Bev felt a flush of awareness warm her throat. In the crush of their bodies, she could discern the scars on his chest, the buttons of his fly, and especially his hipbones, one of which happened to be nestled intimately in the curve of her pelvis.
There’d been nothing stimulating about being tied to him at first. Au contraire. But now that she was becoming aware of his various parts, and of where those parts were touching her parts—
She tried to cancel out the thought, but it was too late. Her senses had been awakened. She was unavoidably aware of him now. Her body had been alerted, and it was buzzing from head to toe with information her mind couldn’t turn off.
“Any ideas on how to get free?” she asked, speaking into Sam’s shirt collar.
“I’ve been thinking about nothing else,” he said tightly. “If we can get ourselves turned around, we can use our hands to untie each other.”
“Why don’t we just yell?” Bev suggested. “Someone will hear us eventually.”
“Not a chance. We’re on the top floor of the hotel, and this joint is soundproof. We’ve got to get turned around. It’s the only way.”
The ropes were too tight for them both to turn at once, so Bev went first. Without the use of her hands, all she could do was wriggle and squirm. In her worst nightmare she couldn’t have imagined a more embarrassing situation. Sam was pretending not to notice her gyrations, but the way he was gritting his teeth told her he hated every frustrating second of it. He was acting as though he were in mortal pain.
If Sam wasn’t in mortal pain, he was close to it. He had made himself a solemn promise that he would never lay a hand on Bev Brewster again, and here he was, lashed to her squirming body. He’d been stomped and shot and spurned in his life, but this fiasco was the Super Bowl of torture. It made him wonder whether he’d laughed in the face of fate one too many times.
“Take it easy,” he said as her knee dug the inside of his thigh. She was perilously close to his groin, and the way she was thrashing, she was going to maim him for life. Not only that, her chin felt as though it had made a permanent indentation in his chest, her hair was in his face. And her breasts were all over him!
He probably could have held out indefinitely if it hadn’t been for her breasts. Her strapless dress was inching down with each move she made. Even with his eyes shut, he could feel the weight and warmth of her spilling against him. She was perspiring lightly, and the moisture collecting in the groove of her collarbones and the cleft of her breasts gave off a scent that was distinctly female. It aroused every normal male instinct he had.
Should he mention that she was undressing herself? His conscience told him to stop her—for both their sakes—but the darker side of his personality told him to shut up.
Her next contortion revealed more creamy flesh and a glimpse of rosy areola. Sam’s heart started to pound. Heart attack time. “Hold it,” he said abruptly. “There’s got to be an easier way to do this. You hold still, and I’ll turn.”
“I’m not stopping now.” Bev had a system going, an ingenious sequence of pelvic thrusts, swim kicks, and shoulder rotations. “This is working, Sam. I’m about a quarter of the way.”
“Yeah, but your dress isn’t making the trip with you.”
She glanced down and saw the problem. One more shoulder rotation and she was topless! It was a disconcerting prospect, but she’d gone too far to give up. After more twisting and arching her back, she finally managed to bring up most of the clingy material with her.
“Congratulations,” Sam said dryly.
She met his dazzling blue eyes and smiled. “Right, like you really wanted me to solve the problem.”
By the time Bev was completely turned around, she had an even larger problem. Her bound hands were planted firmly in an unusually hard area of his body, and though she hoped it was his muscled stomach, she had a sinking suspicion it wasn’t. Her own stomach churned as she touched and patted gingerly, trying to confirm what she was actually feeling.
Sam made a strange sound as she discerned something long and solid through the material of his jeans. A light flashed on in her mind, illuminating a dark corner of her memory. She was in a shower, drenched and slightly drunk, unbuttoning a man’s jeans, touching him, arousing him, bending to kiss—no!
“Don’t move a muscle,” Sam said, his neck tendons bulging like cables. “Don’t even breathe. I think I’ve exceeded my minimum daily requirement of foreplay.”
