by Selena Blake
“So good,” she murmured.
“Fucking great,” he agreed as he thrust deeper, his pelvic bone grinding against hers.
“Faster, André.”
He groaned and sped up his movements.
“Yes. Yes!”
He sank his fingers into the soft ground, trapping her. Her thighs squeezed his waist, urging him on. Grunting against her temple, he fucked her for all he was worth.
She was tight, so tight. And wet. Delicious sweet friction gripped him, drove him toward the orgasm he knew would blow his mind.
Just before it hit, she screamed his name. He slanted his lips across hers, swallowing the sound and then groaned, loud and long, as he spilled himself inside of her.
Chapter Six
“We’re starting to see downed power lines now. The wind is just tremendous, Tom.”
Juliette watched the intrepid reporter braving sheets of rain and debris on the television. Crazy man. The camera wavered for a moment, tilting precariously as a flooded street filled the screen.
The weatherman back at the station, high and dry, told his colleague to stay safe. Then he showed a map of the hurricane and its relation to the coast between Savannah and Charleston. Despite her recent heartache, she still loved that house. She loved the memories she’d made there. Well, most of them.
Jacque’s betrayal would be better to forget.
“Still watching the weather?” André asked, sauntering into the room in his uniquely masculine and yet unpretentious way. He’d been fairly quiet since their arrival in New Orleans the night before. For some reason, he’d rented them a hotel room. Together. And she’d been unable to resist sharing his bed.
He placed a framed photo on the end table and then reached for the remote.
She recognized that frame. Her mother’s picture stared back at her. Oh mom. How had it all come to this? Her, in a hotel room with André? Her family dead? Sure, she had relatives in France, but none she wanted to claim.
Juliette lifted tear filled eyes to André. He was watching her so closely she felt chills on her skin. Did he know—no, he couldn’t.
She stood and raised a hand to cup his cheek. You’re a good man.
He shook his head.
She could tell by the distant look in his eyes he was in a dark place, fighting his way out of it.
“I’ve said and done a lot of horrendous things.” His gaze swerved to hers. Was he including things he’d said to her? Did he regret what he’d said last night? How he’d tested her?
The past was the past. And even though she’d clung to a lie for the better part of two centuries, it had been easier than facing the truth. It had kept him alive.
“We both have.” He wasn’t the only one to blame. Good God, she’d said some truly horrible things to him. Things that made her want to bite off her own tongue. But it’d all been for him. Even as she was telling herself that he deserved it. That he’d killed her brother. It’d been so much easier…
“How about a game of checkers? There’s nothing we can do about the storm.” His mood seemed to shift, as if he was pulling away from the deep emotions that crackled between them.
He was right. There was nothing they could do about the storm. And nothing they could do about the past. They could live in the here-and-now…for however long that was. She really didn’t want to think any further than an hour from now.
She nodded and he turned off the TV. The large armoire held a wide assortment of colorful game boxes. Many she recognized and plenty she didn’t. Checkers she could handle. Simple. Straightforward. No touching like in twister. And no strategy, like Risk, that would make her think too hard or too deeply.
André took up a position on the opposite side of the coffee table and laid out the board and pieces. She pulled her bag full of chocolates closer, thankful for the sugary confection’s mood lifting abilities.
There’d been a time long ago when she’d thought her life would be exactly like this. Spending her day with André. Nothing pressing on her agenda other than spending time with the man she loved.
She loved him still.
Regardless of what he’d said at the rest stop, there was no use in denying her feelings. Never again.
Three losses later, André still didn’t have his head in the game. He hadn’t won a single round yet and he couldn’t stop thinking about the way he’d acted the other night. Sometimes the beast just got the best of him.
Like when he was near her…smelling her. Feeling her heat. Tempted by her soft skin, gorgeous hair, or soulful eyes. As he stared across the chessboard at his mate he asked himself, not for the first time, why he was here with her. Why he hadn’t gone back to his pack and left her to her own devices. Surely that’s what a sane, logical man would do. She needed time to figure out what she wanted. To let her emotions even out.
But André was never sane or logical when it came to Juliette. And after that passionate tryst at the rest stop, and their frantic merger upon arriving at the hotel, well, there’d be no getting her out of his system now. At least not without a crowbar and another two hundred years.
She tipped him right over the edge of rationality into a place he didn’t want to name. Like now.
Juliette popped a chocolate candy in her mouth and gave it a slow, deliberate chew, obviously savoring it. A simple game, okay, three games, had turned into an inspection of everything he found delectable about her. The way her lips moved. The way her brow furrowed in concentration. It was like the years separating them had vanished into thin air. But the memories were still there. And so was the chemistry.
He wasn’t an adolescent. Why did he let himself get worked into such a lather? Over a woman who’s future was completely in the air. Did she-didn’t she? Would she?
He needed to go for a run.
“I’ll join you.”
She didn’t wait for him to respond before she disappeared into the bedroom. What could have only been half a minute later, just long enough for him to realize she’d been reading his mind again, she emerged wearing—
“What the hell is that?”
