by Lisa Plumley
“Third,” she demanded impatiently, “make love to me!”
“Any time.” Damon smiled. He stroked her cheek. “Anywhere.” He paused. “But you seem a little tipsy, and I—” I want to stop being an inconsiderate jerk and become a good man. For you.
Before he could tell her that—before he could do so much as take a breath and organize his thoughts—Natasha did it for him.
“Right now,” she clarified with a nod. “Right here.”
To emphasize her point, Natasha rubbed herself against him, full-body style. She clapped her arms around him, then gave his ass a lusty squeeze. “Maybe you’re confused,” she said, nuzzling his jaw. “If you won’t undress me, I’ll have to undress you.”
Her fingers grappled with his drawstring pants. Drunkenly, Natasha weaved sideways, squinting at the knot he’d tied. Damon closed his eyes, trying to resist a powerful urge to help her undress him.
The old selfish him would have taken advantage of Natasha, Damon knew, regardless of her drunken state. The old live-for-the-moment him wouldn’t have hesitated for a nanosecond.
Now, Damon was hesitating. It wasn’t that Natasha wasn’t willing. She was. It wasn’t that he wasn’t willing. He was! He could barely think straight because so much blood had rushed to his groin, ably proving his readiness. It wasn’t that Damon hadn’t yet double-checked to make sure Milo was fast asleep.
Because he had. Milo was.
The coast couldn’t have been more clear.
But Damon was trying to behave, he reminded himself. He was trying to be good. He was trying, for once, to do the right thing where Natasha was concerned. But all at once, Damon wasn’t sure what the right thing was. Love her? Leave her alone? Make her a sandwich? Now more than ever, he wasn’t at all lucid.
“I’ll have to undress you!” Natasha repeated with over-the-top, bawdy zeal. “Just as soon as I figure out this weird zipper.” She frowned at his drawstring ties. “Unzip, damn it!”
Her command was about as effective at undressing him as Damon’s glower had been at breaking her flimsy strap.
With a gentle smile, Damon took her hand. “You should probably wait until later to make me your love slave,” he said. “Because right now, you seem a little intoxicated.”
“No, I’m doing it tonight,” Natasha insisted. “Anyway, you’re already my love slave.” She sounded proud of that. “You already did the first thing I asked.” Teasingly, Natasha walked her fingers up Damon’s chest. She stroked him there. “You kissed me. It’s only a matter of time before you do everything I want.”
“Nope.” Damon felt committed. This was important. Natasha was important. Starting off on the right foot was important. He could wait until she was a little less likely to forget the whole incredible experience. He hauled in a fortifying breath. “Not tonight. Tonight, I’m putting you straight to bed.”
“But that’s what I want you to do!” Wavering in his arms, Natasha beamed at him in overt, tipsy triumph. “See? I’m in control of you now. I’m excellent at being in charge.”
“Of me? Sure,” Damon said agreeably. He steered her down the hall toward her bedroom. There, he switched on a lamp. Inside, her bedroom was comfy and serene, decorated in shades of sky and sand. Entering it felt good, like being hugged by Natasha. Damon urged her inside. “Here we go.”
Cooperatively, she followed him in. She closed the door.
He’d done it, Damon realized as he heard the bedroom door click shut behind them. He’d beaten back his own egocentric impulses and put Natasha’s needs first, for once. Maybe, he told himself, this was merely the beginning of many more giving, grown-up, responsible, and compassionate victories.
Or not. Because, unfortunately, that was the moment Natasha unveiled her secret weapon—the one thing Damon couldn’t possibly resist … even if he was doing his best to rehabilitate himself.
And he was doing his best to rehabilitate himself. In fact, Damon still couldn’t believe he’d behaved so honorably toward Natasha so far. He felt pretty impressed with his conduct in that regard. She had, after all, been amazingly tempting.
He probably deserved a medal or something. But he wasn’t going to get one. Because what Damon wasn’t prepared for—what he couldn’t ever have been prepared for—was Natasha turning to him, dropping her robe, and pleasantly saying, “That’s all right. I didn’t want to sleep with you anyway. Good night, Damon.”
