Australia: Wicked Mistresses

by Robyn Grady

  “Who won?”

  “It was about sixty-forty. I was bigger but preferred negotiation. Adam liked to pretend he was David to my Goliath.”

  Her smile faded as she gazed into his eyes over the candlelight. Nick nearly groaned aloud. She was killing him here, so damn beautiful, so desirable. The sexual chemistry between them was a palpable pull, one he wasn’t used to tamping down. That was the main disadvantage of starting as they had started—having to exercise self-control.

  But he had to, just for a while longer. Until she accepted that what they shared was worth the fire and brimstone their fathers would rain down on them.

  The moment lay between them like a suffocating cloud of fizz-edged awareness, stretching for long seconds.

  Finally she looked away, frowning. “I was trying to imagine you as a boy.”

  Yeah, right, Nick thought. She was wondering why he hadn’t moved, leaped across the table, pushing and demanding as he usually did when she looked as him with naked desire in her eyes.

  Your move, baby.

  The silence lengthened as they stared at each other, rocking gently in the swell of the waves lapping the jetty.

  What was the deal? Jordan wondered. Didn’t he want her anymore?

  Nick’s smile was strained at the edges, his eyes feverish with want. She recognized that because she saw it every Friday when he opened the hotel door to her.

  Yet he sat there, one hand spread on his thigh as he lounged in his seat, the other on the table. Looking at ease and yet ready to pounce.

  Why wasn’t he pouncing? He always made the moves. In the time it took for them tonight to prepare dinner, eat and then have a nice little chat, they would normally have made love two or three times.

  Was it a test of some kind? Jordan shifted in her chair, a meter away from a man bristling with sexual tension and yet concealing it—not even that. Accepting it.

  What was his game?

  She stood abruptly, needing some space. “Do you mind if I take a shower?”

  He moved his head from side to side, his eyes hooded.

  Jordan made her way to the small bathroom off the second cabin. True to his word, there were unopened toiletries, toothbrushes in their wrappers and a stack of soft white towels on the vanity. She turned the shower on and scrutinized her grubby clothes. After clambering around a dusty house and up cliff and vale, the white lacy top was a shambles and the cutoffs weren’t much better. She stripped and took the top and her panties into the steaming shower with her; the cutoffs wouldn’t dry before morning.

  The hot blast of water was bliss after a long day. She’d drunk too fast. Nervous. He made her nervous because he was different. Holding back, even though every look told her he wanted her. The only conclusion she could make was that he wanted her to make the moves. But why?

  She turned and let the water pummel her back while squeezing shower soap through her clothing. It was all so confusing. At the ball, she’d told him it was over. Now she wished they could return to sex on Fridays, where they both knew where they stood. Two unattached people sharing an amazing attraction.

  That reminded her of what he’d said at the ball. “I want more.”

  She turned off the shower and grabbed a towel. Did she want more? Of course she wanted more. The idea grew and grew until it pushed everything else out of her head. More with Nick than Friday afternoons. Dating Nick. Making love with him in her apartment, his house. Talking about their day. Making plans.

  She had drunk too much to be thinking along these lines. The prudent thing to do in the circumstances was to poke her head back into the saloon, wish him good-night and go to bed—alone—in the second cabin.

  She rubbed the steamed mirror with a corner of the towel. Looking at herself, her naked body, reminded her of when he’d made love to her in front of the mirror at the hotel. She could see him behind her, his dark hands on her white breasts, his face above hers, eyes holding hers fiercely, compelling her to watch…unmentionable pleasure coiling through her body as he moved inside her, came with her.

  Jordan flushed bright red. God, she was hot for him. He was addictive. She craved him. And trying to deny the craving, she began to justify herself. It was she who’d said they weren’t going to pick up where they left off. Her rules, she could break them. Going meekly off to bed alone was going along with him, changing the direction of what was a great sexual relationship.

