I Brake For Bad Boys

by Foster, Lori

  He heard her ask where he was taking her, through the roaring in his ears. He snapped out “home,” in a voice brusque enough to discourage any further attempts at conversation. So much for his boyish charm. And his converted warehouse apartment in the Pearl District, furnished with the sleek, postmodern chill of a well-to-do bachelor pad, was not homey. At least the fridge was full. He wished he could take her back to the lake, but it was too far away. He needed her now. So bad that it scared him.

  The car alarm and door lock chirped behind him as he pulled her up the battered warehouse staircase that he hadn’t had a chance to renovate yet. It was spooky-looking, but if he pulled her into the apartment really fast, she wouldn’t have time to be creeped out.

  The door swung shut behind them with an ominous, resounding, Dracula’s Castle type of thud. At this rate, he was going to end up scaring her to death. He cast around helplessly for something normal, soothing, welcoming to say to her. No words came to him.

  He gave in to brute necessity, and wrapped his fingers around her slender wrist, pulling her through the apartment. He couldn’t be bothered to turn on the lights, to take her coat, to lay down her purse, or offer her a drink. He headed straight for the bedroom.

  He shoved her coat off, letting it fall to the floor, and seized her. Kissing her like he was dying of thirst, and she was an oasis in the desert, full of sweet, life-giving water. She didn’t recoil from his intensity at all. She pressed herself against him and opened for him, freely offering him all the springlike freshness of her soft mouth, her fragrant breath. The tender, wet assay of her tongue against his made him shudder with need. He didn’t want to spoil this by being clumsy or rough, groping and pawing like a gorilla, but his hands had a will of their own. He couldn’t stop touching her, cupping her lush curves.

  She pulled away, and he was about to howl in frustration until he realized that she was just pulling loose the laces of her sneakers. She kicked them off and reached under her skirt to peel off the white hose. He couldn’t wait to feel her pansy-soft skin sliding beneath his hands, the sexy swell of her ass. Every tiny detail thrilled him.

  She shook with soft laughter as he wrenched her hose down to her ankles, and shoved the skirt up to her waist. Just what he was dying for—Tess all naked and soft and open. He could smell the humid warmth of her femaleness. It made him dizzy. He could barely make out the soft dark curls between her thighs, the graceful female curves in the dim room, but he couldn’t bear to stop even long enough to turn on the light. He explored her with his hands, his face, his nose, his mouth, nuzzling and kissing her with desperate appeal. Assuring himself that she was real, she was here, she was his.

  She grabbed his shoulders to steady herself against him, but he didn’t want her steady. He wanted her flat on her back beneath him, wide open. With one well-placed push, he sent her pitching backward with a cry of alarm onto his bed, legs sprawled. He lunged to cover her before she could draw breath or protest.

  Her eyes were wide, breath coming soft and shallow as he wrenched open the buttons of the dress. They yielded with a soft popping noise. No T-shirt under it, just a silk bra of indeterminate color, cupping the luminously pale bulges of her stunning breasts. She glowed like moonlight on his bed. Her fingers slid through his hair, touched his face. Cool and soft and caressing.

  He buried his face against her bosom, rubbing it against the incredible softness and scent of her. Drinking it in, big greedy gulps.

  She petted his hair as he nuzzled her cleavage. “You seem so desperate,” she murmured.

  Her thighs tightened around him as he licked the shadowy cleft between her tits, and his cock hardened even more, if that were possible. “I feel desperate,” he admitted.

  “You don’t have to be,” she assured him. “You’ve got me right where you want me.” She stroked his hot cheek, soothing him, like he were some pitiable, maddened animal. He hated it and loved it, felt shamed and eager, like a trembling puppy grateful for every little pat.

  He lifted his head, trying to calm down his ragged breathing, and noticed that her bra was the front-clasp type. He could have wept with appreciation for the convenience, but there was something he had to tell her, if his damn throat would stop vibrating long enough for him to use his voice. He swallowed over and over to make his larynx descend.

  “I won’t hurt you,” he said.