Chapter 20
As lies went, it was a pretty big whopper—much bigger than Natasha’s initial fib that had let Damon believe she was still married.
I didn’t want to sleep with you anyway. Good night, Damon.
It was almost worth saying it just to see the stunned expression on Damon’s face. Reveling in that—and in the way he looked at her nearly undressed body, too—Natasha realized for the first time that maybe, maybe, Damon was right.
Maybe she was too drunk for this.
Her irrational glee at his gob-smacked expression hinted at that. So did the unsteady way she kicked away her dropped robe, then flounced across her bedroom in her silky chemise, knowing full well that Damon’s gaze was on her the whole time.
Maybe she ought to be more careful, Natasha thought. Maybe she ought to think twice before she continued taunting Damon.
But thinking twice about things was what she’d hoped to avoid by knocking back twice as much Guinness as usual. Her tendency toward being careful was what she’d been trying to obliterate all day long, beginning with her spontaneous picnic and roller coaster ride and ending with … this moment, right now.
So Natasha only brazened right on with another page from Damon’s never-fail playboy playbook. She looked him in the eyes and blew him a naughty kiss. Try to resist me now, she thought.
Damon frowned. He put his hands on his hips, making his lightweight pants dip dangerously low. He stared in amazement at her. “You don’t want to sleep with me.”
“Nope.” Natasha waved. “I don’t think you could handle it.”
His eyes narrowed. “Oh, I can handle it.”
“I think all that intimacy and closeness would be too much for you.” Slowly, she ran her hand along her hip to her waist and then higher, barely skimming the outer curve of her breast. She stopped with her hand resting on her collarbone, then gave Damon a sultry look. “I think I would be too much for you.”
“I think I would be too much for you.” Damon crossed his arms, flexing his biceps. “I think you know what I mean.”
“You mean you have an enormous penis.” At the thought of that, Natasha felt herself actually pulsing with heat and enthusiasm. Her breath sped up; probably her face was flushed, too. All the same, she made herself offer another offhanded wave. “That’s the legend, at least. I think you’re bluffing.”
“I’m not bluffing.”
“I’ve seen you naked, remember? I don’t recall—”
“You weren’t looking.” Damon’s gaze traveled over her skimpily clad body, letting Natasha know he was looking right now. At her. And liking what he saw. “You were being respectful and responsible. As usual. But tonight …” He lifted his gaze to her face. “Tonight, you’re different. You’re daring.”
She had been daring, Natasha realized. All day. But this was the crucial moment. She and Damon were alone in her bedroom. Milo was asleep. Everything was quiet. A whole night stretched before them, potentially filled with … well, if she was lucky, with her seductive plans to make Damon Torrance beg. For her.
“Unless,” Damon went on, “you’re the one who’s bluffing.”
“Me? I’m not bluffing.” Technically, Natasha knew, she was. She still had the safety net of her supposed marriage to bail her out, if she wanted. “I’m the one who’s willing to take a risk. I’m the one who has something to lose by being with you.”
She meant her heart. She stood to lose her heart if she went too far with Damon. But in hindsight, Natasha realized her statement could easily be misinterpreted as an allusion to her supposed
ly intact marriage. If that’s what Damon thought she’d meant—and he probably did—he didn’t even blink. Uh-oh.
She guessed she should have expected that, Natasha realized too late. Damon was notoriously bad. Maybe he wasn’t as wedded to his principles—or to his philosophies—as she’d thought.
For the first time, she began to feel a little wary.
“Carol told me that this might happen with you—that you might find it hard to quit getting what you wanted, when you wanted it. She also told me a few things about Paul.” Damon gave her an enigmatic look. “Just for the record … all you have to lose by being with me is your history of never being really satisfied.”
For a second, Natasha wondered if Damon somehow knew about her divorce. Had her former mother-in-law shared that piece of information, along with her tell-all about Natasha’s artwork?
But then Natasha belatedly caught up with the rest of what Damon had said—all you have to lose by being with me is your history of never being really satisfied—and she forgot to be concerned. Instead, unwisely, Natasha felt intrigued.
