He looked steadily into her eyes. She was having a momentary lapse, but he knew her. She’d rebound quickly, and likely hate it that she’d let the bastard get to her, even for this brief moment. So she wouldn’t appreciate him sugarcoating anything. It would be the same as telling her he thought she couldn’t handle it. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “It looks that way. But it doesn’t mean he’ll do anything, or that he hasn’t given up. Pattern breaks are signals, but they don’t always mean something dangerous is going to happen.” He stroked her face, rubbed his thumbs over her cheeks. “But we’d be foolish not to prepare for any possibility. And that includes—”
She pressed her fingers across his lips. “Don’t. Just . . . don’t. I can’t think about that any more today. About it being—you know. I just can’t, okay?”
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Okay.” He tipped her chin up. “But you need to know that I’m not giving up. We’re not giving up. Not until we nail the little bastard down.”
“Yeah,” she said, then pressed her cheek against his chest and slid her arms around his waist. “Bastard-nailing sounds good.”
The circumstances sucked, but he couldn’t help but think how right it felt to hold her like this. She had such a huge personality, and it was still rather stunning to realize how small she felt in his arms.
He rubbed his hands up and down her back, then tucked her even more tightly against his body. He only wished he could make her feel this safe, this protected, twenty-four/seven.
She sighed deeply. “You know what I really hate?” she asked, her voice muffled against his shirt.
He leaned back. “What?”
“That I have him to thank for meeting you. I hate giving him even that much.” She slid one hand around the back of his neck and along his jaw. “But I’m glad it was you.”
“Thank your great-aunt for any introductions and leave it at that.” He took her hand from his face, turned it, and kissed her palm, then curled her fingers inward. It was a silent promise, one he hoped to hell he could keep.
A light flared to life in her eyes as he pressed his lips to her closed hand, then covered it with his own. It wasn’t the flare of fear, or vulnerability, or even hope. It was a flare of desire.
He had a brief thought of how dangerous situations could make two people feel things, want things, do things they’d never ordinarily do. He knew that wasn’t the case with his own feelings, but he didn’t want Tanzy to regret anything that might happen between them.
She ran a finger down the side of his face. “You’re still worrying about the whole mixing business with pleasure thing, aren’t you?”
He should be. Considering all he’d gone through with Finn. And his father would be the first to hoot with laughter if Riley dared to say that this was different, different because it was Tanzy, because what he felt wasn’t just lust. That, at the very least, it was the beginning of something that could be a whole lot more than simple sexual chemistry. In fact, he could already say that.
“I want us to do this because we want it,” he said finally. “Not because we’ve been thrown together in a sort of surreal situation.”
“Is that how you feel?”
He shook his head. “And because of that, I might as well tell you something else now. I’m going to make some calls. Bring some other people in on this. We need more eyes and ears.”
Instead of balking, she merely said, “Well then, they’d better be billing me for it. I know you’re worried about me and it’s more than professional concern, but I won’t accept you doing that out of pocket. It’s only fair—”
He kissed her. When he managed to lift his head, he said, “My perspective with you is shot. I need help with this. And, frankly, yes, I’ll feel better when I know there are other people watching out for you.” He gently gripped her face between his palms. “But I won’t—can’t—step completely out of the way.”
“I believe I specifically asked you not to.”
His lips quirked. And he loved that no matter the intensity of the moment, humor and amusement were always lurking just below the surface between them. It made this alliance he felt they shared seem all the more solid. “Ordered would be the more appropriate description, I believe.”
She shrugged, unconcerned, and wrapped her arms around his waist. “As long as you don’t let me out of your sight, I’ll be perfectly fine with whatever solution you feel best serves the situation.”
Now his body was the one doing all the flaring. She nestled closer to him, her body warm and pliant. Okay, maybe not all the flaring was exclusive to him. “Round-the-clock attention,” he promised, his voice growing a bit rough as she continued to stroke his face, his chin, his lips.
She smiled and he didn’t mind the hint of satisfaction. Not one bit. “Could give the term bodyguard a whole new slant.”
“Could.” It was all he managed to get out before taking those sly lips with his own.
He tasted sweet from the milkshake she’d made him and something else that was a flavor all his own. He took his time with her, kissed her slowly, like a man who planned to stay awhile. She relaxed against him, worry and fear receding as he continued his lazy seduction. She could get used to him staying awhile if it meant a lot more time spent doing this.
His hands skimmed down her back, then tucked her hips snugly into his. He was so hard, it took her by surprise. A man with such an urgent need was usually a bit more . . . impatient. And yet though his fingertips gripped her hips, it wasn’t with barely leashed passion, but with gentle confidence. As if he knew they had all day—and night—to see where this could lead.
Normally she’d be impatient with this kind of pace. And it hit her, as his mouth left hers and traced a slow, wet path along her jaw, that she’d always been the one to push it, never allowing either party to take more than a second to think of anything other than slaking lust. She tipped her head back, a soft moan escaping her lips as he had his way with the tender curve of her neck. What on earth had she been afraid of?