  She cupped her face in her hands, smiling at him. “Of course you won’t,” she told him. “I trust you.”

  His breath froze in his throat. “You didn’t before,” he said.

  She kissed his jaw. “Give me credit for learning,” she said softly. “I won’t hurt you, either. You can trust me, too.”

  She squirmed beneath him until he realized that she was reaching back to undo the knot of hair—an enterprise he was absolutely willing to second and support. He plucked out hairpins and tossed them away with a disdain that bordered on hostility.

  “You should wear your hair down all the time,” he said.

  A spasm of dread froze his insides. She was going to freak out on him for critizicing her hairdo. He’d fucked up again.

  But she just laughed. “I will, if you like it that way. But you’d better get good at combing out my tangles.”

  “I’ll be great,” he promised her rashly. “I’ll spend hours, naked, combing your hair. My new career. Naked hairdressing.”

  She looked like a pagan goddess with all that long, amazing curly hair spread over his pillow. He buried his face in it, letting tears leak out of his eyes and soak into her hair. He had to distract himself, quick. Sex and tears did not mix, at least not with him, and he wanted the sex.

  So did she, thank God, if the focused attention she was giving to his shirt buttons was any indication. He undid the clasp of her bra and rubbed his face against her breasts with a moan of appreciation. He stroked the rich full undercurve with the soft, fluttering fingertip caresses that she loved, and pressed them together, kissing and licking until she writhed and moaned.

  He unbuckled his belt, undid his jeans. She slid her hands eagerly inside the waistband of his underwear and gripped his cock, with the tight, slow pull that she knew he loved. He tried to keep his weight poised above her without going boneless with pleasure. Then it hit him. He collapsed against her, limp with dismay. “Oh, God, no.”

  “What?” Her eyes were wide with alarm.

  “The fucking condoms,” he groaned. “I left them at the lake. This is it. The final insult. I’m going to die right here, in your arms. Get ready for the tragic, tender moment. Move over, Scarlett and Rhett.”

  She started to laugh. “You’re not going to die,” she teased. “I’ve still got that stash that Trish put in my purse, remember? We can use the glow-in-the-dark one if you want. We’ll probably have to expose it to light first, though, if we want it to work.”

  “Forget it. It’ll take too long,” he snapped.

  “OK,” she said cheerfully. “We’ll save the glow-in-the-dark one for the third or fourth time. I’ll get the chocolate and raspberry flavored one, instead. Just let me figure out where I dropped my purse, and—”

  “Stay right where you are,” he ordered. “I’ll get them.”

  She lay back, apparently submissive, but he knew her too well to be fooled, particularly when she had that smile on her face. She opened her legs wider, the white skirt still crumpled around her waist, the bodice gaping open, her plump tits spilling out of it. Taunting him.

  She put her hand against the dark tangle of hair on her mound. “It wouldn’t make any difference if we had no condoms,” she said huskily. “I’d just suck on you. Make you explode in my mouth. As many times as you want.”

  He was wide-eyed, frozen, and as stiff as a railroad spike. Hypnotized by the sensual pulse of her hips against his bed. “Are you pushing me again?” he demanded. “Playing games with me?”

  She shook her head. “Oh, no. I just love the feel of your eyes on me. They press on me, burn me. It turns me on. And I lo
ve the feel of your, um . . . your cock. In my mouth. So hard, and yet so soft and velvety. Strong and sensitive. Delicious.”

  He dumped the contents of her purse heedlessly onto the bed, pawing through the assorted female paraphernalia until he found what he needed. He ripped open the condom and rolled it over himself. “I’m going to hold you to that,” he warned. “For the third or fourth time.”

  He mounted her, guiding himself to her tender opening. It was too soon, experience and instinct all screamed at him that it was too soon, but he couldn’t wait. He could only drive himself into her, deep and hard. The sound that jerked out of her throat as her body slowly yielded to him was not unmixed pleasure, but he pushed deeper, clenching his jaw. And withdrew, and drove in again, harder than he meant to. Her fingers dug sharply into his upper arms.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice shaking. “I’m too—I can’t—”

  “Shhh.” Her arms and legs closed around him tightly. “It’s OK. I love you. I feel it, too. I love you.”

