Good, Bad…Better

by Cindi Myers

  “So much for your big, bad image,” she said. “Kittens?”

  “Found them under the Dumpster behind the shop. Theresa couldn’t take ’em because her apartment doesn’t allow pets.” He set Delilah on the floor. She immediately began winding in and out of his legs.

  “And Mr. Sayers?”

  “He owns this house. I help him out when he needs some muscle.”

  “That’s nice of you.”

  The way she’d said it didn’t make it sound like a bad thing.

  He peeled out of his jacket and left it on the sofa, then headed for the kitchen, cats and Jen trailing. He found the kitten chow and added some crumpets to their bowl, then opened the fridge. “Do you want something to drink?”

  “No thanks. I’m fine.”

  He helped himself to a beer, then leaned against the counter while he drank it, watching her. She walked around the room, touching the flying-pig cookie jar Theresa had given him for Christmas, then pausing to survey the various comic strips, reminder notes, shopping lists and photos attached to the front of the refrigerator. Watching her scrutinize his personal space this way was worse than standing before her naked. At least then he could be pretty sure of distracting her from reading too much into what was before her eyes.

  “What did the other ballerinas think of the tat?” he asked.

  She smiled, a dimple forming on either side of her Cupid’s-bow mouth. “I really don’t dance much ballet.”

  “Oh, yeah. Hip-hop or whatever. So what do they think of the tat?”

  “I think they were surprised. It wasn’t something they expected from me.”

  “That was the whole idea, wasn’t it?”

  The smile widened. “Yeah. I’m enjoying surprising people like this.”

  The way she surprised him? She looked so perfectly pure and boring, and yet…there was something else there. Something that pulled at him.

  He set aside the half-empty beer and straightened, reaching for her. “Come here.” He pulled her close and kissed her, a long, slow, savoring kiss. A kiss meant to distract her, but it did a pretty good job of fogging his mind, as well. She shaped her body to his, warm and yielding. Her hands slipped behind his neck, cradling the back of his head in a gesture that was both tender and insistent. She tasted like some sweet fruit. Cherries or strawberries.

  He swept his tongue across her lips and she opened to him with a soft moan that sent a tremor through him. As he slid his hand down her back to cup her bottom, she writhed against him, telegraphing her eagerness to be closer still.

  He felt again the wanting he’d sensed that first day in the shop. That need in her. It tugged at him like gravity. He wanted to be the one to fill it.

  Breaking off the kiss, he pulled away and took her hand and led her into his bedroom. He switched on one lamp, but left the rest of the room in shadow. He wanted it like this, with that pale skin and hair of hers spotlighted, golden in all the surrounding blackness.

  She stood by the bed, eyes locked on his, as if waiting for instructions. He eased back her blouse at the shoulder, revealing a pale satin bra strap. Her skin was hot to the touch, belying her cool, blond looks. His pulse beating like a drum in his ears, he eased the blouse down, then popped the clasp on her bra, leaving her naked from the waist up.

  Chin lifted, shoulders back, she made no attempt to hide herself. She was cream and rose perfection—a woman sculpted by a master.

  And, for the moment at least, she was his.

  Scarcely daring to breathe, he shaped his hands to her breasts. Their small roundness filled his palms, the taut nipples pressing against his life line. The tattoo glowed against her skin, the curving stem of the lily disappearing beneath his thumb.

  She arched to him, her eyes half-closed, her lips parted, all that wanting right out there in the open. Her lack of reserve shook him. Didn’t she know to play things closer to the vest? Holding nothing back this way was an invitation to get hurt.

  She opened her eyes and looked at him. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong.” He took his hands from her and stripped his T-shirt over his head.

  “You were so quiet. And still.”

  “Just enjoying the view.” He leered at her, eyes lingering on her dusky nipples.

  In one quick movement, she stripped out of her jeans and underwear. She stood naked before him, and his gaze flickered to the shadowed curls between her thighs. He swallowed. Oh, yeah. He wanted her. It was too late to think about the consequences.

