Five Alarm Lust

by Elise Whyles

  “Watch it, you’re going to…” His warning came seconds too late.

  Chapter 2

  Gillian stifled a shriek as the icy liquid spread across the front of her dress. She stumbled to her feet, knocking her knee against the table. The clatter of glasses and cutlery banging terrified her. “Oh no!” Thankfully, nothing hit the floor, and she breathed a soft sigh of relief that was short-lived. If her mother found out, oh God, I’m dead.

  “…Spill your drink.” He pressed a napkin into her hand, his touch firm, commanding. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

  “I can do this by myself…” Gilli tensed. Fear prickled at the thought of having a man helping her, touching her. In her experience nothing good ever came of their touch, and she wasn’t in any shape to make an escape—even an undignified one.

  “How? You able to see your way to the ladies room?” Jack wrapped an arm around her waist and nudged her forward. “Come on, I promise I’ll be a perfect gentleman.”

  “Get my glasses from the witch in white and I’ll be grateful.” Gilli winced, her ankles wobbling as she stumbled, sending a sharp throbbing pain up her leg. Why would anyone who knew her expect her to be able to wear four inch heels?

  “Here we go.” Jack tightened his grip for a second. “I’ll wait right here—if you need help…”

  “I won’t.” Gilli pushed on the door. Stepping into the quiet of the restroom, she inched her way to the sink. The counter edge bit into her palm as she leaned against it, fumbling with the straps to get her shoes off before she dropped them on the floor. The cold of the tiles seeped into her feet, relieving the ache in her arches. “I hate heels, I hate dresses that make me look like an escapee from the Easter Parade, and I hate my mother. Really, why on earth would she even dream I’d like this?” With a shaking hand, she blotted at the stain on her dress. Gilli shook her head. “I can’t see a damn thing and she knows it…”

  “Why?” Jack’s voice behind her drew a startled yelp. Her arms flailing about, Gilli found herself pressed against his hard body. Whether it was fear or something else that got her pulse racing, Gillian wasn’t sure, nor did she relish the idea of uncovering the truth. Both were familiar and as welcome as razor burn on her bikini line.

  “Why what?”

  “Why can’t you see?”

  “I have congenital glaucoma.” Gilli straightened, her body swaying. She shivered at the prickles of heat along her bare skin. What is it about this guy that gets me hot? Think, girl. Remember, you’re an ice queen, frigid without an ounce of sexual ability—he’s not going to even see you as a woman. Control the need. What you need is a cold shower. Control, Gillian, control. “I need my glasses.”

  “Here.” Jack pressed something into her hand.

  Unfolding the glasses, Gilli slipped them into place, and then blinked a couple of times to clear her vision. When she did, she gasped. Her Adonis stood before her, his tuxedo jacket gone, white shirt stained with pink streaks, and his hair askew. “On my gods.” Her hands flew to her face and she gaped at him. “I am so sorry, look at your shirt. I’ll pay for the dry cleaning. I can’t believe I managed to ruin your shirt. How clumsy of me. I promise, I will pay for cleaning it.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Honestly, I’ve seen worse. You okay? Too much to drink?”

  “No.” Gilli inched across the floor, embarrassment flooding her. This would teach her. “I don’t drink … well, under normal circumstances. I’ve only had two or three drinks tonight—which is more than I ever do.” A grimace of distaste on her lips, she tucked her feet back into her shoes and straightened.

  He changed the subject, seeming to catch on she didn’t want to talk about it. “Without your glasses you’re blind, so why did your—?” He wrapped his coat around her shoulders, ushering her toward the bank of elevators down the hall and away from the party.

  “Doesn’t matter.” Gilli accepted her mother’s faults with familiar ease. Barbara Cassidy had long since ceased to be a puzzle to her. There was one priority in the woman’s life and it started and ended with herself. For her to consider anyone beyond herself would mean she had more than ice water and greed running through her veins.

  “You can use my room to get cleaned up. If I remember, you were in your mother’s spare bedroom, which just happens to be the honeymoon suite.” He summoned the elevator, a quick grin on his face.

