“Flowers?” he asked, the fog of arousal clouding his thoughts.
“Your sweater. I’m sure Helen wondered just what manner of a man I’d gotten myself tangled up with.” She leaned back and he glanced down, spotting the row of lively blue and yellow flowers woven into the knit of his sweater that he was certain hadn’t been there when he’d put the thing on this morning.
He looked back into her dancing blue eyes. Blue, he thought. Of course they’d be blue. Suited her perfectly. “A slight mix-up, I’m guessing,” he said sheepishly.
She moved her hands, slid them back down to his hips, tugging him more tightly against her. “And a bit snug, I’m guessing.”
His knees might have buckled a little at the word “snug. ” Jesus, could he be any harder? “Care to trade back?” He let her go long enough to tug on the hem. She smacked his hands, laughing as he grabbed them and pulled them back around his waist, planting them on his ass.
“You have a thing for unconventional sex, do you?” she said, squeezing his cheeks.
It was a miracle he was able to stand upright, considering just how upright he was. He framed her face with his hands, wove his fingers into her curls. “I’m pretty sure ‘unconventional’ aptly describes our entire time together.”
She smiled up into his face, eyes twinkling, dimples winking. “Well, I wouldn’t have taken you for the kinky type, but now I realize what was I thinking? A man who’s faced down tribes of cannibals has probably seen and done a few other things that would raise my eyebrows as well.”
“The chief s daughters did have clever fingers.”
“Hmm. I’m torn now.”
“Between?”
“Finding out if those clever-fingered virgins did something other than weave that necklace around your neck… or ripping both our sweaters off and getting back to what your clever fingers were doing to me earlier.”
He grinned, feeling almost giddy with lust. His work was his whole life, but even so, he’d never really thought of himself as the overserious type. Yet he couldn’t remember the last time he’d indulged in such lighthearted banter, when the last time was he’d just cut loose and played around, for playing’s sake. Not often enough, gauging from his body’s reaction to it. “And this decision is presenting you that difficult a dilemma?” he asked her with mock seriousness. “Because, you know I have a lot of stories, but we only have a little bit of time to—”
She pressed her fingers across his lips. “I know. Don’t say it out loud, though.”
He nodded his head in agreement, rubbing her fingers across his lips in the process, which only served to enflame his senses further. He turned them so her back was in the corner and pushed his hips into hers. Her pupils punched wide, and he shifted his lips enough to pull her fingertips between them, all the while keeping his gaze on hers. Her hips in the cradle of his.
“I… uh…” Her voice had gone a bit hoarse, which delighted him to no end. She had to clear her throat. “I guess we both know what your answer would be.”
He nodded slowly, let his lips curve quite deliberately, and nibbled on the ends of her fingers.
“I still say you’ve a bit of the cannibal in you,” she told him, somewhat breathlessly now.
His grin widened further. “I thought you’d have figured that out back in the car.”
Her breath left her on a surprised laugh. “Yes, well, you have a point.” Her lips quirked when he wiggled his eyebrows. “Such a naughty mind you have. One of the numerous things that attracts me to you, by the way.”
“Funny, but I’ve never thought of myself as particularly naughty. Until I met you.”
A door at the top of the stairs creaked open and a man said, “For God’s sake, will you bloody well take her to bed, lad? I’m alone here and the two of you and all this sex talk is killing me.” The door shut again.
They’d both frozen at the sound of his voice, then she’d grinned quite devilishly and whispered, “Yes, why don’t you bloody well do that?”
“Come on,” he murmured next to her ear, then took her hand and finished climbing the last short flight of stairs. They tiptoed with exaggerated silence past the room of their offended and apparently horny fellow boarder, then collapsed against the door to their room barely stifling their laughter. It took Tag three tries with the old-fashioned room key to finally get the door open. They both all but tumbled into the darkened room. He didn’t bother looking for the light switch, though he planned on doing so later. He wanted to witness every moment of her. They’d had enough of shadows and stealth. But that could wait. Right now he needed to— She leaned back against the closed door and yanked him to her. “Great minds think alike,” was all he managed to get out before she crushed her mouth to his. He willingly reciprocated.