“I’m sorry,” Bev said faintly. “I wasn’t trying to turn you on, it’s just this—”
“Of course you weren’t trying to turn me on. You’re never trying, and yet for some reason my pants haven’t fit right since the day I met you. How do you explain that? If you’re not trying, what in the hell are you doing, woman?”
“I had no idea Arthur was going to tie us up together. Surely you’re not blaming me for that.”
Given his state of mind and body, Sam was ready to blame her for everything. His blood was pounding in his veins, and his guts were in knots, which didn’t surprise him. He’d been in knots for days, one damn way or another. He was torn between a desire to drag her into his arms and kiss the sap out of her and to storm out of her life forever. Right. With his hands and feet tied behind his back?
“I’ve had it,” he said, checking out the room. “I’m going to get us out of this mess. There’s a telephone on that table. If we can knock it to the floor, we can get the switchboard operator.”
“Okay, but how do we get there?”
“Roll.”
Roll they did. Whatever notion Bev had of protecting her dignity was lost long ago—when her dress took a detour and her hands got waylaid on his crotch. Just keep moving, she told herself.
Sam knew he was in trouble when he wanted to stop moving. The sensation of her body sliding over his, and then under his, and then over his again, was enough to arouse the libido of a hibernating grizzly. His heart was a jackhammer and his groin was one huge muscle spasm. He just knew he was going to suffer a heart attack and die before they got to the phone, but he wasn’t sure he gave a damn. He would check out a happy man.
In the course of their dizzy journey, his animal passions had taken over. His imagination had them making wild love as they rolled across the room. He was holding her, moving deeply inside her, reveling in the feel of her legs wrapped around his waist and the sweet bounce of her butt as she swung on top of him.
By the time they got to the phone Sam was so crazed with lustful thoughts, he’d forgotten all about his plan. He wrenched at their bonds, desperate to haul her into his arms. Desperate to get at her!
Bev didn’t have the strength to help him. Between their feverish trip across the room and his powerful efforts to free them, she was dizzy with excitement. Her heart was out of control, and her legs were already melting, aching, throbbing for that moment when he would open them. But a part of her was fighting the inevitable, resisting the erotic chaos that overwhelmed her when she was with him.
If Sam sensed her conflict, he was too agonizingly aroused to respond to it. Somehow, their movements had loosened the ropes, and the knots around his wrists gave way as he tugged against them, releasing one of his hands. “I’m free, Lace,” he said huskily, turning her around to face him.
She refused to look at him, and as he stared at her in confusion, he realized her dress was down around her waist. She was lying on her side, and seeing the graceful slope of her breasts sent a flash of awareness through him. She was half naked and irresistible. She was beautiful and vulnerable.
He pushed back, straining against the bonds. “What is it?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”
She heaved a sigh and forced herself to look at him. “You and me, Sam. It’s us. We’re like animals in heat the way we go at each other. I didn’t want it to happen that way again. It’s not right.”
“We’re not going at each other.”
“I know ... but we will be in a minute.” Her eyes breathed fire as she gazed at him
. “I want you, Sam,” she said. “I wish I didn’t, but I do.”
He touched her then. He caressed her cheek with his free hand, racked by a tenderness he didn’t understand. “Oh, man,” he said softly, “why are you so damn beautiful? Why are your breasts naked? And why am I so crazy about you, Lace? Why do I need you?”
His voice trailed off in a husky groan, but Bev had heard the word need, and it sent a burst of longing through her. The sudden deep ache in her loins was almost unbearable. “Get us out of these ropes, Sam.”
A crazy thought flashed into her head as he fought with their bonds. They were going to miss their boat. She ought to tell him. If the cruise ship left without them, Arthur would get away. But she didn’t breathe a word of it as he flung away the last of the cording and dragged her into his arms. The sound that came out of him was so filled with passion and need, so rich with male relief, it brought tears to her eyes. She wasn’t the only one hurting.
In his haste he’d freed only one of her hands, but it was all she needed. She clutched at the straining muscles of his back, locking herself to him with a muted cry that was softly jubilant.