  Nothing but that hot blaze of joy and disbelief could have shocked him into stillness. “You do?”

  She pressed her damp face against his. “Yes. I’ve never felt like this before. It’s so huge, I’m lost in it.”

  He marveled at her words for another frozen, breathless moment. “So am I,” he said. “But—the other night—”

  She shook her head. “You have to forgive me for the other night,” she said. “My whole universe was falling apart to make space for you. It felt like dying. I just panicked.”

  He pried his face away. “And now?” he demanded.

  Her smile was luminous with joy. “Now I’m bigger,” she said simply. “Now there’s space. I finally figured it out today. I know I’m good enough, because I’m the best I’ve ever been, loving you.”

  He was so moved, he had to fight to speak. “I’m lost in it, too,” he whispered. “I love you, Tess.”

  The triumphant joy inside him melted away every last vestige of his self-control.

  Tess dug her fingers into the muscles in his shoulders and hung on. It didn’t hurt at all anymore, after that first rough moment. Almost instantly she had softened to him, and now she was lost in bliss. Nothing was more perfect than this voluptuous give and take, the sweet, hot friction. He followed cues she didn’t even know she gave him, shifting his weight up and pressing the length of his fingers on either side of her clitoris. Sliding them slowly up and down her slick cleft, exactly as she had shown him when she had tied him down and touched herself. His face was tense with concentration, eyes locked with hers. The power rose between them, higher and higher. It broke, and they collapsed into a sweaty, trembling knot of desperate tenderness.

  They stayed clenched together, for a long time.

  Jonah flung himself onto his back beside her and covered his face with his hand. “Don’t run away from me again, Tess.”

  She rolled up onto her elbow. “Jonah—”

  “I wanted to come see you at the MMC, but I was afraid I would creep you out if I dragged my tongue around on the ground after you. So I tried to play it cool, you know? Stay away. But it didn’t work. I can’t be cool. I just can’t do it. I’m madly in love with you.”

  “Oh, Jonah.” Tears made her voice quiver. “I’m so sorry about the other night. I thought that you were . . . that you were trying to—”

  “To what?” His hand dropped. He stared at her.

  She plucked at the duvet. “I thought you wanted to . . . make me good enough to fit into your gourmet lifestyle,” she confessed. “To bring me up to standard.”

  His face was expressionless. “Like the other guy did.”

  She sighed, and nodded.

  He grabbed her wrist, tugging her until she was eye to eye with him. “Can we make a pact, here and now, to never, ever—”

  “Oh, God, yes,” she said fervently. “I’m so embarrassed. I will never compare you to him, ever again. You are nothing like him, Jonah, nothing. He was just a hollow shell. You’re for real.”

  He gave her a pleased, baffled smile. “Thank you,” he said. He stroked his knuckle with reverent gentleness over her cheekbone. “And just for the record, I don’t think you need fixing. I think you’re perfect. But if we’re going to be together, you’re going to have to deal with me buying you clothes and jewelry without getting all huffy about it. Because I’m not going to be able to help myself.”

  She kissed his hand as it touched her face and snuggled closer to him. “I, um, think I’ll learn to cope somehow.”

  “I can’t wait to really introduce you to Granddad. He’ll be out of his mind with curiosity about you. That’ll motivate him to forgive me, if anything will. Granddad never could resist the ladies. And you’re his type.”

  “What type is that?” she asked.

  “My type,” he said forcefully. “Strong, smart, sexy, sweet, fascinating. Challenging, complicated. And absolutely for real.”

  “Like you,” she said. “For real.”

  His lips met hers, with reverent tenderness. “And forever.”

  BRAVA BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2002 by Kensington Publishing Corp.

  “Drive Me Wild” copyright © 2002 by Lori Foster

  “Something Wilde” copyright © 2002 by Janelle Denison

  “Touch Me” copyright © 2002 by Shannon McKenna

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  ISBN: 978-1-6177-3087-0