Against the Odds

by Donna Kauffman

  “Or perhaps it’s because you professed such a strong belief in the possibility of love,” she said, then swallowed hard and pulled away, as if she couldn’t quite believe she’d said it.

  Looking into her eyes just now, he actually had to bite back the urge to tell her his thoughts, that his belief in those very possibilities was growing by leaps and bounds. Could she be having the same revelations? Or was it, as she said, simply a flight of fancy she wanted to believe in? “It’s only natural that a woman who writes about love would be a romantic. But trust me, I’m no hero, stalwart or otherwise. I’m just a regular guy.”

  “A regular guy who thinks nothing of running into burning buildings and sweeping women off their feet.”

  “A guy who used to run into burning buildings. Now the only buildings I go into are already done burning.” He grinned. “And you can see how well I do on that sweeping thing.”

  “I believe I was off my feet.”

  They both laughed, but slowly quieted as their eyes met. He stroked her cheek. Suddenly it was important for her to know this wasn’t a flight of fancy for him, but something more important. Or something that had the potential of being more important.

  But she spoke first. “I, um, would you like to take that shower? Or a sauna?”

  “We have options?” He grinned, happy enough for the moment that she wanted him to stay.

  “Actually,” she said conspiratorially, “there are two baths. A his and hers.”

  “Oh.”

  She laughed. “What, too lavish for you?”

  “I’m just a simple country boy.”

  “Right. And I’m a sheltered English lass.”

  He pulled her across the table until she was draped over his lap. “Shall we use both his and hers? Or choose one and share?”

  “I say we use both.” She smiled. “One at a time.”

  “A practical English lass. I like that.” He dipped his head and captured her mouth. Before they’d both gone at each other like starved animals. Now…well, now he wasn’t any less hungry. If anything, he only wanted her more. But it was a banked hunger, allowing him to linger, savor, take his time. When he lifted his head, her eyes were shut, her lips curved in a satisfied smile.

  He kicked off his trousers completely, gathered her close and stood. Her eyes flew open, then she merely looped her arms around his neck and lay her cheek against his chest. “See, I knew you were a sweeper.”

  He headed toward the bedroom he could see beyond an open doorway. “Apparently, with you, I’m many things I’ve never been before.” He didn’t glance down, didn’t want to see the questions form in her eyes. He wasn’t quite ready to risk giving voice to the answers. Not just yet.

  He stopped in front of the doors leading to the two bathrooms. One held a sauna and a separate glass-enclosed shower, the other a whirlpool tub. “Sauna or hot tub?”

  “A shower will be steamy enough, don’t you think?”

  He stepped into the “His” bathroom and let her slip from his arms, keeping her body close as her feet touched the inlaid marble floor. With her arms still twined around his neck, he backed her into the roomy shower stall and flipped on the water. He tucked her into the corner, taking the brunt of the cold spray which rained down from the multiple fat shower heads on his back. It only took seconds for the water to warm up and the steam to begin to rise.

  Along with something else.

  “Do you always shower with your clothes on?” she asked calmly.

  “What clothes?” he murmured, kissing the side of her neck, letting the hot water sluice over them both.

  “Your shirt…”

  He dragged the unbuttoned shirt down his arms and let it drop with a wet thwap, never taking his lips from some part of her anatomy. “I suppose you’d like to take this skirt off then?” he asked, kneeling in front of her. She managed a nod, arched as he reached behind her to slide the zipper down. He had to tug a bit, the wet material clingy and tight, to get it past her hips. He wasn’t in a hurry as his mouth was busy lapping up the rivulets of water tracking down her stomach, into her navel, then back out again.

  When he dipped his head, lapped even lower, she braced her hands on his shoulders. “Tucker…dear God,” she breathed.

  “Just what I was thinking,” he murmured, wondering if he’d ever have enough of her. Probably not, he imagined as she began to pump her hips against his seeking tongue.