  Gilli flushed and stepped into the elevator. She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, crossed her arms over her chest, and leaned against the railing. Thick and heavy, the silence that settled over the small room was enough to choke her. Nervous, her fingers twisted the narrow ribbon on her bodice while she watched the lights flicker over the floor numbers. When the elevator pinged, she hobbled into the carpeted hallway.

  “This way.”

  Gilli stumbled along behind him, her mind racing as she wondered how she’d gotten into this position. Why couldn’t she ever say no to her mother? More to the point, why couldn’t her mother act her age and grow up? Weren’t six husbands enough? She didn’t need a seventh.

  “Come on in, you can use the bathrobe while your dress dries,” Jack offered.

  Ducking past him, Gilli surveyed the room. A massive king-size bed peeked from the open door of the bedroom. A high bar separated the living area from the kitchenette, and another door was ajar. It didn’t take long for her to determine it to be the washroom. Gilli froze when Jack slipped into the adjoining room, already unbuttoning his shirt.

  “If you want a shower, it’s in here,” Jack called from the bedroom. “The robe’s hanging on the back of my door, but I’ll only be a minute. Do you want me to call room service and see if they can get your dress dry cleaned for you?” Jack appeared a moment later, shirt hanging open, his muscled chest flexing with each sweep of his arms.

  “No, that’s okay. Mom rented it—so she can have it cleaned before it goes back.” Gillian eased past him, a weak smile lifting the corners of her mouth. “I’ll just rinse it out though, if you don’t mind.”

  Jack strode from the bedroom, his shirt unbuttoned, pants hanging from toned hips. He smiled at her and ducked behind the bar. “Not at all, Gilli. Coffee?”

  “Sure.” Gillian hurried into the bathroom to stare at her reflection in the mirror. A huge dark stain ran from her breasts to her hips. The fabric was bleeding it across her abdomen until it darkened the entire bodice of her gown. “Why me?” She twisted and reached for the zipper, her back cracking like bubble wrap as she tried to reach the desired tag. Stumbling into the counter, she watched the contents of his shaving kit skip across the countertop before they rolled to the floor.

  The clatter of glass on the stone floor drew a wince as she kneeled to pick it up. Her fingers closed around the aftershave as the door swung open, upending her into a tangled mass of satin, tulle, and nylons.

  Please, God, if you’re there—take me now!

  Heaving a sigh, she grabbed for the counter. She struggled with untangling the heels from the tulle beneath the satin as she muttered under her breath. Barefoot, she might have some success at looking like a grown woman and not some bumbling twit.

  “Let me help you.” He hefted her onto the counter and moved between her legs. His hands trailed down her calves to her ankles to undo the straps of her shoes and toss them aside. “You okay? Looks like the straps were too tight.”

  “Wouldn’t surprise me.” Gilli sighed. The counter was cold beneath her ass, a sharp contrast to the heat skittering along her legs with each brush of his fingertips. Desire trailed along her body, the familiar itch she’d often refused to scratch. It hadn’t proven to be of any delight or pleasure. She met Jack’s gaze, a half-smile on his face, his fingers wrapped around her thighs.

  “Can you help me with this zipper?” Gilli tucked her heel behind his knee, her fingers plucking at the ribbons of her dress. “I can’t reach…” A wiggle of her hips and she was perched against him, her fingers wrapped around the edge of the granite.
>
  “Sure. Do you want me to get you a robe?”

  “I think if you can just get the zipper down I’ll be fine.” Gillian offered what she hoped was a seductive smile. Running a heel up the back of his leg, she reached up to play with the loose end of his bowtie peeking out from beneath the collar of his dress shirt.

  Why not do it? He’ll be gone in the morning, and it’s not like it’ll be anything that unpleasant. A few fast thrusts and he’ll be finished, and then a shower and you’ve successfully managed to have sex. After all it’s been what, three … no, four years since…

  Ruthlessly, she slammed the door shut on the faint stirrings of memory. There was no point in reliving the experience, not that she could remember too many details, but still. Why risk ruining the opportunity?

  Jack glanced from her hand to her face, a brow raised. “You’ll have to let go…”

  Gilli tugged gently on the dark fabric, wrapped her legs around his hips, a hesitant smile on her face. “Let me help you with this dirty shirt. I really am sorry about it.”