  The best solution was to go out there and seduce him. Remind him that they were about sex. Remind him how good they were at it. Keep things on the only level she was prepared to contemplate. Because she didn’t want to risk her heart, which she feared was already attached.

  She dried herself, brushed her teeth and her hair, and hung her panties and top over the towel rail to dry. Then she went out to seduce Nick Thorne before he turned her head with his charm and his patience and his tests.

  Jordan walked out into the stateroom wearing only a towel. He lifted his head and watched her approach, his eyes gleaming. She tried to pretend this was the Presidential Suite at the hotel on a Friday afternoon. She’d done this a dozen times…

  He’d cleared the table and now sat on the sofa, holding his glass. “Shall I find you a robe?”

  Jordan shook her head, confusion welling up again. Why wouldn’t he just stand and take charge? Tear the towel off, put his hands on her…

  “Would you like coffee?” His voice was so soft that she strained to hear him.

  “Maybe later,” she said huskily, moving closer. Her bare legs were just inches from where his stretched out in front of him.

  “You want me, Nick?”

  He moistened his lips. “You’ve never asked me that before.”

  “I’ve never had to.”

  He laid his head back on the back of the couch, watching her inscrutably. Never had she known him to exhibit so much restraint. Admirable restraint, considering the impressive bulge at the apex of his trousers.

  Goose bumps rose on her arms and she shivered, the tension coiling up her insides.

  “Remember our first time?” he asked suddenly, his voice low and hard. “You trembled then, too, just like now. Were you nervous?”

  She exhaled in a rush. “Just like now.”

  She hadn’t meant to admit that.

  She took a tentative step closer.

  “Why?”

  There was nothing in his upturned face she could read, no clue as to what he was thinking. “Because I was overwhelmed.”

  The back of her neck—her whole back prickled like freezer burn.

  “And now?”

  “Because I don’t know what you want anymore.” Jordan hadn’t intended to say that either. But she couldn’t think with his impenetrable eyes boring into her.

  “I told you the other night,” Nick said quietly. “I. Want. More.”

  Someone had switched scripts. She suddenly felt all at sea again—she nearly snorted but it wasn’t funny. Desperate to regain the lead—wasn’t that what he wanted?—she slipped her fingers between the folds of the towel, under the knot, peeling the sides back a little, slowly revealing what was underneath. “You can have everything.”

  Nick smiled then, as if to himself. “Oh, I intend to.”

  It sounded like a threat.

  Firmly pushing her worries aside, she stepped inside his legs and sank down onto her knees before him. That got a result. Quickening breath, eyes widening and alert. The column of his throat bobbed in a hard swallow. Got your attention now, she thought.

  She reached out and spread her hand on his groin, soaking up the heat that radiated out. The answering surge of welcome under her palm made her smile and she pressed down gently. “You want this?”

  His chin dropped down to his chest. Nick always liked to watch.

  “You know what I want.”

  She bent to her task, brushing off the niggling unease about his unaccustomed passivity, the way he answered her every question with a variation of “I want more.” His arms were s
till, hands on his thighs, when usually he moved, directed, arranged her to his satisfaction.

  Thankfully as she unzipped him, her natural instincts took over. Jordan was enthralled, turned on beyond belief. She didn’t need to ask again. She knew by the fire in his eyes. The way the veins on his hands stood out, even though they appeared to be relaxed. The muscles in his upper thighs tightened with each swirl of her tongue around his swollen flesh.

  She knew exactly what he wanted when she felt his hands in her hair, firmly holding her in place while he moved under her.

  But then someone changed the script again. His hands tightened in her hair and he lifted her head and pulled her up over him.

  Nick had never stopped her before.

  It cost him. The strain on his face, a single bead of sweat crawling down his temple, told of the cost. He framed her face with his hands and kissed her, deeper and deeper, and it was somehow more intimate than her ministrations a minute ago. She felt heavy, dragged down by desire.

