Guilty Pleasures

by Stella Cameron

  “Why are you?”

  “You’re pushing me.” Warm, clean breath preceded his lips by only a second. He kissed her chin, the corner of her mouth, her jaw—her ear. And he held her tighter when she shuddered. “But I want something from you, and I’ll keep on answering questions till I get it. That’s why I’m finally settling down with the idea of being a civilian for the rest of my life. Because of you. I want you—to be with you. I’ll be good for you—and Bobby. You won’t regret loving me.”

  “When you were injured someone was trying to kill you.”

  He growled softly. “I’ll wear you down. Yeah, someone was trying to kill me. Some people. Bad people.”

  “And you killed them.”

  “One of them. The one I managed to reach with a knife. There are still too many left. Too many drugs making too much money for people like them. Not just in Bogota—or South America in general. In just about any country you want to name. But I’ve done my bit for the cause. Other men have taken over. I’ve got to spend my time looking after the woman who loves me, now.”

  She found his mouth with her fingertips. “The woman who loves you? What about adding that she’s the woman you love, too.”

  “Oh, I do love her, too. I’ve already told her that.”

  A cotton T-shirt felt so nice layered on Xavier Ferrito. “You’ve got such a body,” she told him, and rolled her eyes in the darkness.

  “You’ve got such a body, too,” he said promptly. “See, I told you I wasn’t going to get that sleep, didn’t I?”

  “You’re presumptuous.”

  “How can I be. You just told me you love me.”

  “I did not.”

  “You can’t back off now. You wanted me to tell you I love you, too, and I did.”

  “I—” Somehow none of this was funny. “This is very serious stuff.”

  He nuzzled his nose and mouth into her shoulder, just above the saggy neck of her T-shirt. “Very serious. I’m going to have to get my act together.”

  Polly breathed through her open mouth. “What does that mean?”

  “No more drifting. I’m going to have to grow up and decide what will be best for my family. Have you ever thought you’d like to live on a ranch?”

  He was going too fast. Or deliberately trying to confuse her. “You’ve got a dive shop.”

  “Dusty’s got it. I’ve got a financial stake, and I fool around. Suddenly I’ve got ambition.”

  “You’ve killed people.”

  He grew still. Then he slipped an arm beneath her and gathered her up until she lay half on top of him again. “I was a soldier. Can you think of it that way? A soldier following orders. That’s the only way it works. If you’re a soldier and you don’t follow orders, you can bring down the people on your side.”

  The full-up feeling swelled again. Full-up and ready to overflow into tears. “I hate violence. And there’s Bobby. I worry—”

  “Bobby will be himself. He’s going to make you a proud mother. He’ll probably drive you nuts first—the way he’s supposed to—but what I have, or haven’t been, won’t change him. Although he’ll know the man his mother loves is honorable and expects honor in others.”

  “Politics,” Polly said.

  “Huh?”

  “Go into politics. You are so sincere. You could be handing out drugs yourself, and the pope would believe it was for the good of mankind.”

  “I’m telling the truth, my love.”

  Much more of this and she’d forget all of her reasons for not wanting to love him. “You’re exciting. I’m dull.”

  His lips parted on her neck, and remained parted.

  “A man like you would get so sick of a scared little rabbit of a woman who”—she steeled herself—“who can’t swim because she’s afraid of the water. It’s because there are things down there.”

  “We’re going to take these points one-by-one. But we’re going to have to take them quickly.”

  Polly blushed—again. “Of course. I’m keeping you up.” His chest vibrated—again. “What?”

  “You are unbelievable—but you do have a way of getting right to the point. You are not dull. You’re a gifted—an incredibly talented singer. And a personality. I guess that’s what you’d call it. The lingo’s pretty foreign to me, but the woman who loves me will help put that right.”

  He was steadily turning her resolve, what resolve she’d ever had, to mush. “We shouldn’t have shoes on. We’ll ruin the quilt.”