She knew exactly what. She trailed her hands up his back, lifted her head, and kissed him gently, sweetly, on the lips. His eyes opened and she thrilled a little to see how deep the desire ran. “Thank you,” she whispered.
His eyes widened a fraction. But his hands were moving now, trailing along her spine, toying lazily with her hair. “For?”
“Taking your time.” She smiled briefly. “Making me take my time. Making me want to take my time.”
“I’m just doing what feels right. With you.”
Her lips curved deeply. It was the perfect description of how she felt. She so hadn’t expected this slow, smooth glide into want. Although if Tanzy was honest, she’d admit she’d long since gone past want, to pure, unadulterated need. But with all the banked heat, the zing of tension that was such a constant thing between them, she’d expected some sort of cataclysmic explosion when they finally came together. Not this sweet, aching tenderness.
And while a part of her wanted to pull away, automatically protect what little of her she could from such a vulnerable sort of intimacy, she realized it was too late for that. The real intimacy was all the things that had happened leading them to this moment. And it was that, her wanting this man as a whole, that made this tender moment more emotionally explosive than the wildest sex ever could.
“You have good instincts,” she told him finally, then slid her fingers into his hair and tugged his mouth back to hers.
Riley’s heart teetered on the brink. He really hadn’t begun this interlude with any sense of calculation. She’d needed him, needed to know she wasn’t facing this alone. He needed her to know she’d never have to face anything alone. The words hadn’t been there, so he’d kissed her, held her, stroked her.
Had he planned their first time, he’d have assumed she’d want the full wolf treatment. And, frankly, he was pretty damn sure he could accommodate her on that score. If they stayed together long enough, he would. Or die trying. But not this time.
“I have to tell you,” he said roughly when she began the slow exploration of his jawline and neck, “I’ve dreamed of having you.” He felt the shiver run through her and his body tightened further. “It wasn’t slow. It was always hard, and fast. Nothing like this.”
She ran her tongue along his neck . . . and now it was his turn to shiver. With pleasure.
“No,” she agreed, dropping small kisses beneath his ear, “it was nothing like this.”
It gave him a little jolt, knowing she’d fantasized about him, too.
As if she’d read his mind, and he was beginning to think she could, she looked at him, lips curved in that wry tilt. “What, you think men are the only ones who think about stuff like that?”
“It wasn’t about women fantasizing in general,” he said, his own lips curving. He toyed with the hem of her sweatshirt. “It was very specifically the idea of you fantasizing about me that got to me.”
“That surprises you? You do realize you’re total fantasy material, do you not?” She ran her hands down his chest, then up over his shoulders and down his arms. “Totally.” Then she grinned at him. “But, and here’s the real shock, I was dreaming of doing this . . .” She slid his shirt up, rubbing her palms flat along his chest as she did, until it was bunched up under his arms. “Uncovering this,” she went on, no longer looking into his eyes, but staring at his chest. “Doing this.” She leaned in and ran her tongue around one nipple, then the other, making his entire body jerk in surprised response. “Even when it was covered by those awful shapeless suits and I hadn’t a clue such a magnificent chest was hidden beneath it.”
He simply stared at her, his entire body humming. “Did you, now?”
She nodded, the playful, almost smug smile faltering only slightly when he pulled his shirt completely off, then very deliberately placed his hands on her waist. “Well,” he said, enjoying her little intake of breath when he nudged her baggy sweatshirt up, revealing a scant inch of bare abdomen. “I always knew what sort of body lurked beneath your clothes.” He nudged the shirt an inch higher, pleased that she gripped his biceps, as if needing the support. “I almost blew my sheep cover, literally, that night on the stairs when you had on those suede pants that looked like they’d been tanned directly onto every inch of those legs of yours.”
“Yeah?” she said, but her voice was shaky, ruining whatever edge she might have hoped to gain with that cocky smile.
“Yeah,” he said, stroking his thumbs up underneath the edge of her sweatshirt, which was now just below where her bra should be . . . but wasn’t. Damn, but she kept him a little off balance, too. He stroked a little higher, nudging the thick cotton up until the round fullness of her breasts dipped below the ribbed hem. “But when I closed my eyes at night, it wasn’t suede pants or couture ballgowns that had me hot and hard.”
He saw her throat work, felt his own go a bit dry as he skated his fingertips beneath the soft material . . . and found something entirely softer. The softest skin in the world.
“No?” she managed, the word more like a croak.
He just shook his head, dying to dip down, taste the hard budded nipples he was stroking. Dear God he was hard for her, every inch of her. “I—” He had to stop, clear his throat, wet his lips.
Her pupils shot wide at the unconscious action and he almost lost his last scrap of control right then and there. “I fantasized,” he said, covering her breasts entirely with his hands, making her moan . . . smoothing his palms gently over her now distended nipples, making them both suck in a little breath, “about that damn football jersey.” He slid his hands around her back, sliding the sweatshirt up and over her head, then finally, mercifully, pulling her against him, so bare skin could finally kiss bare skin. “About tearing it off of you . . . and making love with you wearing nothing more than those goddamn slippers.”