  They kissed and kissed, cupping each other’s faces, learning the shapes of their cheekbones and skulls, fingers lacing through hair. There seemed to be no urgency and neither of them closed their eyes. To Jordan, the sight of him was just so good.

  His hands slid inside the still-knotted towel, stroked slowly down her body, massaging gently while they kissed. Lying on top of him, feeling him hard and wanting underneath her, she drowned in pleasure.

  Maybe she’d begun by seducing him, showing him how sexy he made her feel, teasing him until he begged. But he was involved now, involving her completely, taking her under. She needed skin and squirmed to get her arms down, trying to get to his buttons. There was too much between them. She fumbled and tugged and got his shirt undone so at least she could feel his warm skin on her front, the hairs on his chest causing fantastic friction on her breasts.

  Under her towel, he stroked and stroked, his hands questing and probing. She lay across him, lifting her hips. His fingers played her like music, inside and out, and she flowed into orgasm with blinding ignorance, not even realizing she was close. Her hands fisted, her knuckles pressing into his chest and for the first time since she’d walked out from the bathroom, she broke eye contact and sank into deep and shuddering satisfaction.

  Soon, he slid out from under her, sitting her up, pulling her forward—this was more like it, she thought, taking charge, directing operations. All thought fled when he knelt in front of her and made love to her with his mouth.

  Too sensitive to bear, she had nowhere to hide. Her hands plunged into his hair. She arched her back, fighting for breath that refused to come and then roller-coasted over her with a low keening sound that went on and on.

  When it was over, she attempted to relax her stiff fingers from his hair, but it wasn’t easy. “Yes,” she said and her voice sounded a million miles away. The boat rocked gently on its mooring. “This. This is what I want.”

  Nick sat back and pulled his shirt over his head. Sated yet burning for more, she watched him strip and take care of protection. Then he pushed her down on the couch, moving purposefully over her and looked into her eyes.

  “No,” he said, matter-of-factly. “It’s not all you want.” He nuzzled her lips before raising his head again, his gaze triumphant.

  She felt his tip nudge her, realized he was right.

  “You just don’t know it yet,” he said in a voice that told her with certainty that the lesson was about to begin.

  Her eyes flew wide as his hands moved up her forearms, pushing her arms above her head, lacing their fingers together.

  She was tired of wondering and wanting. She just wanted him inside her. “Nick…”

  He obliged. The blistering invasion, slow and strong, deep and relentless, filled her so utterly it forced the air from her lungs. He stilled, tense as a board, his hands pressing hers down into the sofa, forcing her to look at him. They gazed at each other for long seconds while he pulsed inside her, and Jordan understood. Never again could she not take this seriously. Never again could she think it was just sex.

  Not just sex. Sex of the mind and body and soul. As he moved, slowly withdrawing and then sliding home again, imprisoning her eyes, she forgot everything but the wonderful warm rush of emotion that accompanied this act, this time.

  Countless Fridays, countless orgasms, but never a bond so deep before. It shone from his eyes, so strong she turned her head but he wouldn’t let her. It pumped through his body till she felt it in her womb and in the pulse beating through his fingers as they gripped hers. I want more, his eyes said as he moved, each deep thrust shattering her fears. “More,” she answered him, exhilaration bursting through when he smiled down, warming her heart.

  Drunk on it, she wrapped her legs around his waist as he plunged with consuming intent. The pace and intensity got crazy, the flashpoint poised, hissing, and then boiled over in a rush. He choked out her name once as she moaned her satisfaction. And she knew nothing could ever be desired again. The rush slowly ebbed. The thud of their calming breath and the occasional sound of small waves lapping the hull was all she could hear.

  Still looking into her eyes, Nick slid his arms around her and held her, for the first time ever.

  Ten

  Jordan awoke slowly, in her customary manner. It took a few seconds to realize she wasn’t alone, quite a few more to replay the night’s events in her mind and think about how she felt, waking next to Nick.