  “We already did that one. You are so lovable on that screen. No wonder you amaze so many people. They can’t believe someone wholesome can compete with what kids are supposed to prefer. Crap.”

  “I’m hot.”

  “Me, too, sweets. Oh, me, too.’’

  He was playing with her. “No, I’m not. I was just saying that to change the subject.”

  “That is the subject, sweetcakes.”

  She didn’t know whether to laugh or punch him. “Don’t ever call me that again. Not if you want to live.”

  “And I thought I was the horrible killer here. What things down there?”

  Things. “Oh, down there. In the water. There are things down there. I could always feel them sneaking around lying in wait. Slimy things.”

  “Like me?”

  “You’re not slimy. You’re lovely.”

  “Thanks. So are you. Swimming pools aren’t usually stocked with things.”

  “We didn’t have any swimming pools around when I was growing up.” She’d prefer not to pursue the subject of her lean childhood.

  “Fair enough. I’ll help you get over it. You must be able to swim.”

  “I must not. And I’m not going to. End of topic.”

  “For now. Tell me you love me.”

  She was hot—hot enough to melt. “Shoes shouldn’t—”

  “Forget the shoes,” he said, stroking her face again. “Men don’t expect women to call them beautiful. Or lovely.”

  “Any woman who saw you—” Learn to think first, speak after thinking.

  Xavier followed his fingers with his mouth, followed down her neck, beneath the T-shirt to her shoulder. “Any woman who saw me, what?”

  She was only a mortal woman with mortal reactions. Wanting a man this much came from just being human. “Naked,” she told him, and tried to bow her head.

  “Oh, you do know how to cool a situation down. And I thought you hadn’t noticed.”

  “You didn’t have any clothes on.” The squeakiness of her voice made her feel foolish. “I didn’t know what to do. Stay, or go.”

  “You stayed.”

  She didn’t have to see his face to know he was silently laughing at her. “You’d have stayed, too.”

  “You really looked then, you wicked woman you. I’m glad Seven covered all the naughty bits.”

  Polly clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle laughter. Keeping his face buried in her shoulder, he found a way under the T-shirt to smooth her back.

  “Naughty bits?” Polly managed to say. “She didn’t cover anything quickly enough.”

  “No wonder you could hardly wait to get your hands on me the next time. Pretty impressive, huh?”

  A quiet wrapped her, wrapped her inside. Quiet need quiet certainty—quiet, demanding, gathering desire. “Did you mean it? What you said?”

  “That I love you, and that I’m going to stick to you from here on? I meant it. Did you?”

  “You knew what I was asking you without—”

  “Don’t… Don’t, Polly. Not anymore. I can’t keep this up.”

  “I can’t either.” Pushing herself up, she settled herself on her elbows and rested her forehead on his. “I love you.”

  His hand stopped moving on her back.

  “I never loved a man before. I know because I’ve never felt what I feel now before you.”

  “Polly.” He made her name a caress.

  “Can you stand it if I say something really sloppy.”

  “Please. Fro
m you, I’m going to be crazy about sloppy.”

  An urge to crawl all the way on top of him shook her. “Okay, here goes. I never loved a man before because I hadn’t met you. So I couldn’t, could I?”

  “We understand each other so well. What do you think about ranching?”

  She kissed him—hard. And kissed him again—not so hard—opened his mouth easily, explored his tongue with hers—so very easily. Falling. The bonding of their lips drew her into a fall. She collapsed onto his chest and heard a groan deep in the back of his throat.

  Gasping, she pulled back again. “Stop trying to force yourself into decisions you don’t have to make in a hurry.”

  “Whoa. Such a long sentence. How’d you do that when all you want to do is get inside my clothes.”

  “Stop!”

  “Sorry. I meant all I want… Forget it. No, don’t forget it. I’m prepared.”

  She flattened herself on top of him and hugged hard. “You embarrass me.”

  “I embarrass me sometimes. But I thought you’d like to know. Ever since I knew you loved me, I’ve been prepared.”

