by J. Kenner
"Torment," I said firmly, making him laugh. "And here I was starting to think you were a nice man. You're not."
He eased back so that I could see his face. Desire and heat and a feral ruthlessness that cut straight through me. "You're right," he said. "I'm not."
While I worked hard to keep myself from whimpering, Tyler rose to his feet. He held out his hand, and I took it with both curiosity and anticipation. I hoped he was leading me to the bedroom; I hoped he intended to finish what he'd started. I feared that he had something else in mind, though--and, damn the man, I couldn't help that sizzle in my blood that came from the mixture of curiosity and, yes, anticipation.
Without a word, he led me into a short hallway, then through yet another formal room.
To be honest, I was swimming in such a sensual haze, it's a wonder I noticed anything at all. But small things jumped out at me. The paintings. The molding. There were antiques tucked into every corner, yet the room still looked elegant, not cluttered.
We moved down yet another hall, and I entertained the insane idea that all he was really doing was walking me in a circle. More torment. More anticipation.
When I said as much, he laughed. "I'm not that cruel. The place is just huge. You could get lost in it. I do sometimes."
"Really?"
"No, but it makes a good story."
"Is that what you do? Make up stories when the truth isn't good enough?"
The corner of his mouth twitched. "Absolutely."
"Well," I said. "That's a conundrum."
"What is?"
"You're being honest about being dishonest."
"Maybe I'm just trying to keep you interested," he said, a hint of heat returning to his voice.
I didn't quite meet his eyes. "I don't think you have a thing to worry about there."
We'd reached the open door to the master bedroom, and I was surprised to see the contrast between its interior and the rest of the penthouse. This room contained the modern furniture that Tyler had said he preferred. Sleek lines that accentuated function over form, but nonetheless suggested money and taste.
Interesting. It told me that he was a man who was willing to compromise--but not on the things that were personal and important to him.
There were a pair of closed French doors on the far side of the room, behind which I assumed was a bathroom. A huge bed dominated the space in front of the windows, beyond which the lights of the city twinkled like surrogate stars.
I expected we'd move to the bed, but instead Tyler led me across the room toward those double doors. As we moved across the space, I focused on the details, looking at the room as I might look at a crime scene, trying to discern whatever I could about the man who occupied this space. The dresser--with his personal items laid out precisely on top--suggested organization even while the clothes tossed carelessly across the back of an armchair showed that he didn't take it to the level of obsessiveness.
There were no photographs, no books, nothing personal in the room. Nothing except a handmade quilt folded neatly at the foot of the bed. And that one item stirred more questions in me than all the intelligence I'd dug up on this enigmatic, powerful, and potentially dangerous man.
I must have hesitated, because I felt a tug, and when I looked over to him, his expression was cloudy. He tilted his head toward a set of double doors on the far side of the room. "Not the bed," he said simply. "Not yet."
"I was looking at the quilt," I said, inexplicably speaking in a whisper. "An heirloom?"
"Yes," he said simply.
I started to ask more, then stopped myself. This wasn't a date, and no matter how much I might be enjoying this night, I needed to remember that this was a mission. Knowing the bits and pieces might help me paint a better picture of the man, but I couldn't imagine that a quilt had any connection to Amy.
I didn't need personal details. And I damn sure shouldn't want them. I knew Sharp was dirty. Maybe not in trafficking women--god, I hoped not--but in the way he lived, the way he operated his businesses, the way he looked at life. Tyler Sharp thumbed his nose at the kinds of rules I'd dedicated my life to enforcing.
And yet in just a few short hours, he'd managed to twist me up. I told myself that was understandable--you go into an op planning to seduce, and seduction is going to happen. And, yes, Tyler Sharp had well and truly seduced me. He'd revved me up, made me want. Made me need. He'd pushed me farther than I'd ever gone before, and I couldn't deny that I liked it.
But this little field trip through the penthouse had given me the chance to gather myself together, and that was good. I still wanted his touch--oh, god, did I ever--but the sensual mist that had clouded my thinking had evaporated, and I was focused on my mission.