  They’d enjoyed many sexual adventures in the past, but last night easily qualified as the best night of her life. It was almost like a real date, spending the day together, making dinner together, talking. And then, the most emotionally-charged lovemaking she’d ever experienced. How could she even think of holding anything back? He wouldn’t let her.

  Nick stirred behind her with a contented growl. Jordan sighed, her erotic memories scattering. Moving an inch at a time, she began to edge toward the side of the bed but hadn’t gotten far when his warm arm clamped around her middle.

  “Morning,” he mumbled. Jordan mumbled a similar response.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” He shifted closer, his big warm body enfolding her back like a heated cloak.

  She half-turned, craning her neck to see him. “Bathroom. I need to clean my teeth.”

  Nick lifted up on one elbow, blinking owlishly.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. “You’re not allowed to look at me until I’ve got my face on.”

  He tapped her on the nose until she looked at him. “I’ve seen you with the green goop, remember?”

  Oh, God, how could she forget?

  “You, Jordan Lake,” he said gallantly, “don’t need makeup to look beautiful.”

  She smiled into his eyes, thinking she could get used to waking up next to a sleepy, unshaven, tousled man whispering sweet nothings in her ear. But within seconds, his gaze sharpened and flared with heat. He shifted his body, imprisoning her under him and she felt his arousal, thick and hot against her thigh. The messages to her brain had nothing to do with vanity now.

  How long before this wanes? she wondered, running her hands over his long, broad back and thickly-muscled arms? With one look, like the flick of a switch, he turned her on instantly. Her body responded, quickening, moistening. Would the time come soon when they could look at each other and resist succumbing to the most urgent and primitive desire?

  Nick’s hand slid under the small of her back, lifting and angling her hips, then bent and sipped at the corners of her mouth. She kissed back and decided to enjoy it while it lasted. “While we can both still walk,” she murmured against his chin. He pulled back an inch, his eyes questioning. In response, she hugged him tighter, welcoming his advance, his slow, slick invasion. Welcoming him home.

  An hour later, she was in the galley making coffee when she heard strange noises outside. Peeking out the porthole window, she saw her runaway sitting on the wooden jetty, hugging her knees to her chest and sniffing loudly.

  “Letitia!” Jor
dan rushed out and sank down beside her. The poor girl sobbed with relief, nearly hysterical with nerves and cold. She wore scruffy dungarees, sneakers with no socks and only a thin hoodie.

  Nick responded to her calls and they helped the teen aboard and wrapped her up in a duvet. It may have been late spring, but the sun hadn’t made it over the valley yet and the air was crisp and cool. Nick set about making breakfast while Jordan sat with the girl, rubbing her frozen hands between hers.

  Letitia had sneaked under the tarpaulin of a utility as it boarded the inter-island ferry in Wellington. She then walked from Picton to Anakiwa and linked up with the Queen Charlotte Track to get here, which had taken “at least a whole day.” She’d eaten the biscuits and made cups of black tea from the provisions the Working Bee left in the old lodge kitchen. But the cold was her enemy.

  “There was nothing to sleep in, not even any old curtains.”

  The Working Bee had disposed of all the moldy old drapes that had hung in the lodge for decades.

  When Nick and Jordan docked, the girl hid, determined not to be discovered, but another night alone in the cold had changed her mind.

  “Why didn’t you answer our calls? You must have heard us.” It occurred to Jordan that while she and Nick were making love here on the boat last night, this poor girl was frozen and alone. “You should have come to the jetty and called me.”

  Letitia wolfed down eggs and toast like she hadn’t eaten in a week. Then Jordan tucked her up in the bed in the second cabin. “Poor kid,” she said to Nick as they prepared to set off back to Wellington. “She just wants some attention. She’s the youngest of six. Her older brothers are in and out of jail and her sister has leukemia. Her parents spend all their time either at the hospital or bailing the boys out. No one has time for Letitia.”