  “Don’t say it again,” she told him in a small voice.

  “Would you consider having more children?”

  Polly closed her eyes, squeezed them tightly shut. “Do you have to deal with the whole thing right now? All of it?”

  “You love me?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’ll do for now.”

  “Kiss me.”

  He lay absolutely still for a moment. The next moment he lifted her from him and set her on her back and sat up beside her. She saw his white T-shirt shimmy upward over wide bands of muscle. And she saw the shirt fly through the air. She’d grown more accustomed to the darkness. His skin glistened faintly.

  “Hot,” he said, turning and bending over her. “That’s a bit better. And I know how you feel about chests.”

  “Only your chest,” she told him, aware of a possibly terminal shortage of air.

  The touch of his lips on hers was so light it tingled. He held still, his mouth barely meeting hers, while tension built. Polly felt the crushing in of pressure and knew he felt it, too. She rolled her head, carefully, slowly, from side to side under Xavier’s and heard another stifled groan.

  At his sides, the skin was smooth. His back rippled beneath her hands. His chest pressed hers. She wanted to be naked— skin against skin with him.

  Framing her face, holding her head still, he kissed her with power, and with finesse. He kissed her and murmured formless words that inflamed her—formless words that meant more than any she’d ever heard.

  “You’re crying,” he whispered.

  “No, I’m not.”

  His lips and tongue settled briefly on her left temple. “Yes, sweetheart. I taste your tears.”

  “I’m happy. I so happy, I’m scared.”

  “It isn’t going to go away.” Again he found her mouth, kissed her deeply, tenderly. “This love won’t stop, Polly. I know it.”

  “Because of your famous instinct?”

  “Mmm. Yeah.”

  “I’m too warm.”

  “What d’you want to do about it?”

  “Take off my shirt.”

  With his face resting beside hers, he sighed. “If everything stopped right now, it would be fine with me.”

  “You don’t want me to take off my shirt?”

  She heard laughter in his voice. “I want you to take off everything. And if we never leave this room again, fine. That’s what I meant.”

  Xavier took off her shirt. And her bra.

  The air was cool but didn’t ease the burning in her breasts. Neither did the big man’s careful, clever fingers, or his mouth on her nipples.

  Polly drove her elbows into the soft mattress, let her head fall back—tried to press herself deeper into his mouth.

  He did nothing in a hurry.

  Almost lazily, he rose and swung a leg over her until he knelt above her. He took her mouth, then kissed each inch of exposed skin, with concentrated care. Spreading his hands over her ribs, he slid gradually upward to span the undersides of her breasts.

  “Xavier. I love you.” How easy it was to say it. “You’re going… No, I can’t think. I love you.”

  “You and I are in love. And I never even knew what I was waiting for until there was you.”

  She felt her own wetness, and the throbbing ache between her legs—and the searing openness of nerve between breast and deep in her belly.

  Xavier pushed her breasts together and buried his face between them. He took first one nipple, then the other, into his mouth and brought her writhing off the mattress again.

  A shard of reason tried to insinuate itself, and she turned her face toward the door.

  “Locked,” he told her, and returned to driving her mad.

  Power must be exerted according to ability. Polly unsnapped the waist of his jeans and drew in an audible breath.

  Xavier made a harsh sound. He stopped moving.

  “Hard,” Polly muttered. “You give new meaning to the word. This must be painful.”

  “Less painful now,” he told her. “This kind of pain I could come to need. All the time.”

  “You’d kill us both.” He filled her two hands and she felt the pulsing of blood, the readiness of male seed. “I want you.” He undid her jeans and worked them down her legs, taking her panties with them.

  The jeans made it past her knees before she made him help her free him almost as much as she wanted him freed.

  Naked would take too long.

  He dealt with the condom while she tried not to listen.

  They both guided him to her, but then Xavier gently pushed her hands away.

