by Lucy King
The guard he’d momentarily dropped for her had shot back up, she realised in the car on the way back to his helicopter—a journey spent in an uncomfortably prickly silence—and it was more disappointing than she could have imagined, because she sensed there was so much more to him and his story.
Never mind the fact that she’d revealed nothing of the effects her experience had had on her. She wanted to know more about how his had affected him. Not for Finn, who’d be fine with the facts, but for herself. Now she’d had a glimpse of the intriguing man beneath the surface, she wanted to smash through his defences and find out everything.
And not just on that front.
His continued indifference to her after what had happened last night was another source of increasing bewilderment and distress, even though she really ought not to be thinking about it at all. Why wasn’t he suffering from her proximity the way she was from his? was the shameful thought that kept running through her head. Why, when he’d mentioned the occasion she’d seen the scars on his chest, had he remained so unmoved, while she’d instantly caught fire? How could he continue to act as if nothing had happened?
Maybe he really had wiped it from his mind. Perhaps what she’d assumed to be denial was, in actual fact, a complete lack of interest. Perhaps she’d in some way disappointed him. And yet she hadn’t imagined the heat and fierceness of their kiss, or his loss of control that had gone with it. The swirling intensity of his eyes, blazing into hers, was seared onto her memory.
And she might as well admit she wanted more of it all.
In the absence of conversation, the desire she’d managed to get under some sort of control while they’d been talking was flooding back, drumming through her with increasing potency with every passing moment, and by the time they were back in the helicopter and once again flying over the land below she couldn’t help feeling that perhaps she’d been a bit pathetic by fleeing his kitchen like that.
Since when did she run away from anything these days? Why hadn’t she stayed and handled the hot situation with the cool she was capable of? She’d dealt with far worse. So what had she been so afraid of? How awful would it have been if she hadn’t been distracted by the burning garlic and things had reached their natural conclusion?
She had nothing to fear from Rico or the fierce passion he aroused in her. They weren’t really kindred spirits, despite her overly dramatic proclamation, which had been made in a rare moment of emotional weakness, and it wasn’t as if she was actually contemplating a relationship with the man. The last thing she wanted was commitment, or any kind of emotional intimacy, for that matter, when emotions involving the opposite sex were so dangerous, but he clearly wasn’t all that keen on attachment either.
So surely there was nothing stopping her having one night with him, she told herself, going a bit giddy at the very thought of it. She was leaving in the morning. She could embrace and explore the desire she felt for him without the fear of being manipulated or sucked in any deeper, and she could depart with no looking back and no regrets. Who knew when she’d next get the chance?
She wanted him, quite desperately, and, while whether he still wanted her was another matter, one thing was certain—she would never know if she didn’t ask.
* * *
Now they were back, Rico needed to remove himself from Carla’s vicinity before he made a move from which there would be no return.
Two moves, actually.
First off, it appeared that revealing the barest details of his life to date had acted as something of a trigger and he’d found himself wanting to tell her not only everything but also how he felt about it all, which was wholly unacceptable and made absolutely no sense.
Why would he ever want to do that? he’d asked himself while she’d been signing the forms and taking possession of the travel document that was so important to her. To create that kind of connection he’d have to be mad, and even he couldn’t be so reckless as to risk that kind of insanity.
Nevertheless, despite his best efforts to put it from his mind he’d been so unsettled by their conversation in the car he’d automatically answered her question about the favour owed him by the consul, and at that point he’d realised he’d be better off not talking at all.
Which brought him to move number two, namely the increasingly difficult to resist desire hammering away inside him that in the absence of conversation had swollen to unbearable proportions.
He hated the fact that it was so hard to control. He couldn’t shake the disturbing feeling that one tiny loosening of his grip on it would unravel him completely. He didn’t want to want Carla—she’d been bang on about that—any more than he wanted to keep dwelling on what she’d told him about being so sickeningly abused. He didn’t want to wonder how she’d felt about it then or how she felt about it now, or what long-lasting effects it might have had. He wasn’t jealous of the support she’d had in the shape of a best friend. The stab of shame that he’d felt when he’d caught the appalled shock in her eyes at his confession he’d actually joined the gang, as if he’d somehow let her down, had been wholly unnecessary. He had no need to apologise for anything. There was no point in regretting anything he’d done and it didn’t matter one jot if he disappointed her. Why did he care about proving to her his integrity? They weren’t kindred spirits. They couldn’t be.
The crushing pressure of everything battering at his head and body was too much to bear and he didn’t know how much longer he’d be able to hold it together. So he was going to hole up in his study until six o’clock in the morning, repairing the dent in his fortune and those of his clients while cobbling together some sort of control over everything he was suffering, and to hell with whether that made him a lily-livered coward and a terrible host. Carla could fend for herself. He’d had enough.
‘Rico, wait.’
Nope. Not happening. She was probably going to thank him and he didn’t think he could take her gratitude when he wanted something else entirely from her yet shouldn’t and couldn’t have. But apparently she was not to be deterred because his progress back to the house wasn’t as fast as he’d have liked it to be and within seconds she’d caught up with him.
