much for rescuing me from Willerby’s cheesy stooges,” Zoe said, as they reached the security line. “I really appreciate all your help.”

  “You’re more than welcome. I enjoyed your company.”

  “And I yours.”

  Both were careful not to allude to the outpost camp, the attack, or the amazing sex.

  “You’re an excellent cook, too,” Zoe said, cordial and bland, like one would be to a neighbor who brought over a basket of muffins. “The food was great.” You clean up real good, too, she reflected in a less casual assessment, his white linen shirt and black slacks elegant, tasteful, and beaucoup sexy.

  “Thanks.” He was trying to keep it together. She looks good enough to eat even though she’s covered up in a green silk turtleneck and tan gabardine slacks.

  They both went silent for an awkward moment.

  Then Nick quickly dipped his head, brushed Zoe’s cheek with a polite kiss, and taking a step back, said with a smile, “Call me and let me know you arrived safely.”

  “Will do.” With a wave, Zoe turned and swiftly walked away before she totally embarrassed herself and babbled out something completely ridiculous.

  She showed her driver’s license and ticket to the TSA agent without really paying attention, her thoughts on the fact that she’d never see Nick again. It’s over, she reflected, as she had last night and a hundred times since then. His silence had made that pretty clear. No talk of the future, not so much as an passing allusion.

  But thanks for the memories, she thought, setting her backpack on the X-ray machine conveyor belt. She had scrapbookworthy memories for a lifetime.

  A shame it had to end, Nick reflected as he exited the small passenger concourse. The sex had been incredible, fantastic, and every other superlative known to man.

  But sex was way down his list of priorities right now. He had more pressing concerns—life-threatening ones. First, track down Harry and hopefully make the world a better place by zapping him. After that, maybe he could consider his own pleasures again. In particular, Zoe.