  He was fumbling with his zipper when she came to him, hands stroking his shoulders, lips feathering kisses down his chest. Her mouth was hot, burning his skin everywhere she touched. She hovered over one nipple, warm breath teasing him, then she startled him, nipping at him with her teeth. She laughed when he jumped and swore, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “I just wanted to see if you were paying attention.”

  He was paying attention, all right. Every nerve was on hyperalert, wary. There was a tiger inside this kitten.

  He finished undressing and pulled her onto the bed beside him. She brought her hand up between them to rest on his chest, her index finger tracing the line of the dragon tattooed there. She followed the leg of the beast around to his nipple.

  He sucked in his breath as her fingernail brushed the sensitive tip, then watched, mesmerized, as she trailed her hand down across his ribs, smoothing the plane of his stomach, down toward the erection that strained between them. A smile played about her lips, which were slightly parted, her breath coming in little pants. “What are you doing?” he asked, as she slid her hand across his thigh.

  “I’m exploring.”

  Uh-huh. What happened to the shy, almost-virgin he’d expected? There was nothing timid about her frank assessment of him. Neither did she have the rote detachment he’d felt with some more experienced partners. “You’re so gorgeous,” she said, looking into his eyes now, the grayness darkened by passion.

  He didn’t trust himself to either deny or accept such praise, so he silenced her with another kiss, rolling her onto her back. When he raised his head to look at her again, she was smiling once more. “I haven’t given you anything to smile about yet,” he said.

  “Oh, yes, you have.” She smiled more, and boldly took hold of his erection, stealing his breath with her caress. How was it he could never predict what she’d do?

  “Careful there.” He unwrapped her fingers from around his shaft and kept hold of her, giving himself time to regain control. Things were happening too quickly here. Time to slow it down. If they weren’t going to have many times like this, he wanted it to be good for both of them from the beginning. When he looked back later, he wanted no regrets.

  He released her hand and rested on one elbow, studying her. Her skin was pale ivory in the dim light. She had small breasts, a narrow waist and a dancer’s lean, muscular legs. He’d like to draw her like this, naked and flushed with passion.

  He rested his hand between her breasts, feeling her heart pound against his palm. “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Savoring.” Making love was like creating art. It took time, attention to detail.

  She stared at him, those great, gray eyes telegraphing wanting stretched to the breaking point. She was balanced on his hand, waiting for him to give her the thing she wanted most. The thing he most wanted to give her.

  His own need hammering at him, he traced a line down the center of her body, past the dip of her belly button. She lifted her hips, silently pleading. His heart pounded harder, his erection throbbing. He couldn’t hold out much longer. He moved his hand lower, not as slowly this time, anticipating pleasure.

  She gasped as his fingers sank into the cleft between her thighs, and her breathing quickened. She was like hot, wet satin, tightening around him so that he couldn’t keep back a groan of delight. She arched her back, thrusting against the palm of his hand. “I don’t want to wait anymore,” she whispered. “I want you in me now.”

  His erec
tion pulsed against her thigh. The thought of burying himself in her made his hand shake as he withdrew his fingers from her.

  He looked up and met her gaze. She looked anxious, impatient. But what she’d told him in the park came back to him. As much as he wanted to be in her, he wasn’t going to be like those other men. He wasn’t going to cheat her out of the pleasure he wanted to share with her.

  He brought his hand back up to cradle her cheek, and kissed the side of her mouth. “We have lots of time,” he said. “Lie back and enjoy.”

  JEN TRIED TO LIE STILL, to enjoy the moment. But too many sensations bombarded her at once: the weight of Zach’s hand resting on her belly, the liquid warmth of his mouth at her breast, the chill of air-conditioned air across her bare crotch, the smell of leather and ink and male musk that clung to Zach, the steady thud of her pounding pulse in her ears. Every part of her hummed with excitement and anticipation. She felt suspended between giddy desire and an aching for some undefined more.

