by Lora Leigh
She was unclipping the bra, when a tense silence suddenly enveloped the room.
Jaci kept her smile hidden and her eyes on the little clip of the bra between her breasts. She released it slowly, then peeled the cups away from her breasts before dropping the silken lace to the floor.
She had their attention. It was complete, undivided, two sets of male eyes trained on her, devouring her.
She ran her hands up her midriff, then cupped the mounds, her fingers running over her stiff nipples, before she lifted her head and stared back at them, allowing the lust, desire, and the pure love she felt for Cam to show on her face.
They were bruised and bloody—and jerking their boots off.
She lowered her hands, smoothing them over her flesh, down to the band of her panties, where she hooked her fingers beneath the elastic and lace and drew them slowly down her thighs.
She kicked them off as boots thumped to the floor and their hands went to the snaps of their jeans.
Blood smeared their faces. Cam had a cut on his shoulder, Chase's chest was smeared with blood. They looked like warriors—like bad boys looking for trouble; and the effects of that fight had her blood pumping and hunger pouring through her veins.
Conquerors. They could consider this fight a draw, and to the victor goes—well, Jaci. Two victors and the fantasy of a lifetime.
"Would you like to shower first?"
Cam stalked toward her.
"Hmm. Maybe not." Breathing was becoming difficult.
They weren't focused on beating the hell out of each other anymore, they were now focused on her. All that testosterone and need for action swirled in the air around her and left her panting at the knowledge of what could be coming. She could see it in Cam's eyes, this wouldn't be a ménage. In Chase's eyes, she saw the knowledge of that, as he began to move to the stairs. And perhaps there was even a tinge of regret mixed with relief.
"I can't believe you did that." Cam wasn't thinking now, she could feel it. Testosterone filled the air, lust oozed from his pores, as he jerked her into his arms and, rather than moving for the couch, headed for the bedroom.
When he tossed her to the bed, she didn't have time to bounce before he was tearing his clothes off.
Within seconds he was covering her, pushing her legs apart, and filling her.
Alone. Staring into her eyes, the bleak shadows that had once filled his gaze had eased, and now, desperate hunger filled his eyes. Emotion. Satisfaction and lust.
"I love you," she whispered, framing his face with her hands and staring up at him as she felt his cock flex inside her. "With everything I am, Cameron Falladay, I love you."
He grimaced, and when he would have buried his head against her shoulder, she pushed him back.
"Watch me," she almost sobbed, "like I watch you. Every second, every emotion. Just like this Cam. Just us."
"Just us," he groaned, moving against her slowly, his cock easing out, then working inside her—filling her, stretching her, taking more than just the lust that rose between them.
"You're always a part of me," she moaned, staring into his eyes, feeling that emotion storming through him, seeing it as his expression tightened, his eyes darkened.
"You've always been a part of me," he told her then, his strokes increasing, pleasure blooming, tightening, taking them higher now, than they had gone before.
The wicked eroticism of the ménages was nice, but this, this deep intensity, the feel of him touching her, hands stroking her . . . his head lowered, his lips engulfing hers, his gaze slumberous, heavy-lidded, as he held hers. This was what it was meant to be. This was what she needed.
Each stroke became harder, faster, until he lifted her legs, pushed them back, and drove into her. And still he watched her. And she held onto him.
"I love you." His face contorted as she felt herself tightening, felt her release nearing. "Always, Jaci.
Always fucking loved you."
Harder, deeper, flying inside her, until Jaci felt not just the physical eruptions of release tear through her, but the emotional. As though their souls had merged. As though they had been drawn inside each other even more firmly than before.
Cam drove into her repeatedly, groaning her name, repeating it like a talisman, until, with one last, hard stroke, he buried full length into the gripping depths of her body and filled her with himself. His seed shot inside her, but his eyes never left hers, and she saw the brief moistening of his gaze, the emotion that ripped through them.
In his arms, she would always be safe. But in hers, so would he be.
And when it was over, when the last shudders echoed through her, he didn't move from the bed, he didn't leave her to go to the couch. He pulled her into his arms, tugged the blanket around them, and, exhausted, he held her until his eyes closed, hers closed, and they slept together.
