by JoAnn Ross
A mental image of Roxi Dupree, naked, his discarded tie lashing her ankles to the legs of the chair, holding her legs open for him as he knelt on the stone floor, painting those smooth, taut thighs with his tongue, lapping up the warm cream flowing from her cunt, taking her engorged clit between his teeth…
“What?” she asked when she opened her eyes again and found him staring at her.
In his unbidden fantasy, she’d been writhing against his mouth, her screams bouncing off the stones.
“Nothing.”
He hadn’t creamed his jeans since he’d been sixteen and Danielle Davenport had dry-humped him in the backseat of his Dodge Charger one steamy summer day they’d been parked out on Tybee Island. But he’d just come damn close to a repeat performance without this woman so much as laying a hand on him.
“You were telling me about after your grandmother died,” he reminded her.
She gave him a look that let him know he wasn’t getting away with anything. Then shrugged her bare shoulders.
“I didn’t want to turn the people down, so I dragged out all my grandmother’s shadow books—they’re sort of like a witch’s cookbook—learned the ones she’d been doing for her clients, then started blending up her recipes for the various lotions and oils, which fit in nicely with the spa concept.”
“But you don’t have the spa anymore?”
“No. Katrina did it in. As Margaret Mitchell might say, it went with the wind.” She took another bite. “Oh God. This is so amazingly delicious.”
He’d never before realized that the ordinary act of swallowing could be so fucking sexy. “Randolph, the chef here, has always had a deft hand with seafood.”
She cut off a piece and held it out to him. “You have to try it.”
She might as well have been Eve, holding out that shiny red apple. Like Adam, Sloan found himself unable to resist temptation.
“May as well. Given that you’ve already got me eating out of your hand. But I gotta tell you, sugar, pan-fried crab is sure as hell not what I’m hungry for.”
He curved his fingers around her wrist and, with his eyes on hers, he closed his mouth over the fork’s tines.
Watching her closely as he was, he didn’t miss the way her eyes darkened at the movement in his throat as he swallowed. Beneath his thumb her pulse had trebled its beat.
“Good,” he decided. He kissed her knuckles. “As far as appetizers go.” He trailed his fingers up her arm, allowing the back of his hand to brush against the side of her breast. “Makes me anticipate dessert all the more.”
She licked her lips, which had his mutinous penis leaping in response. “I hear the key lime pie’s to die for.”
“It’s good, sure enough. But tonight I seem to be craving something sweeter.” His caressing touch slid over her shoulder. “Smoother.” Lower, to skim along the crest of her breasts. “Warmer.”
Her nipples were pressing against the black silk. “Maybe topped with some nice, ripe berries,” he decided.
She pleased him by laughing at that admittedly over the top sexual metaphor. He was less pleased when she lightly slapped his hand away.
“You are so bad.”
“Sweetheart, you’ve no idea.” He cupped the back of her neck. “But you’re about to find out.”
Encouraged when she didn’t back away, Sloan gave her the warm, seductive smile that had always been one of the most devastating weapons in his arsenal.
Then lowered his head.
Chapter Eight
Roxi was not inexperienced. She’d been kissed hundreds of times before. Thousands. But never had the mere touch of a man’s lips against hers caused her world to tilt on its axis.
Amazingly, it was just like she’d dreamed. His mouth was firm and hot and outrageously clever, just skimming her lips, drawing forth a ragged sigh, before moving on.
His warm breath fanned her cheek. Her temple. Her other cheek.
“Sloan.” Her voice sounded far away, as if it were coming from the bottom of the sea.
“What, sugar?” He nipped at her bottom lip, just hard enough to make her shiver.
“Kiss me.”
“I am.” He soothed the tender flesh with the tip of his tongue. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been wanting to do this?”
“All of thirty minutes?” She realized she’d totally lost track of the time since arriving at the restaurant.
“Longer than that.”
“An hour, then.” Her breath was clogging in her lungs. Which was ridiculous, since he hadn’t even properly kissed her yet.
“Longer.” His tongue slid silkily between her parted lips, tangling with hers, engaging it in a slow, sensual dance.
“That’s impossible.”
“Nothing’s impossible.” His mouth skimmed down her throat, across her collarbone. At the same time his hand glided tantalizingly up her leg. “When you’re talking about magic.”
Her skin felt hot. Her dress, suddenly too confining.
“I fell in love with Morganna back when I was in film school at USC,” he said conversationally as his fingers traced seductive figure eights on the inside of her thigh.
“If I’d known she actually existed, I would’ve dropped out and hightailed it down to Louisiana and proposed.”
“It would’ve been a wasted trip,” she managed in a ragged voice choked with need. How did he do it? His stroking touch was making her nipples ache and her clit pulse, yet he was chatting away as if they were having an ordinary dinner date conversation.
“You sure of that, are you?” His Georgia drawl had thickened to that of whiskey-drenched bread pudding. Roxi could’ve eaten him up with a spoon.
She closed her legs, capturing that roving hand between them. “As sure as I’m sitting here talking with you.”