  His Adam’s apple bobbing, he wrapped his fingers around her wrists, firm but gentle as he took a half step back. “I’m not sure…”

  “Shh.” Gillian pressed a kiss to his lips; if she let him talk, she’d chicken out. The gentle touch sent shards of moisture to her core. With a soft sound, she let him take the lead, deepening the kiss. His tongue stroked along hers before he pulled back.

  “Are you sure? I mean, you’re more than a little tipsy, and I don’t want to pressure you into…”

  Gillian winced at the nervous titter that escaped and shook her head. “You aren’t.” It was the truth, however shadowed it might be. He wasn’t, she knew firsthand what being forced felt like—the pain, the disgust, the desperate need to hide… Jack wasn’t forcing her to do this. She bit her lip at the hesitant look on his face as he stared at her. His brows drew together in a frown before smoothing out to a quick, charming grin. Pushing aside the familiar panic, she met him halfway, her hands clutching at his open shirt. Shivers raced along her body.

  She lifted her hips when his hands crept under her dress and paused at the hooks of her garters. A prickle of unease flared at the low groan he issued before he began peeling the satin stockings off. Gilli watched with a detached sense of fascination as her stockings sailed through the air to land in a tangled heap in the shower. Giving a half-hearted moan when he pulled her gown away from her chest, she arched into his touch as he pressed hot, slick kisses along her throat down to her breasts. Each sweep of his tongue over her flesh stirred the desire racing through her blood. With it that old sense of preservation clawed at her—a distance she refused to surrender.

  Fighting against her responses, she whimpered and moaned with each touch, each caress, hoping he wouldn’t notice how fake they sounded, or how cold she seemed. Or how badly her body shook with each breath as she clung to the control so rapidly escaping her. Her breath coming in a swift gasp, she clung to him. He shivered at the rip of foil, the faint smell of lubricant wafting up to her. Her nails bit into his shoulders when he sank into her body, the stretched, too tight sensation burrowing through her. She stared at the ceiling, counting the square tiles, her body undulating and moving with his. She bit hard on her lip when she felt the coil tighten. No! No, Gillian, don’t let go. Control. Control.

  Each thrust against her sent tingles of passion through her clit. His rapid breathing, the bruising grip on her hips, told her how close he was. She increased her breathing, tilted her head back, and wiggled against him. Her nails scored his back, ankles crossed. She moaned softly and focused instead on the corner of the shower—even as she felt the tears scald the backs of her eyes. What is wrong with me that I can’t do this? Why do I do this to myself?

  Pushing back the icy numbness that settled within her, she clung to him, and clung to the vague hope he would leave her to shower away the guilt and erase the faint need to feel clean again.

  She pressed her face into his shoulder as his thrusts grew rougher. His low, almost tortured groan as he pulled her against him struck a chord within her. She shivered at the tremble racing over his body, the hot wash of his ejaculate jutting into the thin layer of protection between them.

  A weak smile crossed her face when he shifted. His hands were gentle yet firm on her face. He kissed her softly. She pressed a quick kiss to his lips when he inhaled.

  “Hey, you okay?” Her attempt to soothe with a grin didn’t seem to work. With a sigh, he squeezed her shoulder. “I’m going to make us some coffee, and then we can talk.”

  Relief flooded her as the door knocker thumped from the other room. “I’ll be right back, Gilli.” He stepped back to fasten his pants as he hurried from the bathroom. She slid off the counter and shuffled to the shower, the dress falling around her ankles to be kicked aside as she fixed the settings and stepped into the stall.

  Hands braced against the cold tile, she lowered her head and sobbed. Her body burned with a need so foreign to her it rocked the precious control she held. For the first time, she’d come so close and it terrified her. She wasn’t any different than any other woman, and yet letting go, taking more from the brief movements, left her wallowing in shame and guilt.

  * * * *

  Barbara narrowed her eyes slightly, a smile pasted on her face. Every ounce of attention was focused on Gillian as she stumbled from the table. The large, grotesque spot on her gown irritated her. Careful to avoid getting caught, she watched as Lenny’s friend chatted for a second with Gillian before wrapping an arm around her waist and turning her toward the massive doors. In the dim lights she couldn’t see exactly what was happening, but it didn’t stop the flare of rage. What on earth had she done?