28
Cam was asleep in the bed, curled around her, his heavy breathing at her ear, his heart beating against her back. The sun was just peeking through the shades pulled over the tall, wide window behind the bed.
Spears of light washed over the room. And Cam had slept with her.
She turned her head slowly to stare at him. In sleep, his features were more relaxed, but still tough and hard.
Smiling, she eased from the bed, holding back a wince at the soreness between her thighs. He hadn't taken her just once through the night, but several times. As she paused at the side of the bed, she turned back to stare at him, love welling inside her, dampening her eyes, and it had her thanking God that she had found him again.
He was arrogant and demanding, dominant and so certain of his own decisions that she was sure there would be times he would make her completely insane.
But he was hers.
Pulling on her robe, she belted it tight, determined not to awaken him. If there was one thing she knew, it was that Cam didn't always sleep well. There wasn't a chance she was waking him up.
Moving quietly from the bedroom, she went to the bathroom, showered and brushed her teeth in record time, then, pulling one of Cam's T-shirts from the walk-in closet, she padded back into the main room.
She was almost to the kitchen island when she saw Chase. He was sitting on the couch silently, dressed only in jeans, his head bent, his hands covering his face.
His shoulders were scratched, his hair mussed, and he looked like a man ready to break from the weight on his shoulders.
She moved silently around the couch, her gaze catching on the whisky that still sat on the table, directly in front of Chase.
His hands lowered from his face and he stared at the bottle as well.
"He's not drank straight whisky since he was eighteen years old," Chase said. "And I've not had a brother since he was fifteen."
Jaci eased herself down on the end of the couch.
"He was always your brother," she said, keeping her voice quiet. "He's just Cam. You have to accept that, Chase. He thinks he has to protect all of us."
He breathed out roughly. "I'd have killed her if I'd known."
Yes, he would have. And they would have both paid for it in ways she knew Cam couldn't accept.
"He would have known that," she whispered.
Chase wiped his hand tiredly over the rasp of an overnight beard and breathed out. The sound was rough and heavy with grief.
"It was my job to protect him."
Jaci shook her head. "You would have done the same thing, Chase. You would have protected him and your pride with the same ferocity. Don't take away from the sacrifices he made. He survived. He made a man's choices when he was no more than a boy, and I won't take that from him. I won't let you take it away from him, either."
"She almost killed him." His voice was hoarse with the tears she knew he wouldn't shed here. "She did kill a part of him."
"Chase, he survived," she repeated. "He's strong and he's honorable. He's your brother and my lover, and he would die for either of us. Do yo
u know how very lucky we are to have him? Just the way he is?"
She knew. She had known men who had charmed lives. Men who had never suffered, never known pain, and they were nowhere near as decent and honorable as her Cam.
Chase's shoulders hunched as he propped his elbow on his knee, his chin in his hand, and stared at the whisky bottle again.
"I want a drink so bad I can taste it." He sighed. "I have a rule. Never before evening. I have it for a reason."
She moved a little closer to him, feeling her heart break for him. She knew he had that rule for a reason.
Because for Cam and Chase both, whisky had been a crutch at far too young an age.
"I killed Moriah," he said then. "Sweet Moriah." A bitter laugh left his lips. "God, she had us all fooled, didn't she?"
And she had broken Chase's heart with the decision he'd had to make.
"There was nothing else you could have done. She would have killed Cam, and he would have let her, Chase. He wouldn't have pulled that trigger, because that gun wasn't aimed at you or me. And you cared for her. He knew that."
"Yeah," he said softly. "I cared for her."
And she couldn't help herself. She moved closer to him, put her head on his shoulder, and wrapped her arms around him. After a brief start of surprise, his arms came around her and his hard body shuddered as he buried his head in her neck.
He sat there with her for long moments, rocking her, perhaps because he couldn't rock himself.
Finally, his hold loosened and he set her away from him, his fingers touching her cheek gently before he breathed in heavily.
"Cam slept in the bed," he said then, his voice ragged.
She let a smile tug at her lips. "Yeah, Cam slept in the bed."