Sex with Tyler might be damned entertaining, but at the end of the day, sex was just sex.
And it was going to have to remain that way.
Chapter Ten
I think it was the candles that did me in.
He pushed open the doors, and I saw the room bathed in the golden glow of at least two dozen candles. They were on the floor, on stands, on small tables near the oversized bathtub. The room smelled of lavender and vanilla, and I breathed in deep.
"How?" I asked. "When?"
"I sent a text to the hotel from the car."
I couldn't help but laugh--he looked so incredibly smug.
He took my hand and guided me to the two steps that led up to the deep marble tub already full of lavender scented bubbles. "Go ahead," he said. "Get in."
I stepped out of the shoes, then paused and turned back to him. "I don't understand you," I said plaintively. "You make me strip. You bring in that waiter. It's racy. Raw. I don't know--dangerous maybe. Hot, definitely."
"You forgot wild."
"Wild," I agreed. "But this ..." I swept my arm to indicate the candlelit room. "This is wild, too. Wildly romantic. Sensual. Calm and serene and wonderful."
"And that bothers you?"
"It confuses me," I admit.
I see humor light his eyes. "Maybe I want you confused. Or perhaps I'm trying to prove a point."
"What point?"
"There are a lot of ways to pleasure a woman," he said, and his tone suggested we hadn't even begun. "Hard and raw, soft and sentimental. How can I know what she wants until I see how she reacts?"
"Oh." I swallowed. "And what is it that I want?"
"You? Sweetheart, you want everything," he said in a tone that made me go weak in the knees. "And I'm looking forward to giving it to you." He nodded to the tub again. "In."
I didn't argue. Merely moved carefully on the cool marble up to the edge of the tub. I tested the water and found it to be the perfect temperature, a little on the hot side, but nowhere close to scalding. With a sigh of absolute pleasure, I slid in.
Tyler tucked an inflatable pillow behind my head and I smiled up at him. "Joining me?"
"No," he said, as he started to take off his watch, a beautiful instrument that looked to my eye like an antique. "I'm not."
He set the watch carefully on a nearby table, and since he then started to unbutton his shirt, I decided that he must be teasing.
I watched, enjoying myself thoroughly, as he stripped off his shirt. His body was deliciously perfect, tan and lean, with the kind of defined arms and chest that you'd see on a swimmer. I wanted to reach out and touch him. To find out for myself if the smattering of chest hair was as soft as it looked, and if the muscles were as hard. I wanted to run my lips over every inch of him.
Mostly, I wanted to tumble him into the tub with me.
Instead, I settled for watching him sit on the edge, still in those elegant gray trousers. He looked like something from a pin-up calendar, all easy sensuality in slacks with no shirt and his hair slightly tousled.
He was exceptional, and I couldn't help but wonder how many women he'd brought to his room, touched, bathed, taken to bed.
I wondered--and wished that I hadn't let the thought enter my mind. I had no right to jea
lousy. Tyler wasn't mine--couldn't be mine--and whatever connection I might fantasize that I felt tonight was just an illusion. How could it be real when we were both clutching tight to our secrets?
"Deep thoughts?" he asked, stroking my hair.
I smiled up at him. "Just thinking how gorgeous you are."
His brows lifted. "I'm flattered."
"Like hell. You know you're amazing."
"And in so many ways," he said, with a cocky grin.
I laughed, then started to splash him. He caught my hand. "Hands on your knees," he said. "I'm going to bathe you."
I opened my mouth to--what? Complain? Question? In the end, I said nothing, just leaned back on my pillow with my hands on my knees and let him take charge.
He started with my legs. Gently, he lifted each leg in turn, putting my heel on a little step inside the tub that I guessed was made for that very purpose. He stroked my skin with scented soaps, then slid his slick and slippery hands along my feet, my calves, my thighs. When he reached the juncture, he stroked my sex lightly, sending trills of pleasure dancing through me. And then his hand was gone again, as if he'd intended nothing more than a preview of what was to come.