“Wow. That’s kind of arrogant, isn’t it? No wonder you have such a reputation for—” For being incredible in bed. Whoops. That only proved his point. Feeling flustered, Natasha tried again. She smiled. “What makes you think I’ve never really been satisfied, anyway?” she asked. “For all you know, I have smoking hot sex every night of the week! For all you know, I—”
Damon smiled too. “Have you?”
“Have I ever been really satisfied?”
Wearing a fascinated expression, Damon nodded.
“Well, that’s—” Natasha tried to think. Despairingly, she gave up the effort. “I’m not sure. But that doesn’t mean—”
“If you’re not sure, then you haven’t been. Believe me.”
“Oh. Well. Why don’t you come over here and say that?”
As a rejoinder, it was about as witty as anything else heard on a grade-school playground. She was losing her grip.
She was also, it occurred to her, losing a little of her buzz. She was beginning to feel the real danger involved here.
It was a good thing, Natasha decided, that Damon had already pledged not to sleep with her tonight. Otherwise, she couldn’t possibly have kept on teasing him so audaciously.
When she glanced up, Damon was near enough to touch.
“If you’re not sure,” he said again as he stood there, shirtless, just an arm’s length away, “then you haven’t been. Believe me.”
He was doing it. He was literally coming over there, as she’d demanded, and saying that. If he hadn’t looked so completely charming and compelling and hot while he did it, Natasha might have been annoyed. Instead, she felt captivated.
“Very funny.” She was dying to touch him. But her so-called seduction wasn’t exactly going as planned, and she wasn’t sure what to do next. Going with the flow probably wasn’t it. She’d only lose her head and all her inhibitions. “If I’d known you were mine to command,” she mused, “I would have come up with something a lot more interesting for you to do than talk.”
“Really?” Damon seemed intrigued. “Go ahead. I’m game.”
“All right.” Now this was more like what Natasha had envisioned a little while ago, when she’d been all soapy and tipsy and hot and wet in her bath. Experimentally, she angled her head to the side, then said, “Take off your pants.”
Just as he’d done when standing on her doorstep, Damon didn’t hesitate. Instead, he yanked free his drawstring waist tie with a single hasty movement, then hooked both thumbs in his pants waistband. Slowly, he pulled. Natasha glimpsed bare skin, the interesting amalgamation of bone and muscle at his hip, the tantalizing whorl of dark hair leading from his navel to his pelvis, where, breathlessly, Natasha could almost glimpse …
“No, wait!” she commanded at the last second. Her heartbeat hammered in her chest, letting her know exactly how risky this was. If she lost the upper hand with Damon … “I have a better idea.” She lifted her gaze to his face. “Lie down on the bed.”
He seemed disappointed. “I can do that naked.”
Her thighs tingled at the idea. But Natasha wasn’t sure she could control herself if he was naked. “Just do it.”
Another, more dazzling smile. “What if I don’t?”
“Then you’ll miss what I do next.”
Damon nodded. An instant later, he’d pulled his pants back up and was sprawled on her bed.
He made the space his own, turning her jumble of headboard-propped pillows into a wholly masculine lounging space. He bent his arms over that decorative array, used his cupped hands to cradle his head, then gazed straight at her. “Now what?”
“Now I …” What? her underutilized dictatorial instincts wanted to know. “Look at you,” Natasha settled on saying.
It was an obvious choice. Reclining there, all relaxed and bare and muscle-bound, Damon proved an arresting sight.
Natasha began to resent her own insistence that he keep on his pants. Even with them, though, he was impossible not to gawk at. So she did. She started at his head, enjoying the sight of his handsome face and rugged jaw and smiling mouth. She moved to his broad shoulders, slipped her attention to his chest and arms, then took a while to savor the sinewy strength of his forearms. His hands were incredible, too—big and dexterous and tipped with blunt fingers that Natasha knew would please her.
When he’d kissed her, she remembered, she’d felt his hands tangling in her hair and stroking her neck. She’d felt his hands cradling her jaw and encouraging her to open her mouth wider.
