by Peggy Jaeger
She opened it without first checking, expecting it to be the extra pillows she’d called down to housekeeping for.
When she discovered Nikko Stamp standing there, his hands thrust in his pants pockets, her mind went blank.
Silently, she watched his eyes take their time gliding down her face to her torso, then lower. He angled his head and then his gaze drifted back up, a slow, heart-stopping, sexy smile tugging at his mouth until he landed back on her eyes.
She couldn’t decide if the heated flush that instantly flamed up and engulfed her body from toe to scalp was due to embarrassment or desire at the way his eyes darkened and dilated as he stared at her.
Taking a quick guess, she thought it might be equal parts of both.
“I—I thought you were housekeeping,” she said, gripping the doorknob with such intensity she felt it rattle against her hand at the strain. “I’m waiting for a delivery.”
The elevator chimed and echoed in the distance.
“Sorry,” he said with an amused shake of his head. “Not housekeeping.”
When he said nothing further, she asked, “Is everything okay? Problems? Melora?”
“She’s fine. Sound asleep when I checked two minutes ago.”
“Then—”
Before she could finish, a rotund, uniformed housekeeper marched up to them, three enormous pillows in her arms.
“Miss Peters?” she addressed them both. “You called for these?”
“Yes. Thanks. Thanks, so much. That was quick.” She took the offered pillows all at once, the weight more than she’d calculated.
“Can I do anything else for you, miss?”
“No. No. I’m good.” She shuffled the pillows between her arms, awkwardly trying to not let them fall. “Thanks again.”
With a fast smile, the maid bobbed her head and said, “Good night.”
“’Night,” Stacy said.
One pillow slipped from her grasp and as she tried to catch it before it hit the floor, Nikko did the same.
He was quicker.
“Here,” he said, “give me these.”
Without waiting for her to do so, he plucked them from her hands as if they weighed nothing more than a single feather and walked into her room. He tossed them on the bed, asking, “Why do you need so many? The bed already has two.”
She stood at the threshold, the door wide open, memories of the last time they’d been alone together in her room at the ranch flooding back in a rush. She’d been unprepared, then, for the depth of her desire when he’d kissed her to distraction and caressed all her free will away. She still felt the same.
“Stacy?”
“Why are you here?” she blurted. “I thought we were done for the night. What’s wrong?”
He let out a breath, then crossed back to her, reached a hand around and securely closed the door behind them, flipping the lock.
“Nothing’s wrong,” he said.
Towering over her, his body was so close she could hear his heart pounding as he stared down at her through eyes that had deepened to the color of tempered chocolate.
“And you and I are far from done.”
The soft, sonorous timbre of his voice reverberated through her insides, settling deep in her pelvis. Instinctively, she pressed her thighs together. The motion made her gasp as her legs quivered.
Stacy had to tip her head back to maintain eye contact with him when he moved in closer. She’d thought his eyes were hot and piercing before. She wasn’t prepared for the cavernous, endless depths of them right now.
One hand circled around her waist, the other slipping under her hair to cup her neck. With the pad of his thumb, he rubbed her cheek, his gentle touch firing off nerve endings all the way to her toes.
“I don’t know what you mean.” She was barely able to speak above a whisper.
“No?” His mouth pulled back into a wicked grin. “Then let me explain.”
When he’d kissed her before, he’d started with just a gentle brush of his lips against hers, telling her without words what he wanted, patiently awaiting her response.
It seemed he had no patience for waiting this time around. From the first touch of his mouth against hers, Nikko took control.
Complete, total, and absolute control.
And Stacy was unable to fight against it. In truth, she craved the domination.
His lips were masterful as they glided over hers, stripping her of any will she still had— which wasn’t much. He took possession of her tongue without waiting for permission, captured it, and claimed it for his own.
And once again, Stacy acquiesced without a thought.
While his mouth took ownership of her lips, his hands laid claim to her body, a body that now shuddered and quaked with every brush of his touch.
He nestled her butt in the span of his hands and then with one easy lift had her wrapping her legs around his waist as he walked her to the room’s love seat, never breaking contact between their lips.
Falling back on to the cushions, he settled in with her straddling his lap, while his hands roamed under the bottom of her long sleep shirt and up her naked back.
The feel of him throbbing and pulsating underneath her, had Stacy offering up a silent thanks she’d put a new thong on after her shower. If she’d left it off, as she usually did while sleeping, she’d be naked and pressed against his pulsing length and he’d know just how much she wanted him.
Nikko kneaded the exposed skin over her butt, his strong fingers massaging and flexing against her skin. When he slipped one finger under the thin strip covering her, she startled. He removed his hands to rub up her back and along her sides, instead.
A brush of his knuckles over the sides of her breasts had her shifting back just enough for him to cup them both. Rubbing his thumbs over her swollen and hard-as-marble nipples, she heard herself groan from down deep in her chest while his fingers continued their amatory movements.
