“Please leave now.” Keeping her gaze lowered and her voice calm, she hung her jacket in the hall closet. “Thank you for bringing me home, but I’m fine. I don’t need you, and I really need some time alone.”
Mike, being Mike, didn’t give an inch.
“I think I’ll stick around and make sure you’re okay.”
She laughed a bitter, hysteria-tinged laugh, watching the scene devolve into ugliness as though she were in the audience and some other Dara and Mike were the actors onstage.
“You’re going above and beyond the call, don’t you think?” Annoyed by her show of emotion—by the way her voice cracked and she couldn’t stop her tears from overflowing—she swiped her hand across her wet cheek. “For someone who only wants to sleep with me, I mean.”
He shrank away from her as if she’d waved a loaded gun in his face. “Don’t, Dara.”
“Don’t what? Remind you of what you said?”
“Stop.”
Ah, but she couldn’t stop herself now.
That train was already out of the station, streaking toward the sound barrier.
“Why bother to talk, anyway? My internship ends pretty soon, and you can go ahead and forget all about me, like you plan to do, right?” She took an aggressive step closer, getting in his face. “Right?”
Without warning, Mike slammed his hand on the hall table, making her jump and the basket of keys wobble dangerously.
“Damn it, Dara!” he shouted, his features twisted and rough, his anger swelling wall-to-wall in the tiny foyer, threatening to crowd her out. “What do you want?”
His rage thrilled her. She was so sick of his aloofness and his pretending, so sick of the indifferent mask he wore with her. She wanted him enraged.
“I want you to tell me the truth, you lying SOB! You tell me the truth, or you get out!”
“The truth?” he thundered. “Which truth? That I can’t eat? Can’t sleep? Can hardly work? That I haven’t been able to think about one goddamn thing other than you since the second I laid eyes on you? That truth? That I care about you and want you and my brother can go fuck himself for all I care? Is that what you want to hear?”
Dara’s body sagged with relief and she felt happy—happier than she’d ever been in her life. He cared for her. He’d admitted it. There was no going back after this.
Taking a deep breath, he swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. Then he stepped closer, eyes gleaming.
She stilled, all the air whooshing out of her lungs.
“What about this, Dara?”
His voice dropped to a mesmerizing murmur as he bent his head to speak in her ear. At the warm brush of his breath against her cheek, her entire body tightened with need.
“I crave you. Did you know that? Like air.” He shrugged helplessly, his lips working at a rueful smile that never quite took hold. “I’d rather have you than the air. I’d rather have you than be an honorable boss. I’d rather have you than be a good brother or son.”
“Mike—” she began, reaching for him.
He jerked away, his expression hardening. “Do you know how scared I was tonight, when I thought something had happened to you? You control every fucking thing about me! Do you get that? Do you think that’s easy to get a handle on?”
Dara stared at him in utter disbelief.
She controlled—?
“Bullshit,” she said quietly.
His brows lowered. “Excuse me?”
“Bullshit! Did I look like I was in control the other day when you broke my heart for no good reason?”
He froze, having the decency to look ashamed.
“I wasn’t ready for this, Dara,” he said hoarsely.
So there it was again. Another day, another kiss-off. God, he was going to kill her.
She looked down at the floor and pressed her hand over her mouth until she’d collected herself enough to speak without sobbing.
Finally, she looked back up at him. “Neither was I. I was willing to try, anyway, but I can’t do it by myself. So now I guess there’s nothing else to talk about.”
“Nothing except this.” A vivid flush crept up his neck and over his harsh cheekbones. “I can’t live like this anymore. When I thought something happened to you tonight, I—” he broke off, shuddering, nostrils flaring. “We can’t let this go. We have to try.”
Astonished, she stared at him and saw the vulnerability and hope in his eyes and felt an answering hope—joyous and beautiful—unfurl in her chest.
“What are we going to do about this, Mike?”
He stretched out a hand to her, beckoning. “Take a chance with me, angel.”
Mesmerized, lost, and hopelessly in love, Dara stepped forward into his arms.
They came together in a tightly wound tangle of arms and legs, like English ivy climbing an oak tree. Mike caught her sweet mouth beneath his, and she eagerly opened for him, his own June rose in full blossom. His hunger—his gnawing need for her—roared to life, making his arousal sudden and complete, especially when she whimpered, wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. And suddenly, whatever self-control he’d had—if he’d had any left at all— shattered.
Without breaking the kiss, he backed her out of the lighted foyer and into the dark living room, where he navigated blindly until she tumbled backward onto the sofa and pulled him down, too. He tightened his hold and shifted his weight on top of her. Instantly, her legs wrapped around his waist, surprising him with her strength and insistence. His hands found her bare knees—she was wearing that black knit dress that always melted his brain—and slid up her thighs, pressing closer to her yielding softness.
But not close enough.
“More,” Dara whispered, rocking her hips against his.
Yes, more.
His lips slid down her neck and her back arched up to meet him. His shaky fingers found the bottom edge of her dress and pulled it up over her head, with Dara wriggling her hips to help him. Just as quickly, he undid the clasp of her lacy bra.
