Sin on the Strip

by Lucy Farago

  She allowed the hug, needed the hug. This close, she caught the faint aroma of chocolate, as if imbedded in his jacket. Unable to resist, she inhaled deeply of the intoxicating scent and gave in to the comfort of his strong arms.

  “Maggie.”

  “Yes.”

  “You scared me today.” He buried his face in her hair. “When I saw you on the ground …” His embrace tightened.

  Her ribs throbbed, but at that moment, she didn’t care, her tightly coiled muscles grateful for the reprieve and greedy for the safety of his arms. “Sorry.”

  “I don’t want you to apologize. I just wanted you to know. Come on.” He led her out of the kitchen, his arm over her shoulder. “Where’s your bathroom?”

  She pointed in the direction of her master bedroom and they headed there together.

  At his first look at her bathroom, he let out an appreciative whistle.

  The fancy hotels didn’t have much on Alice’s design choices. She’d insisted Maggie spare no expense on what she referred to as a woman’s oasis. It wasn’t that it was feminine so much as opulent. Chocolate granite made up the double sinks, and the two benches in the shower stall capable of accommodating six. Triple jets came out of every wall, leaving no muscle unmassaged. Cream-colored Italian porcelain tiles made up the rest.

  “Nice.” He pointed to the stand-alone tub. “I always wanted one of those.”

  “You don’t strike me as a bath kind of guy.” She could see him standing in her shower, naked, all that water massaging sculpted muscle. She blinked, trying to banish the image. It didn’t work. Maybe taking a shower wouldn’t be so relaxing after all.

  “I’m not,” he said, his voice husky as he looked down at her. “And you’re still shaking.”

  “Uh-huh. Can’t seem to stop.”

  “How do you turn this thing on?” he asked indicating the shower.

  “On the left.” She pointed to the control panel by the floor-to-ceiling glass door.

  Taking her with him, he quickly read the buttons then punched three; the one that started the overhead rain shower, and the two for the second and third row of jet streams.

  He stepped back and met her eyes. “This will make it feel better,” he said.

  She thought he’d meant the shower, until he bent down and kissed her.

  It was nice, soft at first, hesitant even, until one of them, she wasn’t sure who, parted lips. Maggie let go, gave in to the temptation that was Christian Beck. She should tell him to go, make him leave before she did something truly reckless. But the alternative, being alone with her fears, her failures, was worse. She’d helped Hannah, helped countless more, but how many was she abandoning because a sadist had reminded her she wasn’t immortal? She didn’t want to think about it, was tired of thinking about it. She was a good person. She deserved this, deserved how gloriously female Beck made her feel. He was someone who understood that runaways weren’t misbegotten youth seeking trouble, but the forgotten searching to belong.

  Their kiss seemed to go on and on, his tongue inside her mouth, hers inside his. She allowed herself to indulge in the taste of a man who made her entire body tremble for reasons other than fear. No, here in his arms, she was safe. And when he drew her gently but firmly against him, when one of his hands slid down and cupped her bottom, she didn’t pull away. Instead, she ignored the pain from her back ribs and wrapped her arms around his neck, holding on like her life depended on it.

  It was Beck who broke the kiss. She’d been about to protest when he grinned, put a few inches between them and began to unbutton her shirt. She should stop him, but once she made eye contact, she couldn’t tear her eyes from his. If she ever needed something to forget this awful day, his sensuous smile was it. A woman could lose herself in that smile. Nothing so perfect could be so wrong.

  He stepped forward and tugged her shirt off, his fingers trailing down her back. This time the tremors that rocked her body were unlike anything she’d felt before. If that wasn’t enough, she nearly lost her breath when he knelt before her to unsnap and unzip her jeans. Then looking down into those mesmerizing brown eyes she forgot to inhale as he slid his hands into her pants, and squeezed her bottom before dragging them down off her body. She stood in front of him in only a bra and a very small thong. When he stood, her mouth found his. If this was a sin, open the gates of hell and toss her sorry butt in.

  Christian held Maggie, not giving a damn about the ramifications of caring about how good it felt to know she was safe.