He moved on to my torso, then my arms and hands, sensually massaging each individual finger until I thought I would go mad with the desire for more, so much more. Then his attention turned to my breasts, caressing and stroking until I could feel every touch in every cell of my body, and my nipples were tight with need.
To my regret, though, he took it no further.
"How do you feel?" he asked, and I blinked my eyes open to see him smiling down at me with a kind of sensual satisfaction. "Relaxed," I said. "Turned on."
I saw the flicker in his eyes, but if stroking and touching me had aroused him equally, he didn't say. Instead, he simply lifted a spray nozzle and gently began to wet my hair.
His hands, both strong and sensual, massaged my scalp as the shampoo he chose--full of mint and eucalyptus--saturated my senses. I began to float, eyes closed, this man taking care of me.
I don't know how long I floated there, lost in that sensual place that Tyler had taken me. I only knew that when my eyes fluttered open, my hair was rinsed and the tub was draining--and instead of feeling cold as the water swirled away, I felt the hot pulse of desire inside me.
Without a word, Tyler held out a hand. I took it gratefully. I wasn't sure I could have managed without his support.
I padded carefully down the stairs, then stood on a plush bath mat. He stood in front of me, just stood there watching me with the air crackling wild around us. I reached out--I had to--and slowly trailed my fingers over his bare chest.
I felt the beat of his heart beneath my hand, and pressed my palm there. I lifted my head, found his eyes, and almost stumbled from the force of the desire I saw looking back at me.
"Yes," I whispered. "God, yes."
He didn't move. Didn't speak, but as I slid my hand down, exploring the shape of him, I felt his muscles tighten with barely contained control. I smiled, liking that I was the one making him quiver, and I got slowly to my knees, thinking that I'd like to make him quiver even more.
But when I reached for his fly, he gently stopped my hand. "No."
I looked up. "I know you like it."
"Very much. And I can think of very little I'd like more than to see your lips around my cock. But not now."
"Why not?"
He held my hand and eased me to my feet. "Because the rest of tonight is about you."
"Oh."
He went to a closet and came out with a white silk robe. He helped me into it, the material as soft and gentle as a kiss. I tightened the sash, then drew my hands over the material, enjoying the way it felt against my skin.
"I do like watching you, he said softly. "I like seeing the way your body reacts to my touch. The way your eyes flutter when you come close to the edge. There's an honesty between us that's--well, I like it."
"I'm not doing anything except reacting to you," I said, my voice soft though the words were entirely true.
"Good," he said, and in that moment our eyes locked. I felt that clench in my belly, the strong tug of need. My lips parted, and I rose onto my toes, my hand reaching for his shoulder as I moved closer, craving his mouth, his kiss--
But he stepped back, and suddenly there was nowhere to go. I glanced down to the floor, embarrassed.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to--" To what? To kiss him? Hell yes, I'd meant to kiss him. More likely, I didn't mean to make an ass out of myself, but I was hardly going to tell him that.
And then I realized. "It's what you said in the elevator. Despite all of this. Despite making me feel like this, you're not going to kiss me. You're still tormenting me, aren't you?"
His smile was slow and sexy and undeniably charming. And he didn't say a damn word in answer to my question. Instead, he reached for a strand of my hair and wound it around his fingers. "Christ, you tempt me." He held out a hand. "Come with me."
I was irritated, but I was also both amused and turned on. Plus, the only place to go was back into that bedroom, and that meant he was finally taking me to bed.
"Do you remember what I told you?" he asked as he led me into the room. "The things that I like?"
"Watching me, you said."
"Very good. A gold star to the prize pupil. And yes, I've liked that very much. I've liked it all--pampering you, touching you. I liked watching your face when the waiter came in. And I liked knowing that you were doing that--sitting there, exposed for him--because you wanted to please me."
He took a step closer, bringing him into the doorway, but not over the threshold. "I got hard watching you then, did you know that?"
