Chapter Sixteen
Come on, Rachel. While Harvard outwardly appeared relaxed, inside he was a knot of desperation. You know you want to; come on. Take the step. Come to me. You know I’ll take good care of you. Come on…
Her usually guarded expression had disappeared, and the war of indecision waging inside her was written all over her face. Harvard said nothing; he just waited. Willing her to take the step toward him. Wanting her with every molecule of his being.
Dark hair fell in thick, tangled strands, clinging to her cheeks and throat before falling around her shoulders. The black silk of her tiny pajamas was plastered to her like a second skin, revealing everything. He wanted to look his fill at her lush curves, the swell of her breasts, the hard nubs of her nipples. But he couldn’t. Not yet. Maybe never if Rachel chose this moment to decide he definitely wasn’t worth risking her heart over.
Choose me, Rachel. Want me. Need me the way that I need you…
Eyelashes fluttered as her gaze met his. “This doesn’t mean anything,” she said, her upper-class English accent sounding a little rough around the edges.
Harvard didn’t reply. She was lying to herself. They both knew that if she touched him, it meant everything.
She watched her palms flatten on his chest as if in slow motion. Her pale pink skin stood in decadent juxtaposition to his own rich brown. They were a study in contrasts. She was slender and delicate; he was bulky and strong. She was classy and sensual; he was rough and raw in his sexuality. She could be volatile and cutting, while he was calm and measured. There was darkness within her, and he was more than willing to be her light.
If she let him.
“If you’re doing this to help me get over what happened to me, then I can tell you, it’s pointless,” she said absently, her fingers tracing the ridges of his abdomen. “I dealt with that a long time ago.”
“Rachel,” he said, his voice a rumble filled with need, “trust me when I say sexual healing isn’t foremost in my mind. You’re forgetting that I’ve been chasing your touch since the first moment I set eyes on you.”
“Oh, no, I remember.” Her smile was pure devilment. Most likely, she was replaying their first encounter, during which she’d slapped him.
“For the record, I thought that slap was an overreaction.”
She stopped touching him and gave him a cold stare. “And I thought you were just another rude American.”
Ouch. Well, that’s what happened when your pickup line got lost in translation. “Let’s not talk about that,” he said.
“Wise choice.” Rachel’s hands started moving again.
It was agony and ecstasy all in one. Each touch sent shock waves through him, making him desperate to return the favor.
“You’re still using that scent,” she half accused, half purred.
Harvard didn’t answer. If his deodorant had this effect on her, he planned to use it until he died. He made a mental note to stock up, just in case it was discontinued.
Slipping her arms around his shoulders, she stepped into him. Her breasts pressed flat against his chest, making his mouth water. Damn, he wished she was naked. That they both were. He wished he could feel the slide of her cool skin against his warmer one, feel the water swirl between them, caressing them as they caressed each other.
Go slow. Don’t rush it. Let her come to you. It was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do.
Rachel’s face nuzzled into the crook of his neck, breathing him deep. Her body moved against him in a sensuous wave. His hands clasped tight on her hips. She was killing him.
A groan escaped when he felt her tongue on his skin. Tiny kisses trailed up to his ear before she tugged the earlobe between her teeth.
“Let me off the leash, Rachel.” If he sounded desperate, then it was only the truth.
She shook her head, her hair rubbing against his skin. The tip of her tongue teased his ear. Her breath was loud, echoing through his whole body. He heard the desperate rhythm to it, the hitch when she rubbed her sensitive breasts against him.
“I need to touch you.” Hell, he’d beg if he had to. He was that desperate.
“Not yet.” Her voice was a dark, needy purr as she moved her legs until she’d captured his thigh between them.
His arm wrapped around her as his other hand clenched at his side. She nibbled along the edge of his jaw, her hips undulating, pressing her hot, needy sex against him. His head fell back. His eyes closed. Nothing existed but the woman writhing against him, using him for her pleasure, torturing him with her desire. For a man who was constantly aware of his environment and the threats within it, he wasn’t sure he’d notice an army if they launched an assault on the room.
“Rachel, let me loose. Let me touch you. I’ll make it good for you, I promise.”
Her answer was a kiss to his throat as she moved against him. Holding her tight, he forced himself not to take over her movements, but to keep his promise and let her have her way.
“So good,” she groaned as she rubbed against him, using the firm muscle of his thigh as though it were her own personal sex toy.
“You’re killing me,” he complained.
He felt her smile against his throat. The wicked woman enjoyed torturing him. He should have known she would.
“Kiss me,” she said.
He wasn’t sure if it was an order or a plea.
Her slender hand clasped his jaw, turning his face toward her. He went willingly, and what he saw in her eyes made him want to roar with primal possession. But desire didn’t mean she was his. Not yet. Maybe never.
Please, please, he prayed, don’t let me screw this up.
Holding his gaze, she leaned in to sip at his lips. Harvard couldn’t even describe the noise that escaped him. It was a feral explosion of pure need. Those long lashes of hers drifted down as she changed the angle of her kiss.