She should stop him, stop this. Right now. It couldn’t go any further; shouldn’t. Their relationship was supposed to be professional. She was here to help run the show, make sure it was produced without any problems, time or money concerns. She was supposed to be keeping Nikko’s temper in check, his demands low, and get the show finished on schedule.
She wasn’t here to be gloriously tortured by the feel of the man in whose lap she was nestled. That had never been part of the bargain with Teddy Davis.
None of those points mattered at the moment. All that did was how wonderful she felt being seduced by a man who knew what he was doing and had decided she was the one he wanted to do it with.
Stacy snaked her fingers down the front of his shirt, dexterously popping open each button on her trek until she was able to freely glide her hands over the concrete wall of his chest. With little circling and pinching motions she teased his nipples into pebbles, rewarded when she felt him flinch beneath her.
If she’d been paying full attention, she would have realized his intent before he lifted the hem of her shirt up her back and almost had it over her head. As he did, he brushed over her upper arm and the back of her shoulder and when his fingers felt the texture of the skin over her bicep, he stopped trying to get her shirt off.
As if she’d dropped into a lake of ice-covered water, Stacy froze.
Gently, Nikko pulled back from the kiss. Except for the loud drumming of both their hearts, silence surrounded them.
Stacy dropped her chin. She couldn’t look at him, was terrified to. She already knew what she’d see in his eyes.
“Look at me,” he said, his voice soft and warm.
She kept her chin down, shook her head.
Nikko swiped back the hair falling and shielding her face and tilted her chin up, forcing her to.
“Stacy.”
“You should go,” she said, darting
a quick glance at him, and then settling on his shoulder. With a solid tug she yanked her shirt back down, willing herself not to come undone. “You shouldn’t be here. This isn’t…” She tried for a careless shrug, but couldn’t pull it off.
Pushing against his chest, she tried to lift off his lap.
Nikko wouldn’t let her. His hands wove themselves back around her waist, holding her in place.
“Stacy, look at me,” he said again. “Look at me, sweetheart.”
The endearment shattered through her. When she finally did, she felt the hot sting of tears drop down her cheeks.
Nikko reached out and swiped at them with the pads of his thumbs. Then, in a move so gentle it threatened to undo her even more, he pushed the sleeve of her shirt up to her shoulder to bare her entire arm. He made sure the loose sleeve didn’t fall back by bunching it between his fingers and holding it in place. With his other hand, his fingers caressed the blanched, puckered, scarified skin covering her from wrist to shoulder.
Back and forth, up and down, he traced the line of the scars, his eyes following the trek of his hand.
From under her lashes, Stacy ventured a glance at him. Past experience with men had told her disgust—or worse, pity—would be in his eyes.
He had neither.
Nikko met her gaze with his own and wrapped his entire hand around her scarred upper arm.
Most of the nerve endings had long been destroyed and her perception of touch over the area was slight at the best of times. But she could feel when his hand hugged her arm, holding her firm.
“Tell me how this happened,” he commanded. When she stayed silent, he asked again. “Tell me.”
“I need a drink of water,” she said, instead. “Let me up.”
In answer, Nikko stretched to the mini-fridge next to the love seat and pulled two unopened bottles from it with his free hand.
He handed her one, took the other for himself.
“Drink,” he said. “Then talk.”
“You’re as bossy as your reputation asserts,” she said, then winced when she heard the nasty tinge in her voice.
He chuckled while she dragged her hand across her face to dry her cheeks and then took a long pull from the bottle.
He did the same and when he was done, settled his hands casually around her waist.
Stacy had never had to explain her accident to a man before. When intimacy occurred, she’d usually give a quick excuse and then convince the guy sex was better with the lights out. Feeling her skin was very different from seeing it and the guys usually acquiesced to her request.
Instinctively, she knew that wasn’t going to work with Nikko Stamp, just as she knew he’d require—demand—a full explanation of what had happened to her.
“Talk to me,” he said.
With a nod, she gathered her thoughts.
“When I was six, I had pneumonia. Pretty badly. At one point, the pediatrician advised my parents to call our parish priest because it looked like I was going to…die soon. As you can see,” she looked up at him and shrugged, “I didn’t. But I was in the hospital for over a month and then I recouped at home for a long, long time after that before I started to feel better. Be better. The doctor said my lungs had been scarred and the chance of getting sick again was increased more than usual because of it. My parents kind of lost their minds when they heard that.”
“As a parent myself, I can understand why.”
She nodded. “Yeah, you probably can.” She sighed and repositioned herself. When his eyes crossed and a flash of pain zipped across his face, his hands bit into her waist.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” she said, close to tears again. “Let me up. I’m hurting you.”
Nikko swallowed and let out a thready breath between his lips. In a tight voice, he said, “No. Hurting isn’t the word.”
Her face caught on fire from the heat rushing up from her neck.
“Just…sit still,” he said, “and I’ll be fine.”
She watched him for a few moments until his breathing eased again.
“Talk.”