‘Stop,’ she said, panting slightly in a distracting way and planting a hand on his bare forearm, which singed his skin and rooted him to the spot.
‘What is it?’ he snapped, too frayed to even attempt to make a stab at cool, easy-going levity.
‘I have a question. About last night.’
That was worse than any thank-you. ‘There’s nothing to discuss,’ he muttered, shaking her off and resuming his march to the house.
‘I think there is.’
‘In what way?’
‘What would have happened if the garlic hadn’t burned?’
What the hell? ‘What do you think would have happened?’ he said, the memories of their kiss burning through him and having their inevitable effect.
‘I think we wouldn’t have stopped. I think we’d have had sex right there on your kitchen island.’
His pulse began to gallop, the images smashing into his head, desire breaking through the flimsy dam he’d constructed and coursing through him in a great rush of molten heat. He wanted to deny it, but it was impossible. ‘Well, then. There you go. Is that it?’
‘I hope not.’
His brows snapped together and he wheeled round to face her. ‘What do you mean by that?’
She took a deep breath and looked him square in the eye. ‘I want to finish what we started.’
He tensed, fighting with every inch of his control the clamouring urge to grab hold of her and do exactly that. ‘That is not a good idea.’
‘Why not?’
Yes, quite. Why not? ‘It’s complicated,’ he muttered, shoving his hands in the pockets of his shorts, any pretence of equanimity long gone.
‘It needn’t be.’
&nb
sp; Nevertheless, it was. For a whole host of reasons. He didn’t know who he was these days. He understood none of the things he’d done recently. And then there was his unwise interest in the woman standing in front of him and his curiosity about all the things they had in common and those they very much did not. His heart banged against his ribcage while his head throbbed with the intensity of the pressure pushing in on him from all sides. ‘I’m injured.’
‘I’d take care.’
But what if he didn’t? What if he let his guard down even more than he already had? What if she somehow tripped him up and before he knew it had him telling her everything? Or worse, wound up wanting more than he could ever give?
‘It would just be one afternoon and one night, Rico,’ she said, as if able to read his mind. ‘My flight is booked for the morning and that’s not going to change. There’s no room in my life for a relationship. Seriously. You’d be perfectly safe from me.’
Safe? Really? He’d never met anyone quite so threatening.
But, Dio, her words rang in his ears like a siren call, tempting him across the calm waters of reason towards the treacherous rocks of hedonistic ecstasy.
One afternoon. One night. Free of strings. Free of complications. Drenched in pleasure. He hadn’t felt this alert, this alive in months. And as for his ability to perform... Pain? What pain? The only ache he had right now was deep in his pelvis. He wanted her as badly as she’d just admitted she wanted him, and really, would it be so bad? How dangerous could she possibly be? He’d never allowed a woman to expect more than what he was able to offer and he wasn’t about to start now. And wouldn’t actually acting on the desire make it lessen, or even obliterate it altogether?
As the reasons for objecting ran out and the last of his resistance crumbled, Rico reached for her, pulled her against him and slammed his mouth down on hers.
* * *
Oh, thank God for that.
For the longest of moments, Carla had really thought Rico was going to stick to his guns in refusing her request and she’d been all ready to back down, since a no was, after all, a no, even a humiliating one. But to her relief he’d obviously had a change of heart because the next thing she knew she was in his arms and he was kissing her as if his life depended on it.
She softened and melted into him instantly, parting her lips and moaning his name as they came together in a clash of teeth and tongues and a tangle of hands. She wound her arms around his neck and pressed herself close, and at the feel of him, so big and solid against her, shivers shot down her spine.
To actually be able to touch him after a morning spent resisting the urge to do exactly that was utterly intoxicating and she couldn’t get enough. She ran her hands over his shoulders and down his arms and he shuddered and groaned into her mouth. His muscles tensed with every caress and she could feel his granite-hard erection pressed against her.
With one hand he angled her head and deepened the kiss, and her breasts tightened and tingled, her nipples stiffening with the need to be touched. With the other he pulled her hips more tightly to him, sending shocks of electricity spiralling through her.
When he pulled back, breathing raggedly, he looked as if he was in as much of a fog as she was. The blue of his eyes had darkened to the deepest navy, the desperate hunger she could see in them reflecting the frantic need she knew her own contained. Before he could have time to even think about the wisdom of what he was doing she breathed huskily, ‘Complete the tour and show me your room,’ and thankfully he didn’t need to be told twice.
Taking her hand, he strode into the house and across the hall. At the bottom of his stairs he stopped, his eyes blazing and a muscle pounding in his jaw, and said, ‘Go on ahead.’ In response to the quizzical look she gave him, he merely added, ‘I had a fantasy about exactly this scenario only yesterday afternoon.’
‘What was I doing?’ she said, her pulse thudding heavily at the dizzying realisation that he’d imagined this, just as she had.
‘Simply walking up the stairs.’