  A rational man wouldn’t have allowed it to go this far. He’d have turned the shower on and waited outside for her to finish. He would’ve pulled down her bedcovers, told her to get in alone, and made her that cup of tea, or whatever women drank to soothe their nerves. He might even have cooked soup and fed it to her. He’d have enjoyed that. A coherent man might have acknowledged, in some part of his brain, that Maggie took risks, that she was a detriment not only to her health but his sanity. Unfortunately, thinking clearly and Maggie were like oil and water.

  Instead, he did what he’d wanted to do since sweating his ass off waiting for her outside the morgue. He ran his hands over her body, down the curve of her back, her hips, and lingered over her sweet, sweet ass. The urge to drive himself into her, to hear his name on her lips, to know she was truly safe, strained every muscle in his body. He reined in his lust. Tonight he’d take it slow. Tomorrow was another day. The days after that—who knew.

  He unsnapped her bra and peeled it off her body. She held his face keeping her lips pressed to his while he tossed his jacket to the floor. She seemed oblivious to the awkward dance needed to remove his shoes, socks, shirt and pants or how difficult she made it simply by kissing him. Buttons and buckles had become foreign objects as he rushed to have her skin next to his.

  If her tongue kept this up, he’d forget about taking it slow. The taste of her urged his hands to seek out more, and those throaty moans in his mouth made sane thinking impossible. Breathe, he told himself.

  With his back, he pushed open the glass pane and walked them into the shower. Thick steam swirled around them. Hot water showered their bodies from all angles, the gentle sprays reminding him they were naked. She was naked. Naked and with him. He wanted her everywhere, every way, all at once. Unable to stop himself, he touched the bandage on her cheek and for a moment rage overrode his desire. Damn, what if her injuries had been worse?

  “Guess I’m not the prettiest belle at the ball,” she drawled, finally speaking.

  How the hell did she manage to do that, find humor where there was none? “Are you making fun of the way I talk?” He teased her mouth, nipping on her lower lip, licking the corners.

  She giggled, the sound relieving some of the tension in his neck. “I love the way you talk,” she said. “My knees buckle whenever you open your mouth.”

  “Really? Then let me open it more.” He kissed her, tasted her, and it wasn’t enough.

  He turned her to face the tile wall. Pressing the handy automatic soap dispenser, he used the silky clear gel to loosen her tight shoulder muscles. He recognized the jasmine scent of the soap, the perfume that had caught his attention when he bandaged her hand. When she moaned, that sweet little sound he so liked to hear, and finally relaxed, he did the one thing he’d been dreaming of—filling his hands with her breasts and rubbing his painful erection between the lush globes of her ass. He suckled her neck and pinched her hard nipples, her breathy gasps a test to his restraint.

  With a shudder, he kissed his way down her spine. When he came to the ugly welt below her shoulder blade, he reminded himself to go slowly as he lapped water and tasted Maggie. Like a gauzy sheath, the thick steam twirled around her in a hypnotic, sensual dance. On bent knees, he splayed his fingers across her belly, the heel of his hands against her hips. Tilting her pelvis forward, he did homage to her bottom. More. The word demanded, he listened.

  Encouraging her to spread her knees, he said, “Maggie, put your hands on the wall.”r />
  “Huh?”

  “Wall,” he repeated and cupped her between her legs, “hands.”

  She did as she was told, her head tipping back with a moan. He took full advantage of the sexy pose. He squeezed her cheeks and opened her to his tongue, where he teased and sampled. He’d dreamt of this, her beautiful ass in his hands while he lapped every inch of her. Except in his dream the shower spray didn’t sting like tiny pinpricks against his hard cock.

  Maggie cried out, “Stop.”

  “Am I hurting you?” he asked, doing as she’d requested.

  “No,” she said in a breathless whisper.

  Smiling to himself, he licked her more. “Good.” Only when he was certain the tremors that rocked her body were from him and not the bastard that had dared to bruise her face would he stop. Then and only then would he toss her on the bed and bury himself inside her. He wanted Maggie, was desperate to have her, but his condom was in his wallet, in the side pocket of his jacket. So he’d have to wait. Not such a bad thing considering what he had in his hands, in his mouth.