I shook my head.
"Knowing how far you were willing to go to please me--it made me hard. Made me want you even more. And made me wonder how much farther you'd go."
I licked my lips, but I didn't say a word.
"That's what you want, isn't it? The adventure. The thrill. That's why you sent me a note saying that you wanted to play--and why you got pissed when I sent you away."
I nodded.
"And you're here with me now because you crave something. Tell me, Sloane. Tell me what you crave."
"You."
He shook his head. "Me, yes, but it's more than that. You want me to take you the rest of the way. You want to find out just how far you can go." He reached out and stroked my cheek. "Why me, Sloane? I want you to tell me that."
I forced myself not to take a step back, because how could I answer that question? Because you were right there, the focus of my investigation? Because I still want to get close; I still want inside Destiny; I still want to know what you are up to, and if Kevin is even close to right, I still want to shut you down.
That was all true, but it wasn't the truth.
The truth was more raw, more scary. Because Tyler Sharp was dangerous. He was edgy. He was not the kind of man I should let under my skin.
Yet I had, and that that truth cut deep inside me. And what scared me was the certainty that if I spoke it aloud, I could never take it back.
Even so, I couldn't keep silent. So I drew in a breath, gathered my courage, and told this enigmatic, dangerous man the deepest, most essential truth. "Because you saw me. Because you see me. Because nobody else ever has."
He held my gaze, then slowly nodded. A moment later, he moved to the bed, then sat on the edge. "Come here, he said, and I moved forward to stand between his knees. He reached out for the sash on the robe, then gave it a tug to release the bow. The robe fell open, exposing me to him.
I stayed perfectly still, though my blood was pounding so hard in my veins it was a wonder he couldn't hear it. He stood, his body so close to mine I could feel his heat. Then he reached with one hand and pulled the sash free from the loops of the robe. Next, he lifted both hands, placed them on my shoulders, and eased the robe off my body.
It pooled at my feet, leaving me naked and warm and frantic
for his touch.
Slowly, his gaze skimmed over me, and with each moment that passed, I felt the need inside me grow. I didn't know what to expect--all I knew was that I wanted it, and now.
"Beautiful." A single word, but it might as well have been a touch. My breasts tightened, my nipples hardening so much it was almost painful. And my sex ached with a throbbing need that could only be satisfied by his touch.
I wanted to beg for it. To take his hand and place it upon me. Instead, I simply said, "Please."
"Give me your hand." His voice was sensual, yet commanding, and I complied without hesitation.
He held me gently, then slowly trailed the end of the silk sash over my arm, my wrist, the back of my hand. I'd never considered hands particularly erotic, but the sensual allure of the silk against my skin was undeniable.
"Please," I said again, and watched his mouth curve into a smile.
"Please, what?"
"I don't know," I said honestly. "Just, please."
"Whatever the lady wants." He twisted the sash around my wrist, then knotted it. As he did, I felt something cold rising slowly inside me, fighting through the heat. I bit my lip, resisting the urge to pull my hand back, and forced myself to simply breathe.
"There's a sensuality in being bound," he said, as the cold thing began to twist in my belly.
"No," I whispered, but I didn't withdraw my hand. The cold had frozen me.
His smile seemed almost amused. "You came to me, Sloane, remember? You came because you wanted to see how far I can take you."
But not this far, I wanted to scream. You should know. You should see. Not this far.
As if he heard my silent plea, he released my hand, and I almost cried out in gratitude as the ice in my veins began to melt.
Crisis averted. Horror stymied. This will be okay. This is fine. Just breathe, and everything will be fine.
I told myself that. Repeated it like a mantra as I lowered my arm, the silk still dangling from my wrist, relief flooding through me, so powerful it left me weak and a little dizzy.
"We'll go far, I promise you." Slowly--so frustratingly slowly--he stroked his fingertip along my collarbone. Then headed downward, lower and lower in a straight line between my breasts and to my abdomen.