He nodded, the movement slow and heavy, before rising to his feet. "I'm going to go shower. I have to wrap this up, meet with Ian and the Brockheims." He shook his head. "Son of a bitch, I hope this day ends soon."
She watched as he moved from the couch to the stairs. He didn't look back, but he didn't have to. She could see the sadness, the sorrow inside him, and she ached because of it.
Cam and Chase. They were so strong, so decent, and parts of them were scarred forever because of the actions of others.
Shaking her head, she turned and moved back to the bedroom, back to her lover. He was sleeping in that big bed without her, and she needed to be with him.
As she turned into the room, she saw that he wasn't asleep at all.
His large body was sprawled out in the center of the bed, the sheet covering nothing but his hips as his powerful arms were folded beneath his head, and he stared up at the ceiling with a frown.
Jaci pulled the T-shirt off and crawled onto the bed, folding her legs to the side as she leaned against his chest, their eyes meeting.
"The bed's comfortable." His voice was soft, reflective.
"It's more comfortable with you in it," she admitted, watching him close, seeing the sadness in his eyes.
"Chase is hurting." He sighed.
"Chase is going to be okay."
He nodded at that, then turned his head to her, one arm moving from beneath his head to touch her cheek with his hand.
"You didn't get the roses and the candlelight," he said. His voice was regretful, but his eyes were filling with love.
That love swelled inside her. Her Cam. Her warrior. She had him right here where she needed him, and she wasn't letting him go.
"I got better." She smiled. "I got my man."
His fingers threaded into her hair, clenched and tugged until her lips touched his and he smiled. A sexy, wicked smile that tugged at her heart and at her womb.
"You always had the man," he growled, before twisting and pushing her to her back, rising over her, surrounding her with warmth, his gaze sinking into hers, filling her with his love. "Sweet Jaci, don't you know, you always had that man."
Image
Image
Document Outline
Local Disk file:///C|/Users/Heidi%20Sasser/Desktop/Incoming/Lora%20Leigh%20-%20[Bound%20Hearts%2009]%20-%20Wicked%20Pleasures.html
Only Pleasure
By
Lora Leigh
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
Also by Lora Leigh
Dangerous Games
Hidden Agendas
Killer Secrets
Forbidden Pleasure
Wicked Pleasure
Anthologies
Real Men Do It Better
Honk If You Love Real Men
Only Pleasure
Copyright © 2008 by Lora Leigh Inc.
Only pleasure / Lora Leigh.—1st ed.
ISBN-13: 978-0-312-36873-9
ISBN-10: 0-312-36873-9
Natalie, there aren't enough words to thank you for the hours you put in reading,
discussing, and listening to me moan and groan. Thank you.
And to my very patient editor, Monique. Thanks.
Prologue
Kia Rutherford-Stanton opened the door to her penthouse suite and stared at the man on the other side. Dressed in dark slacks and a gray dress shirt, he appeared far more dangerous than the clothing and the handsome, quiet features would suggest.
Thick black hair was pulled back from the honed, strong features of his face and secured at his nape. He looked wicked, forbidden, and dangerous. And, unfortunately, he was the very man she had hoped wouldn't be knocking at her door despite the fantasies she'd often had of him in the past.
She knew him. Everyone knew who Chase Falladay was, and those who didn't soon learned.
According to her bastard husband, he was also the one man she didn't want standing on her doorstep.
As though she should be frightened of him. Perhaps that was her mistake. It was never fear that filled her whenever she was around Chase. Wariness at times. Uncertainty. And since her marriage, an awareness that she shouldn't be anywhere near him.
But fear had never been one of those emotions.
"What do you want?" She wondered if the bruises on her face were still apparent. She didn't think so. She'd spent forever on her make
up that morning.
It seemed her husband, Carl "Drew" Stanton, hadn't been pleased when he found out that his wife had no intentions of taking him back, or of retracting the information spilling through their social set that he had not only attempted to rape her along with another man, but that he and that man were part of a club created for just such morally questionable acts.
As though she wanted that to get out. As though it didn't humiliate her as much as it did him.
That didn't mean she had to do anything to help him. And the backhanded blow he had given her in response had strengthened her resolve that she didn't care if he fried in society. She could weather any gossip because, frankly, she didn't give a damn.