  Polly tensed for the stretching, the forcing she’d welcome. Instead, he only nudged himself just into her entrance. And spreading his knees, he held himself there, and kissed her breasts again, curving over her, taking time she knew cost him dearly—as dearly as it cost her even as she loved him for it, reveled in it.

  The pad of his thumb settled inside slick folds and moved in tight inflaming circles.

  “Xavier!” She choked back a sob. “Oh, please.”

  “Shush, sweetheart. This is good. It’s all good. Take it.” Polly took it with hips that wouldn’t remain on the bed. She took it, and took it—and gritted her teeth with the pure, scalding ecstasy of it.

  The circles grew even smaller, even tighter—and broke the center of the white-hot tension that kept her hovering short of climax. Before she’d finished keening out her satisfaction, while wanton gratification still gathered in erogenous skin and tissue, Xavier thrust his penis so deep inside her she convulsed with shock at the invasion.

  “Okay?” he asked quietly, waiting with more of that control no man could be expected to find, not now.

  “Okay,” she murmured, and raised her hips toward him. “Love me, Xavier.”

  He gave a single, keening cry and lost the battle with himself. Too few strokes, and he muttered something she couldn’t make out. He muttered, and emptied, and Polly couldn’t stop the fresh tears. She pushed her fingers into his thighs, guided his legs until they rested between hers.

  “Too fast, damn it,” he said, breathless.

  “That time,” she told him. “Stay right where you are for just a little while, and we’ll do it slower.”

  “Oh, sweet Polly.”

  Seconds passed, and minutes. He stroked her breasts—lazily at first. Then less lazily.

  She felt him begin to tighten within her. “It’s magic. I told you this would work.”

  “Geesh. Can we just stay like this forever?” His teeth came together audibly. “Can we do this again and again.”

  “And again,” she said, squeezing her muscles around him.

  “Mercy! Have a little mercy, my love. We’re going to take our time, remember.”

  Polly squeezed some more. “I think it’s out of our hands. Don’t worry. We just need more practice. Sooner or l
ater we’ll get it right. I think it’s the tennis shoes.”

  “Huh?”

  “The tennis shoes. There’s something about making love with your pants around your ankles. Very sexy. Makes it tough to be restrained.”

  “Oh, yeah.” He gasped and fell into the rhythm she set “Sexy, sexy. So sexy.”

  “Feels kind of forbidden.”

  “Yeah. Polly—I’m coming apart.”

  “Oh! Yes. Yes. Tennis shoes forever. You can’t take your jeans off with tennis shoes on.”

  Twenty-four

  He turned over and sat up.

  Zero. Dead, cold zero sleep, to snapping awake. In less time than he knew how to measure.

  He frowned and listened—illuminated his watch face to check the time. They couldn’t have fallen asleep more than half an hour earlier. Polly breathed softly and deeply beside him.

  Nasty smiled and bent to kiss her bare shoulder.

  A sound had awakened him. A sound and a presence. Not here, not in the house, but outside.

  Careful not to disturb Polly, he got out of bed and crossed to the window—and heard rain on the glass. He grimaced. The sound of rain had been rare in recent weeks, so rare he hadn’t slept through it as he usually would.

  It had rained that night in Bogota. Warm rain, steaming earth, leaves that shone in the darkness and dripped on him as he crawled beneath them.

  Out of habit, he was careful to stand beside the window, flat to the wall, and to lift the drapes so no movement could be noted from the outside.

  Floodlights sent out beams at intervals around the house, cut a swath of light that faded into a wall of blackness some yards away.

  The floods went out.

  Nasty rolled away from the window. The lights were one of Rose’s more recent innovations. She was proud of them. They were left on all night, not for safety—which was why Dusty had persuaded her to have them—but because they made the house “look pretty.”

  Damn, he should never have let his guard down, not for a second, while he knew there was danger. He did know there was danger. It hadn’t made any of the expected patterns, but it hovered. Without the incident with the divers, he’d have said the entire affair had an amateur stamp. But there had been the divers.

  He saw Polly move just before she said, “What’s the matter?”