She’d already been reaching for him, pushing fingers into his hair, tugging his head closer, when his words registered, and she stilled . . . then burst out laughing.
He grinned. “Smooth, aren’t I?”
“The best kind of smooth,” she said, her smile pure, her eyes so bright, so filled with an emotion he was too afraid to put a name to. Mostly because he wanted to so badly.
Then she tugged him close, put her mouth on his, and murmured, “I’m sure that can be arranged.”
He kissed her, hard and fast, then slow, and excruciatingly slower still. “I’ve never felt the need to make the sweeping romantic gesture,” he murmured as he lifted his mouth from hers. “But I’d love nothing more than to carry you up those stairs to bed. Only we’d more than likely end up a broken, twisted heap at the bottom.” He was thoroughly enjoying the roller-coaster pace of this moment, the slow, tortuous ascent, the screaming plummet, only to climb once again.
“There’s a romantic image,” she agreed. “But the sentiment is appreciated.” She abruptly slid from his arms, took his hand, and completely unself-conscious of her half nudity, turned and tugged him along. “However entirely unnecessary it is.” She tossed a grin over her shoulder as she pulled him up the stairs behind her. “We can play follow the leader instead.”
And though he wanted nothing more than her naked, in a soft bed, with him driving deeply into her, it was almost as enjoyable keeping her off stride. She’d had entirely too much experience in calling all the shots. If nothing else, he’d be the one to show her that following was sometimes more fun than leading.
They reached the landing on the second floor and she turned to hike them up another flight, when he suddenly swung her around and expertly trapped her against the wall. Her eyes were wide with surprise, but filled with delight as well.
Oh yeah, definitely going to enjoy the battle of their particular wills.
He braced his hands on either side of her head, leaned his body into hers, almost but not quite touching. “What rooms are on this floor?”
She lifted her hands to run them up his chest, the playful gleam swiftly returning to her gaze. He turned the tables easily, snagging both hands before they could brush his chest and pinning them back to the wall.
Now her pupils all but exploded, her mouth dropping open even, before she reined it in.
“What rooms?” he asked, almost conversationally, an easy smile on his face.
“I, uh . . .”
His grin widened. Speechless. This was even better.
“Rooms, Tanzy,” he whispered, leaning down and nipping her shoulder, then running a quick tongue up along her neck. “Name them,” he murmured against her ear.
She tensed under his erotic assault, but tellingly didn’t fight back. “Office. Bathroom.”
She gasped when he cut her off with a deep tongue kiss. “And?” he asked, as if he hadn’t just made her knees buckle. Again.
“Closet.”
Damn. The bathroom could be fun . . . but he wanted her on a flat surface. First. Preferably one with cushioning. “Third floor?” he asked, dipping his head down to run a wet ring around her nipple with the tip of his tongue.
She gasped, then moaned when he gave the other one the same treatment. Or maybe that was him.
“I have no idea,” she said, then half laughed. “Damn, what you do to me.”
He lifted his head, grinned. “I do expect paybacks, you know.”
She tipped her head forward, managed to open her desire-blurred eyes. “Yeah?”
“Oh yeah.”
Her eyes began to clear, that smile began to form. A worthy opponent. They were going to have fun with each other.
He pulled her arms over his shoulders, then lifted her
backside away from the wall. “Put your legs around me,” he instructed.
“But—”
“Wrap ’em, Tanzy,” he commanded. “Tight.”
She did, and he turned for the last set of stairs.
“Your knee—”
“Is a minor inconvenience compared to other, more centralized aches.” He smiled. “Piggybacks aren’t as dashing as sweeping you into my arms and racing up the stairs two at a time, but—”
She wiggled a little against him. “Piggyfronts definitely have their bonus attributes.”
She had him there.
And it was precisely because he couldn’t wait another moment for her to have him—and if there was a God, again after that—that he did take the stairs two at a time.
And he didn’t care in the least that he’d have to ice his knee for a week.
Play sex.
We’ve all had it, right? And I think we’ll all agree (those of us bold enough to admit it) that while it’s fun during the moment, afterward, well, it’s sort of like the fast food of lovemaking, isn’t it? And there’s another word I’ve been thinking about. Lovemaking. Different from sex completely, really. It’s scary to contemplate all those attendant expectations that come along when the L word is introduced into the bedroom. (Or wherever.) Because, when it’s love you’re making, there’s a whole lot more than sex being shared.
Intimacy on an entirely different level. Totally terrifying. But wonderful, too. Because the amazing thing is, when it’s love you’re making, even play sex is fulfilling.
Chapter 18
They fell across her bed, his hands all over her. Gone was the measured pace he’d instigated downstairs, and the confident swagger of the man who’d pinned her to the wall on the second-floor landing. Now it was all hunger and heat. Need that somehow seemed to border on desperation.
And when he tugged her beneath him, helped her claw her way out of her clothes just as rapidly as she helped him out of his, Tanzy knew this need, this sense of desperation, was shared equally.
The Big Bad Wolf Tells All Page 23