It looked like paint. Black paint. From mid thigh of just below her belly button. And then scant inches of delicious midsection lay bare for all the world to see. Gray paint hugged her breasts.
“My running outfit?”
That’s not a running outfit. It’s not even decent.
How the hell would he hide a hard-on in his gym-shorts? Fuck. How the hell would he run with a hard-on?
He brushed past her, needing to get her out of his sight. Her and all that lovely skin. And spandex. Dear God, the spandex.
When he emerged a few minutes later, ready for his run, Juliette was bent at the waist, her hands wrapped around her thighs as she stretched. His cock twitched against the soft material of his boxers. How in the name of all that was holy and unholy was he supposed to control himself when she did things like that?
She stood up, her cheeks a rosy pink, and smiled at him. He tossed a shirt at her and grabbed his keycard off the end table.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“A shirt.” He turned and pegged her with what he hoped was an uncompromising glare. Truth be told he was a nanosecond from tossing her over his shoulder and carrying her into the shower. A cool shower. To work off some pent up steam.
“I don’t want to have to kick some guy’s ass for groping you.”
“Possessive much?” she shot back, not missing a beat.
“With you,” he let his gaze rake over her, “always.”
He didn’t miss the way her nipples pressed against the soft fabric of her bra. So his possessiveness turned her on. Or perhaps it was the idea of a shower together.
She joined him on the elevator, shrugging into his T-shirt. It hit her mid-thigh, hiding her curves but not her legs. Damn she had great legs.
“What makes you think I wouldn’t deck the guy myself?”
There might not be anything left of him to deck by the time André
got through with him.
Obviously having read his thoughts again, Juliette stood beside him, smirking. Sometimes he thought she drove him crazy on purpose.
Juliette ran beside André, sneakers smacking the sidewalk, as she had each day for the past week. The heat was oppressive, her shirt damp with sweat. What was left of the Live Oak population after Hurricane Katrina did little to provide shade along their route.
Her hair clung to her neck like wet ribbons, but she wasn’t stopping. The more time she spent burning tread across New Orleans the less time she had to spend considering her future.
Their future.
Or lack thereof. Every time she thought of what she wanted, she remembered his words that first night against the pine tree. If he didn’t have some feelings for her, why hadn’t he pushed her away? If anything, he kept pulling her back in. But he wasn’t exactly forthcoming with his feelings. The hot and cold, up and down rollercoaster was wearing her out.
Out here there was little conversation, and little energy for emotion. There was something therapeutic running beside her mate. It reminded her of their youth, when they’d first met. And she was thankful for the way they didn’t need to speak and yet seemed to know where they were going.
Why couldn’t life be like that?
They made their way over to the Garden District. The old homes were awe-inspiring with their kaleidoscope of color and detail. She was drawn to the intricate iron work. A large white house on Third Street reminded her of the Savannah Estate where she’d spent the last few decades. But since Hurricane Love had more than likely destroyed that old house, she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of heartache.
André seemed to understand somehow though she’d never spoken the words. He’d suggested they stick to streets further south for their daily run. Closer to the park. He’d also managed to be on his best behavior, only snarling at one “punk” who’d whistled at her.
Why did men have to be so confusing? Was in engrained in their DNA?
Sweat dripped down André’s back with each step. He was hotter than hell on a summer’s day. New Orleans in September. What a bright idea, going for a run. If the physical exertion hadn’t been so helpful in keeping him fairly worn out, he would have pulled the plug on the idea days ago.
But Juliette seemed happy. Her eyes were bright with joy as she pressed on. He hadn’t asked her about her future. She hadn’t volunteered any information but he found himself wondering what she’d do now that the house in Georgia was most likely gone. Would she rebuild? Return to France?
Would she stay with him?
What a stupid idea that was. They were having fun together, in bed. Sure. No denying that. The things she could do with her hips…nope. No denying it. But he’d be smart to remember all the cutting comments she’d made in that past. Could she really have had a change of heart in a little over a week?
Did he dare trust her with his heart again?
“I’ll race you back. Loser gives the winner a massage,” she called before sprinting across and intersection. The do-not-walk signal flashed on the sign across the street as he charged past her. She matched him step for step.
Impressive.
But then he’d always been impressed by Juliette Vassar. The real question was, did he have any choice but to trust her again? His heart seemed to have its own mind.
André’s longer stride had helped him win. No doubt about it. Still stewing over her loss, Juliette gulped down a bottle of water. Then she began plotting her revenge.
“I’m gonna hit the shower,” he called on his way across the suite. He peeled off his t-shirt, displaying an impressive collection of glistening muscles.
The sight of him in all his male perfection… He shoved the running shorts down over his hips as he kicked off his shoes…such a fluid motion. Next went the socks. And just before he turned into the bathroom he paused, naked as the day he was born, and looked over his shoulder. Their gazes locked and she could swear there was an electrical spark that arced between them. She felt the heat all the way to her core. And the shewolf inside her gave a resounding howl.
A challenge if she’d ever seen one. What was he up to? Was he trying to see how far he could push her? How far she would go? What it would take to break her? Just how badly she wanted him?