  Her hips rocked against him and he knew she was close. Calling on his patience, he continued to torment her, to stroke her. She let out a soft scream. Her legs stiff, he held her to him, refusing to let go, tasting her orgasm. When the muscles of her legs grew lax, only then did he rise. Trailing kisses up her spine, he murmured, “You’re so beautiful,” and turned her around. She looked dazed, satiated, and the word beautiful would never suffice.

  Christian led them out of the shower, grabbing the first towel he found. Cocooning her inside the fluffy white terrycloth, he snagged his wallet and retrieved the condom. Scooping her into his arms, he carried her to the antique bed, resisting the urge to toss her onto the mattress, spread her legs and make her his. He put the fantasy away for a day when she could better handle it. Today, he would go slow.

  Careful of the cuts and bruises, he brushed his lips against her forehead. He kissed the blue eyes that had held him spellbound from the first moment he’d seen them. He kissed her nose, softly touched his mouth to her battered cheek and chin. His fingers followed his kisses, down her graceful neck and the sexy, sharp collarbone that drove him crazy. He lingered on her breasts and pink nipples, then her ribcage, leaving no skin untouched. She kept her eyes closed, her body arching in response to his caresses. Tendrils of wet hair painted golden streaks against her alabaster skin. It made her sexier, him harder. He couldn’t take much more.

  After slipping the condom on, he did what his body demanded. With one sweet thrust, he buried himself inside her. She was tight, her muscles an erotic vise grip. “Maggie … God … Maggie.” He couldn’t move.

  She slid open her eyes. “Are you using God’s name in vain?”

  “Hell no, I’m offering thanks.”

  She laughed. The blessed sound was a relief to his ears, the tightening of her abs a torture to his cock. He scraped his teeth along her jaw, over her ear and down her neck. He took his time, enjoying her body as she shuddered. Heated from the steamed shower, their skin sizzled wherever they touched. He hadn’t used a towel but now sweat misted his back, reminding him of the day they’d met, the day he’d jumped to the wrong conclusions, the day he couldn’t have been more wrong about her. But when those long, beautiful legs wrapped around his hips, he lost it.

  Christian started slow, taking an inch then giving, taking two, then three, never separating their bodies. He wanted sex with Maggie to be down and dirty, but the bandages on her face demanded he be gentle.

  “Beck?” She pressed her palm to his cheek. The concern in her eyes, her vulnerability, reminded him he was here for her.

  He wanted her to forget all the crap that had gone on today, her murdered dancers, discovering that a serial killer stalked her employees, the damn, awful bruises on her face. “I don’t want to hurt you.” He stared at the bandages.

  It worried him to think she purposely put her life in danger. What if there was no one around to bail her out? How long before it got to him and he’d have to cut her from his life? Would she care? It wouldn’t make it easier on either of them, but he wanted her to care. He wanted her to because he did. He hadn’t lied when he told her he understood why she’d gone after that girl. Hell, he understood so much, he even told her about Claire. But it didn’t mean he wanted her to keep doing it, to keep risking her life. He was being selfish. He knew that. He knew that, like Claire, some of those kids had no one. And still, it killed him to think of yet another scumbag laying his hands on Maggie.

  “I’m tougher than I look.” Just who was she trying to convince, him or her?

  Maybe this wasn’t forever, but they had now. He withdrew then buried himself again and again, the heat from her body a welcome torment. They may not have forever, but with the time they did have, he wasn’t going to think about tomorrow.

  Christian drew her arms over her head. The mission style bed had slats for a headboard and he told her to hang on. Her breasts lifted and he took his time suckling one pink nipple then the other. Her stomach muscles contracted. Each glorious squeeze brought him one step closer to heaven. She was going to make him come if she didn’t stop. He threw his head back and growled. Sliding a hand beneath her, he tilted her hips. Braced on an elbow and a hand, his knees supporting his weight, he drove into her.