  “Zach.” His name was both a sigh and a plea as he teased her aching nipples with his mouth and hands. She felt his lips curve into a smile against her side, then he began kissing his way down each rib, laying a heated trail along her torso to her navel.

  “Wh-what are you doing?” she asked.

  “I want to taste you.” He spoke in a throaty growl that pierced her middle and made her tremble. She moaned as he nudged her legs apart, her voice rising in pitch as his mouth claimed her.

  “Zach!” His tongue teased her clit, sending shuddering waves of wanting through her. He sucked and licked, until she could no longer think and could scarcely breathe. She arched against the bed, wanting release but still fighting for control. She wasn’t sure what to do, how to act….

  He raised his head, his hand still caressing her thigh. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  She didn’t dare open her eyes to look at him, afraid she’d see disappointment, or impatience. She shook her head, fists clenched in frustration at her sides. “I don’t know,” she managed to gasp. “I just… I’ve never felt quite…quite like this….” Oh, it was no use. How could she explain what she didn’t understand? Being here with Zach, in this bed with him while he made all her fantasies come true, was so different from the frantic couplings in back seats and dorm rooms she’d experienced before. Things were less urgent here, and yet more so. She wanted to please him. She wanted to be pleased. She wanted to surrender everything to him, but feared looking foolish doing so. He was used to more experienced women. Sophisticated women. Women for whom all this…attention…wasn’t so new.

  The bedsprings creaked as he shifted to lay beside her once more. She opened her eyes and met his gaze. Not impatient or disappointed, but…tender. And still filled with wanting for her.

  He kissed her cheek, then her mouth, his hand stroking her arm, then moving over to cup her breast. She’d always been self-conscious about being so small, but now her size felt perfect—exactly right for him to cradle in the palm of his hand.

  He pulled her closer still and nibbled at her neck. “I’m right here,” he said. “I’m right here with you.”

  His hand slid down her body again, and his finger found her clit. Slowly at first, then with more pressure, he began to fondle her, sending her spiraling upward again. With his body wrapped around hers, she felt so protected and…cherished.

  There was nothing to hold back from now. She gave herself up to the most powerful, mind-fogging climax she’d ever known.

  She hovered for a moment somewhere between awareness and illusion, until he moved away from her. She opened her eyes to watch him take a condom from a drawer and unwrap it. She was grateful she didn’t have to argue with him over that. She didn’t have the strength right now, or even the will to resist him.

  But why would she ever want to resist him? she thought, as he knelt between her legs. He loomed over her, muscular and dark. In another situation, she might have been afraid of him. There was something forbidding about him, even here—an invisible warning posted: don’t get too close. But she ignored the signs, crossed the barriers, reaching up to him. “I want you in me so badly,” she said.

  She moaned with unabashed pleasure as he entered her. He felt so good. So right. He began to move and she found the rhythm with him, rocking her hips, her hands braced on his chest. She couldn’t get enough of looking at him—the high forehead and dark brows, that expressive mouth. The mouth that had given her so much pleasure. She smiled at the memory, even as her muscles clenched and she felt desire building once more.

  She rocked harder and her earlier inhibitions vanished. She forced herself to keep her eyes open, watching his face. She wanted to see the passion overtake him, to know the moment he lost himself, the way she had.

  He kept his eyes closed, teeth clenched, the tendons of his neck stretched sharply as he arched his neck. He thrust harder, stealing her breath with each stroke, his hands on either side of her, digging into the mattress. He came suddenly, without a sound, the tension easing from his jaw and his throat, his shoulders bowed.

  Eyes still closed, he slid out of her and lay at her side, reaching blindly to pull her head to the hollow of his shoulder. She nestled there, listening to the steady drumbeat of his heart. She waited for him to say something, about how good it had been, or how good they were together. But he said nothing.