What, she wondered, would Damon’s talented hands urge her to do next? Maybe touch his burly chest, she decided, swerving her gaze there. Or caress his taut belly. Or tug down his pants, freeing all of him to her gaze, letting her see and touch …
“So …” Damon said. “Do you like what you see?”
The vulnerability in his voice caught Natasha off guard. It roused an answering vulnerability in her—a defenselessness and caring that might take over if she let it. She had to try not to. Otherwise, she would never be able to protect her heart.
Already, her stupid Guinness was failing her. She felt more and more sober with every passing minute … and more and more intoxicated by the newfound nearness she and Damon shared.
There was only one way to transcend that.
“I like it very much.” To prove it, Natasha trailed her fingers along his foot, up his shin, over his thigh … With a naughty grin, she raised her hand at the most crucial moment, just before she encountered the thick solidity and mesmerizing length still hidden by his pants. “Hold still. I’ll show you.”
Determined to retain the upper hand with him, Natasha got on the bed too. For a moment, she almost lost her seductress’s edge. The mattress swayed and dipped beneath her movements. Damon caught her arm and steadied her. Their eyes met. He grinned and so did she, and she wanted to give in to all the yearning and tenderheartedness and caring she’d ever felt.
Just in time, Natasha resisted. “Don’t move,” she said.
With his dark eyes gleaming, Damon complied. In the low light of her bedroom, he seemed big and dangerous, though, and to be extra safe, Natasha pinned his wrists to the piled-up pillows behind him. Then he only seemed incongruously sweet.
Probably because he gave her a sappy, eager look. For a man being dominated by his former assistant, he appeared more than willing to go along for the ride—wherever it happened to take them.
“I like it when you take charge,” Damon rumbled.
“Quiet,” Natasha said, and kissed him.
Just like before, their kiss was hot and deep and fast and necessary, and Natasha couldn’t help moaning as their tongues met in a way that made her feel completely dizzy. She wanted this. She wanted all of this … and more. So much more. Forgetting her plans to make Damon beg, Natasha tightened her grip on his wrists, then kissed him again. There was nothing better than this—nothing better than being
close, sharing the same breath, learning the sensuous glide of mouths and tongues and bodies … .
Bodies. That was a good idea. Their bodies needed to be closer together, too. Still kissing him, Natasha straddled Damon—and this time, Damon moaned too. His hands lifted to hold her hips, to pull her closer, to make her sit more firmly astride him. His body met hers with heat and hardness; his palms slid over her silky chemise, lifting it higher. She gasped and kissed him harder, needing more, knowing that soon, too soon, she would have to stop. She would have to quit teasing him. She would have to give up without undressing Damon any further, without revealing him, without knowing how he’d feel, entirely naked against her, hard and heavy and thrusting and joining … .
Dazedly, Natasha raised her head. She wasn’t drunk anymore. Not on Guinness, at least. But knowing that she wanted Damon and he wanted her … it was heady stuff. It was all she’d ever wanted.
It had been all she’d ever wanted … until she got here. Now it only felt like a beginning—like the start of something immense.
“Do you want more?” she asked breathlessly. “Tell me.”
“Yes,” Damon said. “I want … everything. I want you.”
He smiled and pulled her down for another kiss, making a lie of her supposed dominance of the situation, dragging her breasts over his bare chest, making her nipples peak, making her pant faster, making her yearn in a way she’d hoped, foolishly, that she wouldn’t. But she couldn’t help it.
“I want you, too,” she whispered, splaying her hands over his chest. Trying to gain more leverage, she rocked upward, but that only made her doubly aware of her position atop him. She flexed her thighs. “I want you so much. And now—”
“Now you’ve got me.” Damon’s smile charmed her. His hands still played with her chemise, rubbing it over her thighs and her backside, probably revealing her panties. “I’m all yours.”
“Ha.” Natasha tried to laugh, but Damon truly seemed to mean it. His sincerity puzzled her. “If that’s true, then—”
“Wait. Before you make me do something silly—before you make me hop or bark or do a striptease—” Urgently, Damon cradled her jaw. “Look at us,” he demanded. His gaze traveled over them both. “Look at where we are, together. You must know I’m not joking about any of this. I need you, Natasha. You need me.”