  Maggie released the headboard and slipped her arms beneath his. She clung to him, pulling his weight down on her. Even though she’d eliminated the space between them, her face pressed against his heart, it wasn’t enough. On top of her and in her, it wasn’t enough. He couldn’t explain the feeling. He only knew that if anyone tried to take her away from him, he’d kill them.

  They rocked together. Maggie tipped her head back and gazed at him, and he knew. Those magnetic blue eyes said it all. Mind, body and, if possible, soul, right here in this moment they belonged together. No words spoken, staring into each other’s eyes, their shallow breath the only sound, they came. Soaring above the confines of earth and sky, beyond the limits of flesh and bone, down to the very essence of life, they shattered, in the end to merge as one.

  A solitary tear slid down her battered cheek.

  Christian pressed his lips on the wet trail. In the short time he’d known her, an emotion he chose not to name imbedded a handprint on his heart. He was done for.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Maggie considered opening her eyes as she enjoyed those first moments between blissful oblivion and awareness. She lingered in that dreamy place, tumbling back and forth between sleep and consciousness. The weight of the blankets a soothing comfort, she wanted a few more minutes of nothingness. She snuggled into her warm pillow, trying to hang on to her recurring dream. Mr. Chocolate kissing her awake throughout the night.

  Then her knee bumped something hard and reality truck-slammed her awake.

  No dream. No pillow. His beating heart beneath her ear.

  She held her breath, every vivid detail about last night ramming her heart into overdrive. She’d slept with Beck! Of all the reckless stunts she’d pulled, this one beat them all.

  She opened her eyes then clamped them shut again, an all-too-sculpted chest too easy a distraction. Maybe he was a heavy sleeper. She hoped he was. She released a slow exhale and on one … two … three, slipped from his arms. Just as her feet hit the floor, and the bruise on her back complained, a warm hand touched her hip.

  “Don’t go.”

  Embarrassed, she reached for the towel on the edge of the bed and forced herself to speak. “I’ll be back.” Covering herself, she made her way to the bathroom, careful not to slam the door behind her.

  Maggie crossed her arms over her heart in an absurd attempt to stop it from imploding in her chest. Afraid her knees would buckle, she sat on the cold toilet seat. How stupid could she be? Gripped in fear, her eyes darted to the garbage can. She nearly wept with relief at the used condom inside.

  Had she lost her mind?

  If he hadn’t had the common sense to use birth co
ntrol, where would she be? She was many things, but stupid she was not. Or was she? She’d gone and done it again. Her friends and, God bless him, Horace, were right. Would she ever learn to think before her sorry ass got burned? She had casual sex with a man she barely knew. Okay, she’d give herself some credit. There wasn’t anything casual about what he’d done to her last night. But a memorable one-night stand was still wrong.

  “Maggie?” Beck rapped lightly on the door. “Darlin’, you all right?”

  He did that on purpose, knowing darn well what his southern drawl did to her. She’d heard him turn it on thick when he wanted to charm someone. “Fine,” she shouted then changed her tone. “I’m fine, Beck, no worries.” This wasn’t his doing. It was hers.

  She glanced back at the condom. Her heartbeat returning to normal, she stood and caught her battered reflection in the mirror. She touched the fresh bandage on her face. Beck had changed the dressing while she slept. He’d called her beautiful, said he didn’t want to hurt her. And no nightmares had ruined her dreams. Maybe she hadn’t done such a stupid thing after all? Perhaps something that good wasn’t so wrong? And maybe, just maybe she could end this day with her heart intact.

  “Maggie, honey, come out. Let’s talk.”

  Now he wanted to talk? They should have done that last night. After running a comb through her hair and brushing her teeth, she opened the door and plastered on a honey smile. “Good morning.”

  “You okay?”

  “I’m fine,” she lied, “but I need coffee. Want some?” she asked, summoning her willpower not to look down, not to notice the bed sheet wrapped loosely around his hips. The bed sheet hanging precariously low. Dang, why did he have to look so good? She dashed for the bedroom door.

  His legs were longer, faster, and he blocked her exit. “You’re not a very good liar.” He took her hand and led them back to the bed. The last place she wanted to be. He sat her onto his lap and clamped his arms around her. “Just in case you get any ideas about running.”