  She thought he might have fallen asleep, and squelched a pang of disappointment. What was it about men that just when a woman feels closest to them, they were ready to snooze? She debated nudging him awake, but decided she’d let him rest a while longer.

  Idly, she traced one finger along the outline of the dragon curled across his chest and shoulder. The colors glowed richly against his pale skin, the muscles of man and beast fused together as one. The design had a fierce beauty to it, both forbidding and fascinating. Like Zach himself.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, eyes still closed.

  “I’m admiring your dragon. Did you draw it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Who did the tattoo? Theresa?”

  He shook his head. “The man who trained me.”

  “Who was that?”

  “No one you’d know. He’s dead now.”

  “Oh. How did he die?”

  “Motorcycle accident.”

  A shiver ran through her as she thought of Zach’s bike. She raised up on one elbow to study him. “When did he teach you?”

  He opened his eyes. “A while ago.”

  “How old were you?”

  He frowned. “I was seventeen.”

  “So young.”

  “I started work right out of high school.”

  “You didn’t go to college?”

  “Guys like me don’t go to college.”

  “Why not? You’re so talented. Intelligent.”

  He sat up and pushed her hand away. “Look, if you want to hang out with me, I have two rules. Number one, we’re in this for physical gratification only. Number two, our private lives stay private.”

  She sat up also, knees hugged to her chest, watching him out of the corner of her eye. He was frowning at her, his expression closed, unrevealing. What had she said that had touched such a nerve with him? What was he so afraid of revealing?

  “All right.” She raised her head and met his gaze full-on. “I’ll stop asking questions.” But that didn’t mean she’d stop trying to find out more about him, about that unexpected side of him she’d glimpsed tonight.

  5

  ZACH INSISTED ON TAKING JEN back to her car soon after he’d established his rules. She started to protest, but thought better of it. Let him brood now if he wanted. She wouldn’t let him shut her out forever. Besides, maybe they both needed time to think about what had just happened between them, and where they would go from here.

  Resting her head against his back and closing her eyes, she tracked their journey by the scents that hung in the humid night air: the acrid tang of fresh asphalt on a recently patched section of
Lamar Boulevard, the fecund aroma of Town Lake as they crossed the Congress Avenue Bridge, honeysuckle blooming in yards on side streets. And underneath it all, like the bass notes in a song, the rich scent of leather and ink from Zach himself. She breathed in deeply, wanting to savor this fleeting closeness between them.

  Zach’s muttered swearing pulled her from her dreamworld. She raised her head and followed his gaze to her car, parked beneath the security light in the dance studio’s lot. Her stomach dropped as she recognized the dark sedan parked next to it.

  When the motorcycle stopped beside her VW, the passenger-side door of the unmarked police car opened and her father got out.

  “Dad, what are you doing here?” She climbed off the bike and hurried to unfasten her helmet.

  “One of my men reported your car still parked here, and no sign of you. I know you finished class hours ago. You weren’t with any of your friends, I checked.” He cut his eyes to Zach.

  Her father’s face was gray in the harsh vapor light, with deep lines on either side of his mouth. She felt sick with guilt, and rushed to hug him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

  He didn’t even look at her. His eyes were fixed on Zach, who still sat on the bike, watching them.

  She stepped away from her father. “Dad, this is Zach Jacobs.”

  “I know who he is.” The lines around his mouth deepened. “I thought I told you to stay away from him.”

  She stiffened. Couldn’t he have at least waited until Zach was gone to say anything? “Zach is my friend.” How good a friend, her father didn’t need to know.

  “I don’t like it.”

  She didn’t like him scolding her as if she was still a child. She raised her chin. “I don’t like everything you do, either.”

  “You’re my daughter.”

  “I’m old enough to choose my own friends.”

  The motorcycle engine roared to life, startling them. She turned away from her father and rushed to Zach. “When will I see you again?” she asked softly, so her father wouldn’t hear.

  “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.” He unfastened her dance bag from the back of the bike and handed it to her, then looked past her, to her father, who was still glaring.