Harvard fought to give her the control she needed when all he wanted to do was clasp the nape of her neck and take the kiss deeper. Her teasing tongue toyed with the seam of his lips.
“Let me in,” Rachel whispered, her mouth brushing against his when he refused her entry.
“Say please.” This was a war, and she was a strong fighter; he couldn’t let her win every battle.
She rumbled her approval. “Please?”
That was enough. He opened his mouth, tasting the playful longing in her kiss as she retreated each time he followed, always staying just out of reach. Never taking it as deep or hard as he wanted.
When they broke apart, he groaned in frustration. “Rachel, stop messing around and let me off the leash. Let me please you. Let me drive you wild. I want to. Can’t you feel how much I want to?”
She nuzzled his throat. “Mmm, I don’t believe I have felt how much you want me,” the temptress said as her hand slid down his stomach.
“You’re putting a lot of faith in my self-control if you touch me there. You sure about this?” Damn it, he wasn’t sure he could keep his hands to himself if she kept moving lower.
Her head went back, and her eyes captured his. She stared into them for an eternity, her hand poised at the waistband of his shorts. “Yes,” she said at last. “I’m sure. You’ll keep your promise.”
As her quiet belief in him disarmed him, his head fell forward and his eyes squeezed shut. Silently, Harvard cursed out his need to be honorable while his heart swelled at her faith in him. Her trust. There was only one thing he wanted more—her heart.
“Do your worst.” He braced for her touch, knowing it would be sweet agony.
He was so beautiful in his rugged maleness, standing there, straining his control for her. Had anyone ever given her that much of themselves? She couldn’t remember if they had.
As her hand drifted under his shorts, moving south, feeling her way, Rachel studied his face. Eyes scrunched shut, jaw clenched. He was a leashed lion. And in that moment, he was hers.
Her fingers brushed against the coarse hair of his groin until they reached
the base of his firm length. She hesitated to go further. She hadn’t lied to him about getting over the assault and having no anxiety about sex. What she’d neglected to mention was that she hadn’t slept with anyone since it’d happened. Because to have sex meant to be vulnerable, and she hadn’t trusted any man enough to allow herself to feel desire.
Until now.
Until Harvard.
Her heart raced, and her breathing grew shallow. As a glorious lightness invaded her mind, she felt like she was floating in a vat of champagne bubbles. Her skin was almost oversensitive, making her aware of every single place her body touched Harvard.
No, not Harvard. That didn’t feel right. Not now.
“Can I call you Michael?” she whispered, feeling a little foolish at the request.
His eyes snapped open, and she feared he read far more in her gaze than she’d intended to share. Slowly, he nodded. “I’d like that.”
It was suddenly impossible to breathe. Keeping her eyes locked on his, she wrapped her hand around his thickness. His hold on her waist tightened for a second, his eyes turning black with unspoken need.
“Rachel.” His voice was a hoarse whisper.
Taking her time, she slid her hand along his length, feeling the softness and solidity of him. Learning him, she listened to his breathing speed up and watched a vein at the base of his throat throb along to the tempo of his heart.
Having all that strength at her mercy was a heady experience. And she needed more. She wanted all of him. Not just the part he’d tethered for her enjoyment.
“Michael,” she whispered.
His eyes opened gradually, as though the eyelids were too heavy.
“I’m letting you loose,” she said, feeling a wave of anticipation at the words.
And, of course, he didn’t think about himself. Instead of rushing at her, he said, “Are you sure?”
Rachel’s fist squeezed his hard length, making him groan. “Yes.”
He moved so fast that her breath caught in her throat. One second, she was in the water, and the next, she was sitting on the edge of the pool with Harvard standing between her legs on the ledge.
A desperate hunger emanated from him. “If you want to stop, we stop. Just say the word.”
It was clear that he didn’t intend to do anything else until she gave her answer. “Okay,” she said, her stomach doing somersaults. She felt as if she were suspended on the edge of a precipice, waiting to see what happened next.
She didn’t have to wait long. His hand clasped her nape as his mouth descended on hers. The kiss robbed her of what little reason she had left. All that remained was the ability to feel, to revel in the sensation. She swam in it, her skin electrified by his touch as he stole the air from her lungs with his lips. Their kiss was endless, sending her spiraling into a free fall of pure sensual delight.
When he leaned away from her, she swayed after him. A large hand pressed gently against her breastbone.
“Lean back,” he said softly. “Prop yourself up on your hands.”
She did so without hesitation, feeling the cool tiles surrounding the pool beneath her palms. Harvard leaned into her, his hands at the small of her back, supporting her as he trailed kisses down her throat.
“Yes,” she panted. “Do more of that.”
She felt the smile against her before he resumed kissing, down her throat, over her collarbone, to the curve of her breasts.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered before clasping two handfuls of her camisole and ripping it down the middle. The silk was no match for his strength. “I’ll replace it.”
“You’d better,” she said breathlessly as she watched his head lower to her exposed breast.
His eyelashes lifted, and his eyes captured hers just before his mouth covered her nipple. With a gasp, Rachel’s head fell back. The pull against her breast as he sucked the sensitive little bud was a fiery torture.