She’d showed him, several times this week in fact, what she wanted. Perhaps she’d just have to show him again.
Or perhaps it was an invitation. The one she’d been waiting for. For a woman who’d spent decades dallying, it was high time she took control. Over her current situation and her life.
On the way into the bathroom she reached for her cell phone, ignored all the voicemail messages and made a very important call.
Through the fogged glass wall of the shower André could make out her reflection in the mirror over the vanity. He’d wondered how long it would take her to join him. Or if she would accept his challenge. He’d started with a much needed cold shower and she’d made him wait until his balls were almost frozen, along with the rest of him.
She tossed his t-shirt onto the floor. The skimpy shorts and sports bra joined it. And then she was standing beneath the second shower head, water showering down over her body. She didn’t shiver or grimace at the icy cold, no, she just reached out and twisted the knob to hot.
Was it mental to be jealous of water droplets?
He stepped forward, but she held out a warning hand. She was going to make him wait? He looked down at the steely length of his cock and then up at her. She ignored his predicament, instead tipping her head back beneath the spray and used her hands to slowly, sensuously cup and caress each luscious curve. But she didn’t meet his gaze. No. She kept running those hands over her body. Over and over.
He growled.
Those should have been his hands.
“Would you pass the shower gel?”
Shower gel? André swallowed back a groan. She was going to add bubbles to that party?
Not feeling terribly even tempered, he used both hands to wipe his hair out of his face before tossing the small bottle to her. She snatched it out of the air.
“Why are you doing this?” he asked through gritted teeth. “Because I won your challenge?”
“Doing what? Taking a shower?” Her tone was so innocent and she practically batted her eyelashes at him.
“Juliette.” He stepped forward, crowding her in the large shower. “You’re messing with fire, petite.”
“You are hot, André. I’ll give you that. But you’re not fire. No… cher. I’m messing with you.”
She proceeded to drizzle shimmering shower gel over her breasts. He couldn’t stop the groan this time. It rumbled out of him, desperate and beastlike.
And then, when her hands began rubbing the suds over her skin, over her nipples, across her flat stomach into the apex below… He shut his eyes so he wouldn’t lose his control.
Her hands skimmed his chest, slickened by the soap and water.
“Mmm,”she purred near his ear. “I’m also making a point.”
He pulled her closer, his erection pressing against her belly. “What point is that?”
She began to shimmy in his arms, rubbing her torso back and forth against his in a wicked Rumba. His eyes rolled back in his head with each brush against his cock. What this woman did to him ought to be illegal. Perhaps if he died of the heart attack she would surely give him, she would be arrested for her crimes.
“That we belong together.” Two well soaped hands clasped his cock as she stepped back, letting the warm water shower over them.
With her hands massaging him he had a really hard time concentrating on what she’d said. Something about belonging together.
“We do?” The words tumbled from his lips and he immediately felt foolish. And the way her breath hitched told him he had some fast talking to do. He stilled her hands. “I have to admit, cheri, there were moments when I had my doubts.”
“You did?”
“Didn’t you
?” he countered. “Obviously that day at the docks in Savannah…”
“I was angry with you.”
“And now?” He stepped closer, tipping her chin up.
“André, we need to talk.”
“I think it’s time we stopped talking, petite, and start making sure all of your two thousand parts are squeaky clean.” He dipped his other hand between her legs and spread her silky folds with his fingers.
She let out a shuddering breath as he began to finger her. Her body relaxed and her lashes fluttered down to rest against her cheeks. Then she cupped his balls.
I thought I was supposed to give you a massage.
I’ll forgo it. For now.
“André…”
“I told you. No more talking.”
In one swift movement, he pulled her hands away, lifted her and took the two steps needed to press her against the far wall of the shower. She gasped as her back hit the cool tile and he took advantage of her open lips and swept his tongue inside.
All tenderness was gone as he kissed her until they were both breathless. Her arms tightened around his shoulders and her thighs squeezed his hips. Her breasts crushed against his chest as he moved against her, loved the glide of her skin against his. The desire roaring through his bloodstream made his knees weak, but he locked his legs and nibbled his way down her neck. Her pulse thumped against his lips and he licked the spot. His beast wanted to bite her again, claim her. Remind her that she would forever be his, and his alone.
He pulled back just long enough to ask “are you ready, cheri?” Her breath caught and her pupils flared. He thrust his hips against her pussy, driving himself against those moist lower lips, coating himself in her slippery wetness. Then he lined up with her entrance, slanted his lips across hers, and pushed home.
She moaned into his mouth then sucked on his tongue. Ecstasy. She fit him like a pair of tailored slacks. She always had. How had he denied himself this all those years? Why had he let her end things between them? Kissing her, making love to her, it felt right. Stupid, foolish pride.
Her body cradled his as he started the slow movements that would bring them both pleasure. The warm water showering around them guaranteed this would be a memory he’d never forget. Her in his arms, wrapped around him in every possible way. Sharing the same air as their tongues mated. Skin against skin.