In seconds they were tearing at each other’s clothes like rabid animals. Which was an apt description of the state she’d driven him to. He wanted her with a ferocity that would have astounded him if he’d taken the time to think on it. At the moment, he had more… pressing concerns.
“Wait,” he said, as she went to toss his jacket. He grabbed it and fished around in the pocket. “Ah,” he said, closing his hand around their lone packet of protection with the fervor of a man who’d just unearthed the Holy Grail. “Okay, resume.”
“Ye’ve only to ask,” she said, her accent delightfully stronger the more aroused she got. Coats and sweaters gone, their shoes kicked off, she spun him around this time, pushing his back up against the wall so she could slide her hands down his chest to his waistband.
His eyes had adjusted well enough to see her lower herself to her knees as she went to work on his zipper. He started to caution her, but she was taking her sweet, excruciatingly arousing time, lowering the damn thing one set of teeth at a time. It was all he could do not to tear her hands away and rip the zipper straight out. Much more of this and they wouldn’t need the damn condom. “I don’t think I can take—Jesus,” he ended on a long groan, knees going weak as she finally freed him and took him easily into her mouth. He wanted to fist his hands in her hair. Wanted to watch her, dammit. Instead he squeezed his eyes shut and curled his fingers into fists, fighting the urge, hell, the primal need to buck against the back of her throat until he came shouting.
Even with restraint, it was a toss-up which way it was going to go.
When the first moan escaped her lips, he knew he was done. He tore the packet open with his teeth, pulled her to her feet. He was moving purely on instinct, driven now to do one thing and one thing only. He yanked her pants and panties down, taking her moan and the way she gripped his shoulders as acquiescence. His pants were still around his hips when he rolled the condom on with shaking hands, then spun her back to the wall, yanked her legs up over his hips and drove himself home with one grunting, groaning thrust.
“Oh God. Yes,” she growled, her back up hard against the wall as he buried himself to the hilt inside her tight, welcoming body. She dug her nails into his back as he gripped onto her calves, wrapping them around his hips so he could stay locked deep inside of her for this long moment out of time.
Then she moved against him, and that was all it took.
He thrust into her as if he’d never been inside a woman before. He’d surely never been inside this woman, was all he knew, all he cared. He’d never been taken like this. Which made no sense since it was his body pinning hers to the goddamn wall. His hips slapping hers, his rock-hard cock ramming inside her. Over. And over.
But she took him… and took him and took him. Meeting every thrust, claiming ownership of him as surely as if she’d been commanding his every thrust. So tightly she held him, so deep, she controlled him, controlled this. Because, God knew, he completely, and utterly had none.
He found her mouth then, crushing his lips to hers, thrusting his tongue inside her in the same driving rhythm as his hips. She met him there, too. Insatiable as he was, her response only drove him higher. He couldn’t be deep enough, couldn’t taste her en
ough, take her hard enough, fast enough, long enough.
And then she tore her mouth from his and arched violently against him, gouging her nails into his skin as she half panted, half sobbed her way through a climax he thought might actually dismember him. The pleasure of knowing he’d taken her to such an extreme fused with the pain of her nails on his back, her body squeezing the life right out of him, and sent him ripping over the edge so hard he shouted in shocked gratification.
As the wracking shudders finally slowed and he slipped from her body, he knew right off that standing was no longer an option. But with his pants around his thighs, his options were limited. “Hold on,” he grunted, and wrapping his arms around her for support, he rolled so his back was to the wall, then slid them both slowly down to the floor.
Still breathing heavily, mind spinning too fast to form coherent thought, he closed his eyes and tipped his head back against the wall. He instinctively pulled her close, tucking her head beneath his chin, tangling his hands in her hair. Just like this, was all he could think. I could die happy, just like this.