When he was done, he faltered for a second, his breath harsh in the silence, studying her in the moonlight. She was exquisite. Her heaving breasts were two perfect globes centered with large nipples—dark and erect—that demanded his attention.
“Touch me,” she begged, leaning back against the pillows to offer herself.
“Oh, I intend to,” he said, not moving.
“Hurry.”
He stroked and teased her, taking all the time in the world to trace the dark edge of an aureole with his finger. Dara moaned. Leaning down, he flicked his tongue over one nipple. Squirming, she clamped her hands around his head, locking him in place. And with this unmistakable invitation, he gave up trying to torture her.
He opened his mouth and suckled. Hard.
Dara cried out.
“I want you, Dara. God, I want you.”
He trailed his fingers and mouth south until his hands anchored her hips so he could plunge his tongue into her belly button. She jackknifed, rewarding him with a sharp cry of pleasure.
At this range, her delicate scent, musky desire, seeped through the black satin of her teeny tiny panties. She was wet, then. But how wet?
Find out, Baldwin.
So he slipped his fingers underneath the elastic band of the panties and slid them past her hips and down her legs, pausing only to notice her luscious thighs as he went. The panties joined her dress and bra in a growing pile on the floor. Then he ran his fingers down her belly to the triangle between her legs and lower, to the thick folds of flesh.
Yes. Yesss.
She was hot and silky slick, more thrilling than he remembered. He pressed his face to her sex, rubbing it with his nose and mouth, reveling. Dara’s thighs parted, issuing another invitation.
“Please. Please, Mike,” she said on a dry sob.
Like he’d ever tell her no.
Hanging on to her hips, he lowered his head and dove in, zeroing in on the hard little nub with his tongue. He flic
ked, he circled, and, finally, he sucked.
Dara mewled and squirmed until her entire body suddenly went rigid and her spine arched.
“Mike!”
He held her, letting her ride it out until, just as suddenly, she went limp.
Still between her thighs, he sat up and stared at her, restraining a triumphant shout with difficulty. Here she was, all of his wet dreams and waking fantasies for the last few months, alive, warm, sweaty, panting and sated beneath his hands once again.
This was what heaven looked like.
Her heavy lids opened slowly and she stared at him with dazed eyes.
“Oh, my God,” she whispered, her lips dewy and swollen from his kisses.
He shook his head, unable to keep the awe out of his voice. “You’re amazing.”
“Yeah?” Drowsy smile. “Come here.”
That was easily the most tempting offer he’d ever had. He needed relief, but he also didn’t want to embarrass himself by losing control of his raging erection like some pimply-faced kid.
He pulled back. “Not tonight, sweetheart. You’re still not ready yet.”
“Oh, I’m ready,” she said smugly.
Mike swallowed hard—could lust make you choke and die?— and tried to remember he wanted to do the right thing.
“You weren’t ready the other night,” he reminded her.
Dara blinked and looked away, her smile fading.
“It’s okay,” he said reassuringly. “I can wait.”
She roused herself, sitting up and opening her arms. “Come here.”
“No, I said.”
Dara rose to her knees and crept closer. “No?” Her voice was simultaneously innocent and seductive. A siren’s call.
Long pause. He swallowed audibly.
“No.”
Good job, Baldwin. Way to sound convinced.
She ignored him anyway, pressing her breasts against his arm and massaging his chest.
Mike gasped and stiffened. “Don’t.”
Her hand shifted lower, kneading his belly, then slipped up under the edge of his T-shirt.
“I need you, Mike. I need to touch you. And you said whatever I wanted whenever I want.”
“True,” he said, leaning his face down to kiss her deeply again. In that moment of distracted vulnerability, her hand slid below the waistband of his sweatpants and briefs, shocking him with the searing skin-to-skin contact on his arousal.
He sucked in a strangled breath when her fingers tightened around him and, slowly but firmly, she began to stroke up and down.
She broke the kiss and pressed her tender lips to his ear.
“I want you, Mike.”
Her fingers tightened.
“I need you to come for me. Please. Please.”
With that, he was lost. Her voice, scent, taste and touch all coalesced and gave him a piercing pleasure from which he would surely never recover. He clamped his hand over hers and rubbed it roughly up and down until, groaning loudly, he came like he’d never come before.
Slowly—very slowly—the room came back into focus. He registered the shadowy furniture...the moonlight at the edges of the windows...his own harsh breathing...Dara still pressed to his side, her eyes glittering and warm. Pleased.
“Let’s go to bed, sweetheart.”
“Okay.”
She laughed triumphantly, as exultant as he’d just been when he made her come, and he grinned back at her.
When he got to the bedroom, after a quick stop in the bathroom for cleanup, he watched as she turned back the fluffy comforter. Still nude, she straightened and smiled at him with no evidence of self-consciousness whatsoever. That was a delightful problem that triggered the first stirrings of renewed desire. They’d taken the edge off, sure, but he’d be ready to go again real soon.
So a few parameters and ground rules were in order, because he was absolutely determined to remember she was only twenty-three, with much less experience than he’d had. He would never press her to do anything she wasn’t ready for.
“Don’t you own any underwear?” A couple of layers of clothing, preferably something in wool or flannel, seemed like a good idea. “How about a nightgown?”