‘I think I can do better than that.’
She turned and began slowly climbing the stairs, swinging her hips and running her fingers over the banister as she went. Halfway up, she paused to look over her shoulder and give him a wicked grin, and the intensity with which he was watching her knocked the breath from her lungs. At the top, she crooked her finger at him, and within seconds he’d taken the steps two at a time.
‘How was that?’ she breathed as he led her into his bedroom with indecent haste.
‘Better than I could possibly have imagined.’
He had her back in his arms in a flash and in between hot, frantic kisses she tugged on his T-shirt while he shoved her top up, only releasing her so that they could free themselves of items that neither had any need for. Jeans and shorts and shoes immediately followed and then he was backing her towards the bed and tumbling her onto the mattress.
For a moment, as she lay sprawled on the sheets catching her breath, he just stood there staring at her as if he’d never seen a nearly naked woman before, and while every cell of her body quivered in response to the heat of his gaze she took the opportunity to do the same.
Everywhere she looked she saw hard muscle and tanned skin, his broad chest and powerful thighs sprinkled with a smattering of rough, dark hair. In the region of his hips and pelvis were scars which, in contrast to those on his chest, were livid and recent, presumably a result of the surgery he’d had to have. But she couldn’t have asked him about them even if she’d wanted to. All her attention was drawn to the enormous erection that lay beneath the fabric of his black shorts and made her pulse race and her mouth water.
As stunning as the view was, though, the desperation throbbing inside her was becoming intolerable.
‘What are you waiting for?’ she said with a seductiveness that was surprising even to her ears.
‘You’re too perfect.’
If only he knew, she thought, the gruffness of his voice tugging at something deep inside her. She might not have too many lumps and bumps on the outside, but the fears and doubts she had on the inside more than made up for it. ‘Believe me, I am far from perfect. But I am burning up with desire for you. I need you. Now, Rico.’
He must have heard the desperation in her voice because in an instant he’d joined her on the bed. He lowered himself on top of her, pressing her down with his delicious weight, his hardness a heady contrast to her softness. With a rough groan he brought his head down to hers and captured her mouth with a mind-blowing kiss, and she wound her legs around his hips and her arms around his neck until she was enveloped by his scent and warmth and her head cleared of everything but him.
After a moment that seemed to stretch for hours he rolled onto his back, taking her with him, which had her straddling him and rubbing herself against his erection, her breaths coming in short, ragged pants while he undid the clasp of her bra. She shrugged it off, her blood thick and hot, her pulse thundering, and a moment later he flipped her back over.
‘Nifty,’ she gasped.
‘A miracle, quite frankly,’ he murmured. ‘A couple of days ago a move like that would have had me reaching for the painkillers.’
She grinned and then he cupped her breast, his palm fitting to her perfectly, and her smile gave way to a sigh as sensation skated through her body. She arched her back and he trailed kisses down her throat, across the slope of her chest and took her hard nipple in his mouth. She moaned his name and grabbed his hair, and when he moved his other hand down her body, his fingers slipping beneath the waistband of her knickers and then into her tight, slick heat, she gasped.
He transferred his attention to her other breast while he rubbed her clitoris with his thumb, his fingers moving inside her, and all coherent thought fled. When he shifted and moved and added to her torment by putting his mouth to the spot where his fingers and thumb were creating suc
h devastation she nearly leapt off the bed.
‘Enough,’ she panted after a few minutes of agonisingly exquisite torment.
‘No.’
‘Yes. I want you inside me when I come. Don’t make me beg.’
‘It has a certain appeal.’
‘Don’t.’
He gave her a hot, hard kiss, which dazzled her senses, and then he reared up, reached over and rummaged around in the drawer of his nightstand. Ogling his back, she heard the crinkle of a foil packet, the harsh hiss of breath, and then he came back to her, sliding her knickers down and off. She opened her legs wide and he settled between them, and as he crushed his mouth to hers he thrust into her with one long, hard stroke and the pleasure was so exquisite she nearly came right there and then.
Lodged deep inside her, he stilled, but she didn’t need time to adjust to him so she dug her fingers into the taut muscles of his buttocks to pull him in further and gave her hips a quick twist, which seemed to do the trick.
With a harsh groan he pulled out of her and then back in, and did it again and again, setting a rhythm that started off slow, drugging her with desire, but became harder and faster within seconds until her breath was coming in increasingly short, sharp pants. Her entire body was on fire and she could feel the tension coiling deep inside her, swelling and tightening, and just when she thought she couldn’t stand it any longer he kissed her hard, and suddenly she was flying apart, ecstasy exploding inside her like fireworks. With a great rough groan Rico thrust into her one last time, as deep as he could, and exploded, pulsating into her over and over again.
‘I thought you were supposed to be injured,’ she said once she’d regained enough breath to speak.
‘I believe I’ve made a miraculous recovery,’ he said, sounding as dazed as she was.
‘So it would seem,’ she said, feeling him twitch and harden inside her. ‘Which is a shame.’