“More,” she demanded.
His tongue played with the firm nub, eliciting a groan. The sound echoed through the pool room, bouncing off tiles and water, and returning to stroke over her skin. Yet another sensation to drive her wild.
One large hand kneaded her other breast while his sinful mouth drove her to distraction. Rachel locked her elbows. It was the only way she could stay upright. The hand in the small of her back tugged her nearer, and she willingly arched her body closer to him.
The room spun. She was delirious. And wanting.
“Michael,” she pleaded, unsure whether she’d said the words aloud, or if they were just in her head. “I need you.”
His tongue swiped over her nipple. “I don’t have any protection here. Didn’t think I’d need it for a swim.”
She noted the humor in his voice, and it made her smile. Okay, he was probably more than a little funny. But she was too needy to appreciate it. “I’m protected.”
He let out a long moan, his forehead falling to her breastbone, where it was cradled by her breasts. “I’m clean. I promise.”
“I believe you. Now, can we get on with it?” And yes, she sounded a little snippy. But she was losing the buzz from his touch, and reality was creeping back in. Rachel didn’t want reality. She wanted to soar.
“This is a matching set, right?” he said, before his hands fisted in her boy shorts and ripped them in two. “Better keep them matching,” he muttered as he tore them from her body.
There was something deliciously caveman about his actions. “Michael, hurry up.”
A hand at the back of her head straightened her until she was staring into his exasperated eyes. “It’s a good thing I like bossy women.” And then he was kissing her again.
Rachel wrapped her arms and legs around him, feeling his hot length against her sensitive core and wondering when he’d gotten rid of his shorts. Hands grasped her behind and scooted her even closer to the edge of the pool, and she’d never been more grateful for that raised ledge because it allowed him to achieve the perfect position. A hand slid between them, trailing through her own particular wetness, making her gasp. Then he was guiding himself inside her.
Bliss.
Perfection.
His width stretched and filled her. But the feeling wasn’t just physical. She was sure he’d also seeped into her soul. Warming the cold places. Soothing the anger that always seemed present.
His lips took hers in a rapturous assault. The room was spinning, and he was her anchor. She tightened her legs around him and again felt his hand between her breasts.
“Lean back,” came the rasped order.
Her arms refused to hold her, and she fell to her elbows, vaguely aware Harvard was holding her weight so that she didn’t hurt herself. Her head fell back and her eyes closed, her focus on the feeling of him moving inside her.
She felt his mouth on her breast, nipping, licking, sucking. It was all too much.
“You can handle it,” he said before resuming his glorious possession.
A hand splayed low on her body, his thumb angled over her clit. A long moan escaped as he gently strummed that bundle of nerves while moving inside her and teasing her breasts.
It was like nothing she’d ever felt. This was no fumble in the dark as she’d experienced as a teen. And far removed from the empty encounters she’d attempted as an adult but had been unable go through with. This was something else. Something much more. Playing her body like a virtuoso, he was taking her over. Speaking to her with his touch.
Making love.
And she felt the chains around her heart loosen. Then one by one, they broke and fell away until all but a few were gone. She’d never survive this. He was changing her, inside and out. And she wasn’t sure if she was desperate for it or terrified.
The tension in her body grew, building to a crescendo, taking her higher and higher until she rode atop a wave of such vast proportions that it almost overwhelmed her. Secure in his arms. In his touch. In his care.
“Give it to me, Rachel,” he growled the words.
> His thumb pressed on her clit. His length surged inside of her. And the wave broke with her cry, “Michael.”
Strong arms enfolded her as she floated away.
In the back of her mind, a breath of a voice whispered, So this is love. And then it was gone, as though it’d never been there to begin with.
Chapter Seventeen
By the time they reached the TayFor offices, Rachel was back to acting like she hardly knew Harvard. Which wasn’t a surprise. Retreating behind a wall of ice was how she coped with change. All he could do was wait her out. Just as well he had an abundance of patience.
“I’ll be in the security room looking at footage with Ryan if you need me,” he told her once he was sure her office was secure and there were no more nasty photos waiting for her.
“I won’t need you.” She turned her attention to the open laptop in front of her, dismissing him.
With an amused shake of his head, Harvard closed the door on her. “Got anything for me?” he asked Elle, who was busy at her desk.
“You mean apart from being glad the bet’s off?” She pointed at his throat. “That hickey would have cost me fifty pounds.”
He wasn’t embarrassed. “A hickey isn’t evidence of sex.”
“It is with Rachel. That wouldn’t be there unless she’d decided to let you have access. Trust me, I know the woman. It’s all or nothing with her.”
He hoped so, because he wanted everything. “What’ve you got from the photos so far?”
Blue hair bobbed as she let out an exasperated sigh. “Nothing. No prints, no DNA that’s of any use. I’m running them through a digital analysis program. The computer might find something in the images that we can’t see. But I have to be honest; I’m not holding out a helluva lot of hope. Which pisses me off no end. These guys shouldn’t be able to get away with this.”
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