Trying to talk when what she wanted to do was strip off her dress, and climb into his lap, and have him take her aching breasts in his mouth and…
“Not that I’d want to go braggin’ on myself or anything,” he was saying as a red haze shimmered over her mind and her blood boiled and thickened in her veins. “But I’ve been told that I can be irresistibly charming.” Those treacherous fingers crept higher. “When I put my mind to it.”
“I’ve not a single doubt of that.” She gasped when he pinched the flesh at the inside of her thigh, hard enough to leave a bruise.
At the same time her body arched toward his wicked hand.
Wanting.
No, dammit, needing more.
“But back when you were sitting around your dorm room, lusting after a comic book witch, I was a mere girl of fifteen.”
A virgin who, despite all those erotic novels she’d hidden beneath her mattress, had no earthly idea that someday she’d actually meet a man who could have her on the verge of orgasm with such a tantalizing, feathery touch.
“And since even down in the swamp we girls didn’t marry at fifteen, Daddy and Maman never would’ve allowed me to accept your proposal.”
“Fifteen might have been a bit young,” he allowed. “Though I’ll bet you were hot even back then.”
She nearly screamed when his hand, mere inches from her clit, which had begun to burn with need, reversed direction.
“Fortunately for us,” he continued, “that six-year age gap doesn’t make a difference anymore.”
His fingers were now massaging the back of her knee, which she’d never realized was an erogenous zone.
Roxi heard a ragged whimper, only to belatedly realize that it’d been ripped from between her own suddenly parched lips.
She drew in a breath to steady her breathing. “I think it’s that time of the evening where we set some ground rules.”
He leaned forward again. Touched his mouth to hers. “I’ve never been all that fond of rules.”
“Neither am I.” The kiss was light. Almost tender. But it still had her lips tingling. Along with the rest of her. “But they do help keep things civilized.”
“That may be
. But I have to tell you, sugar, I’m not feeling all that civilized right now.”
He was looking at her as if he’d like strip her naked, drag her off to his cave, and ravish her. Once again she considered how cavelike this cellar actually was.
She wondered if that thought had occurred to him when he’d made the reservation. Wondered if he realized that if he actually dared to try to take her right here, right now, she’d help him.
“There’s something you need to know before this goes any further.”
He lifted a dark brow. His hand, which had been moving back up her leg, paused.
“I’m not in the market for marriage,” she said.
A smile quirked. Wicked laughter sparkled in his green eyes like sunshine on a tropical lagoon. “I believe that’s my line.”
“It may be.” She sighed prettily. “But believe me, cher, I’ve heard those words before. Yet, invariably things between a man and a woman get complicated. Especially once sex gets added into the mix.”
“Are you telling me you’re not in the market for sex, either?”
She tilted her head. Studied him. It would be a little hard to claim that now. Without seeming like the world’s worst pricktease, but she had to ask. “Would if make a difference if I wasn’t?”
“Like you said, sex always makes a difference.”
He retrieved his hand, took a long drink of water, and eyed her thoughtfully over the rim of the crystal goblet.
“But I’ve moved beyond thinking with my glands. At least I thought I had until you climbed out of that limo. You are the most stunning woman I’ve seen in I don’t know how long, you smell fabulous, and”—his appraising gaze skimmed over her—“until you decided to have this rules discussion, I was about ten seconds away from biting your thigh. And that was just for starters.
“But even if we back away from what we’re both feeling, I’d honestly like to hear your take on Morganna. Maybe get some background on this witch business you’ve got going.”
“Hex Appeal.”
“That’s it.” When he smiled again, she had to restrain herself from nipping at his square, manly chin.
“The thing is,” she said, trying to keep her mind on what she needed to say, “as much as I like you, cher, inevitably relationships get fucked up.”
“Maybe you’ve just gotten involved with the wrong men.”
“That’s been true enough. On occasion.”
God, could she screw things up any more? She’d come here tonight prepared to go to bed with him. There was nothing wrong, to her mind, about wanting to scratch an itch without having to deal with the time and energy of a committed relationship. So why in hell was she insisting on talking it to death when what they should be doing was fucking each other’s brains out?
“But it wouldn’t matter if you were Prince Charming in the flesh and the sex between us was gold medal, world class—”
“Which it’s going to be,” he promised with sublime self-confidence.
She couldn’t argue that. The sexual vibrations between them were so strong she was surprised this entire building wasn’t in meltdown.
“All the more reason to agree to call a halt afterward. Before we get to that pissed-off point.”
“So, are you saying you’re only into one-night stands?”
“Of course not. I mean, I’ve nothing against them, and they can certainly be pleasant—”
“If we end tonight with you even thinking the word pleasant, I sure as hell won’t have done my job.”
She felt herself shudder. Knew he’d seen the involuntary response by the satisfied gleam in his gaze.
“What I meant,” she said, as his hands cupped her breasts and began plumping her nipples, “was I believe they can be…very…oh God…empowering.”
“You know, I’d applaud that idea.” He tugged the dress down, exposing the black lace bustier she’d bought this morning with him in mind. “But my hands just happen to be a little busy at the moment.”