Later, when he was able to form objective thought, he knew he’d understand that the fierce emotions rocketing through him right now were nothing more than the exaggerated feelings any man would have after experiencing sex that ranked right up there with seeing God.
But until then, he wasn’t letting her go.
“That was quite possibly the best use of a single condom ever,” she murmured hoarsely, moments later.
He barked out a raspy laugh. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to hang around for, I don’t know, a week or two, until I’ve recovered enough to do that again?” He felt so incredibly replete, his body so heavy and satiated that the mere act of lifting his eyelids was a monumental accomplishment. But he did it. Because he had to look at her, had to see her face. He tipped her head back, barely making out the shine of her eyes, the glimmer of a dimple, in the glow cast by the street lamps below through their dormer window. “I want to watch you next time.”
She reached up and traced her fingers along his face, his mouth, then down to his neck. His skin quivered at her touch, his heart tipped at the solemnity in the curve of her lips.
“I’m not sure I can take much more of you,” she said softly. “You’re a dangerous man.”
Forever he’d remember the soft brush of her skin along the row of teeth that lined his neck. He’d done a lot, seen a lot, survived it all. Yet he’d never felt so powerless as he did against the power of her touch. “Not so dangerous,” he said, rubbing his thumbs over the curls wrapped around his fingers. “Careful. Controlled. That’s how I’d have described myself. Before tonight, anyway.”
She curled her fingers around his neck, urged his mouth down to hers. “That’s what makes you so dangerous,” she whispered, right before she kissed him.
This time it was soft, and achingly tender. The wave of affection that swept through him nearly took his breath away. He’d have given almost anything to see into her eyes the moment after she ended the kiss. And thought maybe it just as wise that he couldn’t. “I’m thinking careful and controlled are highly overrated,” he managed to say, around the lump of heart lodged in his throat. He wanted to say more, so much more, which was the very reason he didn’t.
The silence stretched out as she laid her head back on his chest. A thousand questions fought to be asked, but he knew if he asked the first one, he’d do whatever he had to, to keep her here until he asked the very last. That wasn’t what this was about. This was about her mystery man fantasy and him simply getting incredibly, undeniably lucky for one long, stormy night.
So there was no reason for a sense of despondency to seep into him. Better to focus on the here and now. She was still in his arms, wasn’t she? No point in wasting the now, lamenting the inevitable later. Then he felt her lips curve against his chest, and the corners of his own mouth tipped up as well. “What?” he asked.
“Am I the only one who finds it curious that even when presented with a nice, soft bed, we still managed to do this the hard way?”
He chuckled. Leave it to her to bring things back around. “Generally speaking, I find it goes better when it’s hard.”
“Oh, har har,” she said, giving him a light tweak on the pec.
“Hey,” he said, flinching, then sighed when she kissed the spot. Right over his heart.
“So,” she said, quite conversationally as she toyed with the hair on his chest, “any reason we’re freezing our bums off on the floor now?”
“Other than the fact that you’ve zapped every last ounce of energy out of me, no.”
“Oh, so it’s my fault is it? Funny, I don’t remember being the one bucking like a wild man.”
He couldn’t help it, he was a man after all. He grinned in supreme self-satisfaction. “True.”
She laughed, then kissed his cheek before carefully disentangling herself from his lap. He reluctantly let her go, leaning forward to steady her as she slowly stood up.
“Why don’t you go ahead and use the W.C. while I find my clothes,” she said. But first she groped her way to the nightstand and plucked a few tissues from the box there and handed them to him. “Here. I figure you’d want to…”
He took them from her. “Yeah, thanks.” Condom disposed of, he scraped together the energy to stand up. He was well and purely exhausted, but he managed to pull his pants up and stumble down the hall to the bathroom. He washed up at the sink, deciding he’d save the shower for the morning. Maybe he could convince her to conserve some hot water with him. He smiled at the image of her, all damp and warm, tucked back into bed with him, sipping tea and nibbling on a muffin or biscuit or whatever they ate over here as the sun came up. Talking, laughing, loving the morning away.