She swallowed. “Overnight my parents turned insanely overprotective. I wasn’t allowed outside to play, especially in the fall and winter. I wasn’t allowed to run around, get sweaty, get dirty like all the other kids did. I never learned how to ride a bike. They kept me indoors most of the time just to ensure I wouldn’t catch so much as a cold. I grew up like some banished princess, secured from the world in a guarded castle.”
She took another sip of water.
“When I turned fourteen... well, my father describes it to this day as the time his little princess turned to the dark side. I was sick of being the protected child. I wanted to be normal like everyone else.”
“I can understand that as well.”
“Maybe. But it’s different for boys.” She shook her head. “Really different. My brother skated through his teens. Anything he did wrong, like borrow the car without asking, or coming home with beer on his breath from an underage party, was chalked up to boys-will-be-boys behavior. A little slap on the wrist and he was free to go. I wasn’t allowed the same freedom. It really sucked to be me.”
“So is this when you went to the dark side?” His lips twisted up as he asked it, and the understanding in his tone warmed through her.
“Yeah. I started sneaking out after my parents went to bed. Found some friends—older friends—who thought nothing of corrupting a little Goody Two-shoes like me. I started drinking beer, then hard liquor if it was available. I was scared to try cigarettes or pot, though. One whiff of smoke in the surrounding area was enough to start me coughing and I was terrified my lungs were gonna fail, just like my pediatrician had predicted. Anyway, one night, I got into a car with an older boy who went to the same high school as me, for a ride.”
“As the father of a teenaged girl, I can tell you those words strike abject fear in my heart and soul.”
“They should.” She sighed again and when Nikko rubbed his hands up her back to settle on her shoulders and began to knead, she leaned into him as if the move were as natural as breathing.
“I wanted to be cool, be liked by the older kids. When he asked me if I wanted to ride around with him, I knew—I knew—I shouldn’t, especially since he’d had a couple of beers before he asked me.”
“Strike that: Not just fear. Absolute terror. What happened?”
“People do stupid things when they’ve been drinking,” she said. “When the people drinking are also wild teenage boys hell-bent on making themselves look cool, those stupid things expand exponentially.” She took a sip of water again.
“He wanted to impress me by showing me how fast his car could go, so he sped up and started dragging down one of the neighborhood streets. When he tried to negotiate a tight turn, he lost control. The car swerved a few times, then hit a light pole head-on. We weren’t wearing our seat belts because we were too cool, and the car didn’t have airbags like they do now. There was nothing to restrain us or cushion us.”
She stopped, reliving the moment as she had so many times before. No amount of therapy could ever fully remove it from her mind. The cringe-causing, spine-tingling sound of metal scraping against metal; the boy’s screams when the door crushed into his side. After, when…
She felt his hands tighten as he continued to knead her neck. “Tell me the rest of it, Stacy, because I know there’s more. These are burn scars, aren’t they?”
She nodded again and took a deep breath. “From the impact, I got tossed onto the dash and knocked out for a few seconds. The engine exploded into flames and before I could be pulled to safety, my sleeve ignited. I was admitted to the hospital with deep second- and third-degree burns on my arm and upper back and I was in a coma from the head trauma for over a week. Just like when I was six, I was in the hospital again for another extended amount of time. Two
necessary surgeries to set the broken bone in my upper arm; three painful, horrible skin-grafting procedures before my fifteenth birthday, and then enough excruciating physical therapy sessions to last me a lifetime, and here we are.”
“When you told me you knew something about how to deal with pain, you were speaking from experience,” he said after a few moments.
“Yeah. The surgeries were bad enough. The graftings hurt so much the docs medicated me into a zombie-state for most of the time. But it was the PT that almost did me in, pain-wise.”
His brows pulled together in the middle of his forehead. “Why?”
She took another sip of water and looked down at her knees. “Muscle contractures. They’re a by-product of severe burns and grafting. Everything stiffens as it heals. The bones knit together, the muscles, even the skin under the grafts. Moving makes it hurt more because it’s all so raw, so you tend not to move to avoid the pain. But when muscles aren’t used, they tighten up. Then it hurts even more to move them.” She snuck a glance up at his face. “You get the idea.”
“It’s a vicious circle.” He nodded. “Like you told me about my leg. Not using it, not exercising it, makes the pain worse.”
“It does. I had six hours of PT every day for four months in the hospital and then another six months as an outpatient. When I was finally discharged from the service, my physical therapist told me she’d never had another patient so determined before. She didn’t know the reason I was so determined was because I’d do anything so my arm wouldn’t look freakish. Contractures aren’t pretty and my arm already looked like it had been put through a meat grinder.”
Nikko rubbed the scars with tips of his fingers again as she spoke. Then, in a move so uncharacteristic, Stacy had to blink a few times to ensure it really happened, Nikko bent to scrape his lips over the area.
His crooked grin, when he pulled back, filled her heart. “Melora was a big fan of kissing the hurt away when she was little.”