As if to back up his words, he caught one erect nipple between his thumb and index finger and squeezed. Hard. She gasped at the stab of pain/pleasure, but rather than back away from the stinging touch, she arched her back, inviting more.
Much, much more.
“The waiter,” she remembered reluctantly.
“Isn’t going to come down here unless I call him.” He bent his head and soothed the tingling flesh with his tongue.
Her hands felt inordinately heavy as they lifted to comb through his hair. “You planned this.” Her head fell back. “All along.”
Roxi wondered if Emma had known about Sloan’s intentions.
“Let’s just say I was hopeful.” He drew the nipple into his mouth with a deep, wet suction that caused her pulse to beat painfully in that hot and liquid place between her thighs. “I’m also going to tell you, darlin’, that female empowerment aside, one night with your sweet body isn’t going to be nearly enough.”
She had the same feeling. “That’s why I have my three-date rule,” she gasped as his teeth closed down on the flesh his tongue had tormented.
His breath was a hot breeze against her breast as he sighed. And drew his head back.
“I’m getting the feeling this isn’t about that witchy Rule of Three that states three times what thou givest returns to thee.”
She was surprised he knew about that, then remembered she was here tonight because he really had read the Morganna books. “No, not that one.” Though she not only believed it, but practiced it.
“Nor the usual female one about putting off sex until the third date.”
He was now openly frustrated. Roxi suspected he wasn’t accustomed to a woman setting the rules. Especially when it came to sex.
“Actually, it’s just the opposite. I never go out with a man after the third date.”
“Seems that would be a bit limiting.”
“Perhaps.” And one problem she was just discovering was that she couldn’t imagine wanting any limits where Sloan Hawthorne was concerned. “But the problem is that after three dates it’s possible that someone’s going to start feeling something—”
“I’m feeling something already.” He leaned back in the wooden chair and spread his legs, revealing the thick weight of his erection thrusting against the zippered placket of his slacks.
“Come here.” His patted his knee, his green eyes glittering with a masculine sexual challenge.
Chapter Nine
Roxi lifted her chin. “I’m not a dog you can call whenever you want attention.”
A rough, harsh laugh burst out of him. “Sweetheart, that’s one word that no one would ever use to describe you. But, you know, now that you mention it, tonight you’re going to play my sweet, obedient pet.”
“You make it sound as if I have nothing to say about it.”
“So far, you’ve been setting all the rules,” he reminded her mildly. “But here’s one from my side of the negotiating table. If we’re only going to have three fuck dates, tonight’s will be on my terms.” His penetrating gaze narrowed, burning into hers. “My rules.”
She’d never been into submission. Which was, she admitted, why she’d also chosen men who were more willing to be led. Men who were, well, malleable. Controllable.
There was nothing the least bit malleable about Sloan Hawthorne. On the contrary, he was suddenly revealing a dark and dangerous side Roxi reluctantly found wickedly exciting.
“So much for Southern charm,” she murmured.
He rubbed his jaw. “Now see, it’s the accent that throws people off. Some people hear my Georgia drawl and mistakenly believe I’m a pushover.
“If you’re looking to hook up with some mealymouthed, sweet-talkin’, roll over and pee on himself Ashley Wilkes type, you’ve got the wrong fucking man.”
The drawl hardened, like steel wrapped in black velvet. “But if you’re lookin’ to explore the dark side of your dreams, well, I’m your man.”
Her body responded to that sugg
estion, becoming more aroused, even as she struggled to maintain some vestige of control.
“What makes you think I’ve been even having that sort of dream?”
“Of course you have,” he said with an arrogance that would have annoyed her had it been any other man. “Same as I have.”
“Emma didn’t mention you were psychic.”
“I’ve never claimed to be. But something happened when you got out of that car tonight. I recognized you, same as you recognized me. We’ve already done it in our sleep. Lots of times and lots of ways. Seems we may as well see what it feels like with our eyes wide open…
“I’m going to take you, sugar. I’m going to make you beg. And then I’m going to make you scream. And you’re going to love it.
“Now.” He patted his thighs again. “Come here.”
His words—his dark and erotic threats—had her drenched. Telling herself that she really wasn’t giving in, that it wasn’t really surrender if she ended up getting what she wanted—a mind-blowing orgasm—she stood up and started to straddle his thighs.
He shifted her so she was sitting sideways on his lap, her legs dangling over his. “You put that sweet hot pussy against my groin right now and there’s no way I’m going to be able to control myself.”
He cradled her head against his shoulder and slid his hand beneath her skirt. Since he’d been gentle with her so far, she sucked in a harsh breath as his short square nails scraped a stinging path up the inside of her thighs.
“You like that?”
“Yes.” It was half sigh, half moan.
“It’s just the beginning.” He rubbed a fingertip against the crotch of her silk panties. “You’re wet.” His exploring touch slipped beneath the elastic band. “And hot.” He combed his fingers through the triangle of curls as if he owned them. “Is that for me, sugar?”
She flinched as that treacherous touch brushed against her clit. “What do you think?”
“I think you’re the most responsive woman I’ve ever met. Even more than I’d imagined.”