  He slid his hands up her slick belly, found her nipples hard and begging for his fingertips to massage warm water around them.

  Her nails dug into his shoulders and the light sting only aroused him further. He continued to play with her, tease her with his tongue, until she quivered beneath his touch and the hot spray of water.

  “There,” she gasped. “Right there. Stay…right…ahhhh, yes,” she finished, moving to a guttural groan as she went over for him. Her knees buckled and he shifted up on his feet just in time to catch her and keep her from sliding down the wall. He draped her arms over his shoulders and braced her body against the wall with slight pressure from his. There was no way to disguise how aroused he was. Not that he bothered to try.

  “Amazing,” she managed.

  “Funny,” he said, nuzzling her neck. “I was thinking the same thing.”

  “That, too.” She shifted her thighs, captured him between them. She nudged him aside, kissed his neck, lapped at the water that ran along his shoulder. He twitched hard at the feel of her soft tongue on him. “But I was referring to this.” She squeezed her thighs.

  The groan slipped out before he could stop it. “You don’t have to—we don’t—”

  She opened her eyes then, framed his face with her hands so they looked at each other. “I have more sponges, but seeing as we’re already in the shower…and you’re so…” She squeezed her thighs again, then grinned when he tried to shift and she refused to let him.

  “A little dominant streak in there after all?” he said, thinking this was the kind of sweet torture he was willing to take.

  “No, I just happen to believe in fair play.”

  Before he could question just what she meant by that, she’d slithered from his grasp, and slid downward. Letting her tongue lead the way.

  He didn’t resist when she nudged him back beneath the spray until his back met the other wall. She cupped him, then slicked her hand down the full length of him. “So,” she said, looking up at him, the water streaming down over her pale, perfect skin. “May I play?”

  He could only nod. Then groan as she slipped her mouth over him and took him. He didn’t last long, was surprised he’d peaked at all considering he’d just come not a half hour before. He was dragging her back up to her feet even as the brief climax was still rippling through his body.

  “Tucker—”

  “Shh, just come here.” He pulled her into his arms, let her rest against his body, then reached up to angle the wide shower head so it drenched them both. “Just relax.” She turned her face away from the spray, rested her cheek on his chest, one palm covering his heart, the other draped around his waist.

  He stood there, holding her, feeling the perfection of how she fitted so naturally against him, so wonderfully. He let the water beat down on them, and came to terms with the fact that, in the space of twenty-four hours, his life had been irrevocably altered.

  And no matter what he told himself, postcoital lust had nothing to do with this. The woman in his arms did. And he never wanted to let her go. It was as simple, and as God almighty complicated as that. What he didn’t know was what in the hell to do about it. About her. About keeping her right here, where she was meant to be.

  PRESSED AGAINST his slick chest, the steam enveloping them both in a blissful cloud of heat and relaxation, Misty let herself drift. He was so sturdy, so perfect, holding her as if he meant to do so always. And wouldn’t that be wonderful, she told herself dreamily. To have Tucker. Simply have him. Here. There. Everywhere.

  The sex. It was the sex, she thoug
ht, lethargy seeping into every pore along with the water. Stupendous sex, she appended. She’d never been so in tune, so comfortable, taking, giving, playing, with anyone. Of course, she’d known it could be like this. In fiction, anyway. And now that she’d found it for real? Well, who wouldn’t want that forever and always?

  Those broad hands stroking her back, the steady beat of his heart beneath her fingertips. Steady. Sturdy. Stalwart, she thought, a sleepy smile curving her lips. He was all that and more whether he wanted to believe it or not. And for the moment, all that was hers.

  At some point as she drifted, he slicked soap over her shoulders and back, shampoo was massaged into her scalp. “I’m never letting you leave this room,” she murmured, as he tipped her head back so the spray could rinse her off.

  “You won’t get any argument from me.”

  “I suppose I should be nice and give you the wash and rinse treatment, too.”