“Dream on, Morgan,” he told his reflection, once again fighting off the impending gloom he already knew he’d feel when she was gone.
He let himself back into their room, expecting she’d be waiting to use the bathroom. Instead, she was already curled up in the bed, the sheets and comforter tucked up under her chin. The dim light of the street lamp caressed her bare shoulder, played across the tangle of hair that splayed across the pillow.
The sight of her there had him pausing in the doorway. He so didn’t want this night to end. There was no use pretending otherwise. And ignoring it wasn’t going to make him want her less. He wanted more. A lot more. Not just more sex. More… everything. More her.
He quietly shucked his pants and slid into bed behind her. His instinct was to pull her back against him, nestle her in his arms. He was beyond exhausted by now, could barely keep his eyes open, and could think of nothing he’d rather do than sleep with her in his arms, enjoying the warmth of her, the life of her, for what time they had left.
And yet he propped his head up on one elbow and simply looked at her. Minutes ticked away as he studied her, thinking up and discarding one plan after another for extending their time together. He wasn’t here to get emotionally tangled up with someone. He was likely to get his emotions tangled up quite enough when he got to Ballantrae tomorrow. And if he wanted to keep his job, he was on a flight back to Chacchoben in two weeks, no matter what. Even if he found a way to see her while he was here, it would only make it more difficult to leave her in the end. “No point in prolonging the torture,” he muttered.
And yet, he reached out and traced his fingertips down the length of her bare arm resting above the covers. Lifting one long curling strand of hair, then another, he let them wrap around his fingers, before finally giving in and leaning down to bury his face in the soft, silky mass. “I don’t even know your name,” he whispered against the soft skin at the curve of her neck.
She shifted against him, reached blindly for his arm and pulled it around her. As if she were used to sleeping spooned against someone. And well she might be, he thought. After all, what did he really know about her? She’d claimed she was single, but that didn’t mean much these days. He slid lower beneath th
e covers and tucked her up against his chest, burrowing his face into her hair. Wishing like hell he didn’t care who she spent her other nights with. She was his tonight, wasn’t she? That was all that mattered. All that could matter.
Fatigue, extreme jet lag, and the shocking resurrection of his sex life combined to pull him under almost instantly. He slipped an arm around her waist, tucked an ankle across hers, and let sleep claim him, knowing he’d still have the morning to figure things out.
Only when he opened his eyes hours later, weak winter light streaming in the quarter-paned dormer window, he was alone. He rubbed his palm over the empty bed next to him, already knowing he’d find it as cold as the air that filled the small bedroom. He scrubbed a hand over his face and tried to pretend he wasn’t reeling with crushing disappointment.
The room was small, with the ceiling slanting toward the gabled window. The walls were papered with striped white and rose patterned paper. The carpet was a faded rose and green that matched the stuffed chair that was tucked between an old armoire and a tall lamp across the room from the bed. His clothes had been carefully folded and laid on the cedar chest beneath the window. She’d placed a partly used bottle of shampoo, an unwrapped bar of soap, and a toothbrush on top.
Otherwise, there wasn’t anything left of her. He didn’t tease himself with the hope that she was just down below in the parlor, sipping tea and chatting with Helen over scones. No, she was gone. He knew it. Felt it.
“Well, you had the night with her,” he muttered. “No use being greedy.” A headache was forming behind his eyes even before he swung his legs over the side of the bed. At least he’d have one glorious memory of his time here. Considering what he’d be facing later today, he supposed he should thank her for giving him that much.
One thing he did know, he’d need something a hell of a lot stronger than tea. His stomach took that as a cue and growled quite insistently. Reluctantly, he stood and stretched, rubbing his palms over his rumbling belly. He had a long day in front of him, so he’d best get on with it. No point in dwelling on what couldn’t be.
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