Her eyes widened innocently. “A nightgown?”
He didn’t like her tone. He watched warily as she rummaged in one of her dresser drawers and pulled out something white and filmy, with dangling price tags. She jerked off the tags and slipped it over her head. It slithered down her breasts, hips and thighs until it reached her toes.
His jaw dropped.
The lousy nightgown—if you could call it a nightgown—had spaghetti straps and a deep V in the front that barely covered her breasts, not that it mattered, because the thing was entirely transparent. He could still see tantalizing images of her dark nipples and the triangle between her legs. Fantasies of ripping the gown away from her body danced through his dazed brain. It’d been better when she was naked.
“Are you kidding me?” he muttered. “Where’d you get that?”
“When we were seventeen, Monica and I wandered into the Victoria’s Secret at the mall, and, well, one thing led to another. You should see the one she picked.”
He stared at her. “And you haven’t worn it until now?”
She ducked her head. “No.”
Something joyous and unprecedented unfurled in his chest. He caught her hand and pressed it hard to his lips. “Then I’m the luckiest man in the world, aren’t I?”
She laughed, the sound low and seductive, then climbed into the bed. He slipped under the covers behind her and, wrapping his arms around her waist, pulled her back against him. It was as if he’d been there thousands of nights before this one—as if he belonged there. One of his hands automatically went under her neck and cupped her breast, and the other went over one hip to her belly, pressing her to him. He felt more at home than he’d ever felt in any other bed—including his own—in his life.
Suddenly, his guilt knifed through him. He was a rotten brother, plain and simple. Because he wanted this time with her, and he wasn’t thinking about what it would do to Sean if he found out. In this blissful moment? He didn’t give a fuck. Later, he might. For now, he shoved thoughts of Sean far away and focused on Dara, and the fact that they would take this risk together.
The familiar panic was still there, but it seemed muted now, distant.
Manageable.
He slept soundly for the first time in months.
Dara woke to the slide of the sheet down her mostly bare back. Before the cool bedroom air could hit her skin, she felt the press of Mike’s warm mouth and tongue in the hollow of her back, at her waist.
“Good morning,” she cooed, smiling into the pillows.
Mike’s mouth slid up her spine and lodged between her shoulder blades, which was a very fine spot for it.
“How are you, sweetheart?”
“Wonderful.”
He kissed her nape, then scratched it with his rough cheek.
Dara cried out, her skin sizzling with pleasure.
“It’s killing me, but I have to go. I’ve got early court, and I need to go home and change.”
“Nooo!”
He sat on the bed beside her, and she forced herself to sit up and open her eyes. It was absolutely dark in the room, except for the glow from her clock radio, which read 6:00. He smiled, amused by her disappointment, and pulled her into his arms. She held him tight, resting her head on his shoulder. He’d dressed again, but had a wonderful, rumpled, clean linen smell. She doubted she’d be able to let go long enough for him to walk out the door. His hands caressed their way up her back, then filtered through her hair, letting it fall to her shoulders. Her sex swelled and ached insistently.
“Why do you touch me like this when you have to leave?” she complained.
She felt him smile as he skinned his teeth along the curve of her neck. “Because I want you to think about me after I’m gone.”
“Mmmm,” she said, catching one of h
is hands and pulling it to her breast. “Maybe you should touch me some more. My memory’s not what it used to be.”
Mike rubbed the flat of his palm against the nipple, and she arched into him, moaning.
“Can’t,” he said hoarsely. He took her hand and brought it to his lap, where the size of his rigid arousal made her mouth go dry. “I don’t want the judge to think I’m overly glad to see him.”
Laughing, she turned her face and flicked his ear with her tongue. “Later, then.”
“What about your SUV?”
“The rental place will drop one off here for me, I think.”
“And what time should I look for you at work?”
She pulled away and smiled coyly. “Why do you ask?”
He did not smile. “Because I need to know how much time I’m going to waste daydreaming about you before I can see you again and settle down to work.”
“Eight o’clock,” she said, breathless.
He smiled. “Good. Dinner tonight?”
“Absolutely.”
That night, Mike took her to an Italian restaurant downtown where they could see the skyline’s reflection, shimmering on the river, from their secluded corner booth. A candle glittered on the white tablecloth. Normally, Dara would pause a minute or two to enjoy such a romantic scene, or at least to soak up the savory scents of basil and sausage, but not tonight. Mike had commandeered all of her senses, and she was oblivious to almost everything else.
And he only had eyes for her.
“I’ll have the veal Marsala.” She handed the server her menu and smiled her thanks.
The server turned to Mike, waiting patiently. “And for you, sir?”
Mike didn’t seem to hear him. His gaze remained fixed on Dara’s face. Her lips, actually. Dara’s skin felt hot, like when she fell asleep on her towel at the beach and woke to find the sun blazing down on her.
The server cleared his throat discreetly. “Sir?”
Mike blinked. “I’ll have the lasagna.” He held the menu up in the man’s general direction, without ever looking away from Dara. “Please.”
Dara smiled at him as the server left. “You didn’t even look at the menu.”
Trouble Page 16