  “I’m having a perfectly wonderful time, don’t worry about me.”

  “Okay then,” she said, eyes still shut as he shifted her around so her back rested on his chest. He soaped her breasts and belly…and more. “I’ll just force myself to allow you to do what you will.” She glanced up and cracked one eye open. “All in the name of being fair, of course.”

  “Of course,” he said, quite caught up in sliding his body down hers, running soap-slicked hands along her thighs and down over her calves. He straightened and pulled her close again. “All clean,” he said, pressing a kiss against her hair.

  “Are you sure you didn’t miss any nooks or crannies?”

  He pushed the shower head away and tipped her face to his. “I don’t think so. Would you like me to check again? As an investigator, I believe in being very thorough.”

  “Yes, I believe I already know that about you.”

  He reached behind her and shut the water off.

  “Wait, what about you?”

  “I used you as a body sponge,” he said with a wicked grin. “I’m squeaky.”

  She ran a finger down the center of his chest. “So you are.”

  He popped open the shower door and reached for the towels. She finally mustered up the energy to move and beat him to it. “You washed, I dry.”

  He grinned. “I thought that only applied to dinner dishes.”

  She slipped the towel off the rack. “Aren’t you the clever one. Now, do you want me to dry or not?”

  In reply, he stepped onto the mat and held his arms out. It was her first time really getting a full-length look at him. Dear God, he looked as good as he felt. Better even. Smooth skin, all burnished gold, defined muscles. Imagine that, she thought. She’d come to Las Vegas and hit the jackpot without ever entering a casino. Well done, old girl.

  “Am I on the air dry cycle here?” he teased, obviously not minding her staring in the least.

  She laughed and began to pat him dry.

  “I’m not fragile.”

  “I’ll agree with that.” She patted and rubbed until he looked like a buffed god. Made her want to lick her lips. So she did.

  He caught her at it and winked. “My turn.” He snatched the towel from her before she could stop him.

  “I’m quite capable—”

  “I believe we’ve covered that. Now, turn around.”

  She did a pirouette, then curtsied.

  “Very funny. And quite lovely. Dance lessons?”

  “Miss Pottingham’s School of Charm and Grace.”

  He paused in drying her arms. “You’re not making that up, are you.”

  She shook her head, then sniffed and struck a snooty pose. “I’ll have you know you’re presently drying off one of Miss Pottingham’s greatest achievements. If my parents are to be believed, at any rate.”

  “Born with a silver spoon in your mouth, were you?”

  “Oh darling, I had the entire tea service. Yet, I was most often found getting into mischief with the stable lads and the staff offspring, or up a tree in the orchards, reading this book or that.” She smiled and snatched the towel back from him, wrapping it around her. “Much to my parents’ eternal dismay, I was always rather hoydenish. It was a minor miracle to get me to sit at the piano, much less put on a proper dress.”

  “I can see where a shrine, or perhaps a simple marble statue, should be erected in Miss Pottingham’s honor then.” Tucker followed her from the steamy room, apparently quite comfortable dressed only in his own skin. As it happened, Misty was quite comfortable with his chosen outfit as well.

  An instant later he surprised a squeal out of her as she found herself airborne momentarily, before landing on the wide blue ocean of bedspread. Tucker landed, graceful as a cat, just behind her, rolling her, now breathless with laughter, onto her back and pinning her effortlessly to the bed.

  “I think you still like to get into mischief,” he said.

  She stared up into those dark, devilish eyes of his, prepared to toss back a witty rejoinder. What came out was far more sincere and heartfelt. “Actually, I think I’d forgotten all about how to play for the sheer fun of it.” She reached up and stroked his cheek, then ran her finger across his bottom lip.

  He captured it and pulled it into his mouth, eyes on hers the whole time.

  “Until today,” she finished. “You make it quite easy.”