  Feeling her husband’s hand curl around her waist, she shot him a smile and gyrated against him. How like Gillian to ruin her reception. How she hated the little bitch. It was simply too bad the paramedics had been so prompt that night. Their tardiness would have saved everyone a lot of headache. Barbara leaned back and giggled when Lenny pressed a kiss to her neck, his hands encircling her waist. Soon, very soon, she’d have it all.

  * * * *

  Jack stretched out, his gaze on Gilli who slept soundly in his king bed. Her slim body wrapped around a pillow, her dark hair spread out over the pale sheets, her lips parted slightly. Delicate, pale, purple lace hugged her ass; a white muscle shirt clung to her breasts, the only clothing that was clean and dry.

  He let the bottle of water swing between his fingers. He’d felt more than a little guilty when he’d gone to answer the door, his body still shaking with the force of his release. Hurrying back to the bathroom to ask if she’d like something to eat from the room service menu, he’d felt the barb of shame and something else, something a lot darker, slide like a dagger between his ribs at her muffled sobs in the shower.

  His anger had faded at the lost, pained look in her eyes when she slipped from the bathroom to accept the steaming mug of coffee. Every attempt to get her to talk had been met with monosyllable words. After the third yawn he’d ushered her into bed. Now, two hours later, he watched her sleep. Her brows furrowed, her grip on the pillow tightened at times before she eased back into sleep.

  Why hadn’t she come? The questions kept repeating over and over again, an endless, merciless drain on his sense of pride. Leaving a woman still burning hadn’t happened since he was sixteen, and he felt a knot of apprehension that he’d done it with Gillian. It wasn’t so much a matter of skill, but pride in himself. Hell, it had been years since a woman left his bed unhappy. Everyone knew his reputation, and it was well earned. So what was it about this one that kept her from falling over the edge? What could he have done different? Surely there was something.

  He rested his ankle on his knee, his mind retracing the evening, a nagging feeling of missing something. Like an insect hovering near his head, the annoying feeling wouldn’t leave him. With a sudden clarity, he realized what had bothered him from the first moment he’d lo
oked into her eyes. Beneath the thick glasses and shy demeanor beat the heart of a woman who was in pain. Something or someone hurt her and badly. He sighed; he’d be damned if he was going to let her hide from him.

  Yeah, Jack, that’s really good. Thinkin’ ’bout yourself, aren’t you? It wasn’t like you did much to make sure she enjoyed herself. Hell, you did the wham bam thank you ma’am in under ten minutes flat! The annoying inner voice of reason lashed out. Where’s the man who has dates lining up to crawl into his bed because of his prowess?

  He set the sweaty bottle on the table, rose, and strode over to the door. Flipping the DO NOT DISTURB sign around, he slid the lock closed. His bare feet were soundless on the carpet as he slid into the bedroom, his finger unknotting the sash of his terrycloth robe.

  “Gillian.” Pressing a quick kiss to her brow, he trailed his fingers through the dark tendrils over her cheek. “Gillian, wake up. I need to talk to you.”

  “No, go away. Sleepy.” Gillian brushed at his hand, her nose wrinkling in protest.

  Jack grinned and shook her shoulder. He exhaled when she rolled away from him to sleep on her stomach. A soft smile played with the corners of his lips as he trailed a hand down her back. The thick puckered flesh below her third rib drew his attention.

  He inched his fingers across the fabric-covered flesh and whistled under his breath. Something had sliced deep and long. He could feel the pucker where stitches were raised in the flesh. The scar trailed down her back to the top of her hip, where it blended into another that zigzagged across her shapely, pert ass.

  He tugged the shirt up, his heart dropping at the series of small, faint lines that traced over her flesh. Some were deeper, wider than others, and he winced. He leaned down to press a quick kiss to her back, his tongue darting out to trace the line of the scar beneath his lips. Jack adjusted his frame until his back rested against the headboard, and then combed through Gilli’s hair with his fingers, his eyes tracing over the lines of her back. The dip in her waist, the full, plump curl of her ass, the long jagged scars that told of some horror he couldn’t comprehend. “Gillian,” he whispered, leaning over her. “Gillian, wake up, baby.”