  He released her finger, dropping a quick kiss to her palm before her hand moved away. “You’re never too old to play. How else are you going to tell when you’re not working?”

  She grinned up at him. “Good point. Perhaps it’s because my work is mostly in my head. I carry my office around with me, so to speak, so I can never leave it.”

  “So,” he asked, trailing blunt fingertips down her arms, making her damp skin tingle. “Have you been thinking about work the past couple of hours?”

  “Not once, actually.” She wriggled when he hit a ticklish spot. “I never mix business with pleasure.”

  He caught her gaze. “Even though pleasure is your business?”

  She stilled then. She’d thought he was teasing her, but now realized there was another question lurking beneath the surface. “If you’re asking me if you’re research for a book, the answer is no.” You’re just for me, she wanted to say. All for me. “As I said, I don’t mix business with…anything.” She went to pull away, but his grip on her wrists tightened.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he repeated when she turned her face away from his. “I deserved that.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “Look at me.”

  She thought about resisting him, but truth was, she didn’t want to. She looked up at him, said nothing.

  “I believe in play,” he said. “In having a good time when the opportunity presents itself.” He shifted, trapping her when she went to pull away again. “I also believe that anything is possible. Today…this time…with you…” He drifted off, simply stared down at her.

  She didn’t know what it was she saw in the depths of his eyes. Confusion. Wonder. Desire. Maybe all three. Maybe more.

  “It started out as an opportunity, one I couldn’t pass up,” he said. “I wanted to be with you, haven’t stopped thinking about you since we met. I wanted to have fun. And now…” Again, he didn’t finish.

  “And now what?” she finally asked, her voice barely a whisper. Her heart tripped, doubled its rate, then stuttered again. What did she want him to say? That there could be more?

  “I know we agreed on no boundaries, but they’re there. And I find myself already pushing up against them. It might not seem fair, but I guess I want to know I’m not only a good time, a means to an end.”

  She didn’t respond right away. If she had, she might have blurted out things best left for midnight fantasies, when he was nothing but a memory. “You are a good time,” she said carefully. “But I’m not using you as some sort of research project. Unless that project is me.”

  “Misty—”

  She had no idea what he’d been about to say, but she instinctive
ly cut him off, unwilling to take the risk. The risk that it might be something that would ruin what they could have. Which was four days. Or maybe it was the risk that he’d say something that would make her confront the fact that four days might not be enough. For either of them. And she had no idea what to do with that. So she avoided it with a kiss.

  “I came here wanting to learn more about myself,” she said quietly, her lips still so close to his. “About my sexuality, my needs, fulfilling desires I’d only dared to try on paper. I didn’t want complications that come with forging a relationship, because, frankly, up to now that was always a hindrance to fulfilling my desires rather than a boon. And Blackstone’s offered me that opportunity. Then reality struck and that poor woman was murdered. One door opened, one door closed.”

  She watched him, wishing like hell she knew what was going on behind those impenetrable eyes of his. “And then I met you. And another door opened.” She slipped her hands from his grasp, framed his face with her palms. “I’m not expecting you to fill those gaps. That’s up to me. What we do is about us, between us, not about my work. This is about you telling me you wanted to spend time with me. And me realizing I wanted the same thing. That’s why I stayed, why I came to your hotel. Why we’re here, like this. I wasn’t expecting anything more.”

  His eyes darkened then, and she felt a shiver of awareness course through her. Primal, she thought. That’s what he was. And that part of him touched something similar in her, some inner ferocity she hadn’t known she possessed. Or perhaps she had but, unsure what to do with it, she’d channeled it into something she could deal with. Fiction, which had no boundaries, where she could do anything, be anything.

  Most especially all the inappropriate things a well-bred Smythe-Davies would certainly never do.

  Tucker touched her face, her mouth, looked as if he were about to say something, then instead lowered his lips to hers, took her in a kiss that was only gentle for a split second, before it became something fierce, something almost…savage. Possessive.