He kissed her deeply, his mouth hungry on hers. His tongue stroked over her teeth and the inner lining of her lips, then dipped inside, sliding hotly against her tongue. She could feel him pulling deeply on her, drinking in her sweetness as though he wanted to draw her into him and consume her. His rough passion might have frightened her if it hadn’t been exactly what she needed.
His raw masculinity made her want to be swept up by the forces that drove him. Even the reckless way he urged her legs apart made her yearn for the hard, quick thrust of his body. She wanted to be shattered by passion!
He broke their kiss with a sound of rampant dissatisfaction, lifted her bodily, and peeled off her clingy dress with one continuous stroke. Her underwear went next, and then he tore at the buttons on his fly in frustration, not bothering to take the jeans off.
Poised between her thighs, he caught hold of her face, framing it with a fierce, tender grip. “Wrap your legs around me, Lace. Do it now.”
She clung to him with her thighs, excitement streaming up her legs. The sensations were so vibrant, they made her weak with anticipation. “Hold me,” she said, gasping as he entered her. “Dance with me.” He drove deeply and the power of his body sent shock waves of pleasure through her.
This couldn’t be wrong, she thought. Nothing had ever felt so right. He was rough and hungry and dominant by nature. He was even crude, but no one had ever made her feel so potent, so female. She went a little wild when she was with him, a woman out of control, but it was right. It was perfect.
As their lovemaking intensified, Bev’s world became pure sensation. Colors flashed kaleidoscopically behind her closed lids and the harsh rhythm of his breathing filled her head with silver sounds. Melting pleasure radiated from that place where his body sank irresistibly into hers. Currents rippled and surged, exploding like tiny starbursts.
She was cresting, a wave about to break, when, inexplicably, he slowed and caught her up in his arms. The sudden sweetness of his need took her over the edge, and her inner world of sensation dissolved in chaos. She was tumbling over a waterfall, buffeted by raging currents, dragged under by ecstasy. The journey swept her along, taking everything she had.
It wasn’t until he was holding her afterward that Sam realized he hadn’t released one of her hands. He looked at her, his expression holding concern, even tenderness. “I didn’t hurt you, did I? Are you all right?”
“No and yes,” she said, a smile sparkling. “I’m not just okay, I’m hopelessly content. All I want to do now is lie in your arms. I want to sleep with you, Sam.”
He scooped her up from the floor and rose to his feet without even a grimace of pain. “There’s a bedroom at the end of the hallway.”
The room he spoke of so casually was a huge chamber of black marble and faux leopardskin prints. The canopied bed was enveloped in sheer black mosquito netting, and the bed sheets were made of the softest, densest silk.
The world seemed a perfect place as she snuggled into the curve of Sam’s arm moments later. Even the fact that they’d let Arthur go didn’t matter. How could the case of the romantic con man and his still-infatuated victim compare to the bliss she was feeling for the first time in her life?
Eleven
FEELING AS THOUGH she were swimming in jasmine-scented silk, Bev stretched languorously from head to toe. She was drifting toward consciousness, but she didn’t want to wake up yet. The misty veil of sleep seemed a protection from something she didn’t want to acknowledge.
Rolling to her side, she nestled into the pillowcase, opened one eye lazily ... and saw the very thing she was trying to avoid. Sam Nichols was sound asleep next to her, his head partially covered by a pillow in a leopardskin case.
Bev pressed her face into her own pillow. It wasn’t a dream. It had all happened. Arthur had tied them up and made his escape the previous night. She and Sam had made love, once on the floor, twice more in this enormous bed. Afterward, they’d fallen asleep exhausted.
Her groan was muffled by her pillow. They’d fallen asleep instead of going after Arthur. Instead of catching the next plane to Fort Lauderdale to intercept the cruise ship’s arrival. Her misjudgment sent her into a tailspin of concern about letting down her father and Lydia Covington. But strangely enough, as much as that prospect disturbed her, it wasn’t what was bothering her most.
Earlier that morning, near dawn, she’d awakened with a plan in her head. Why couldn’t they hire a private plane and beat the cruise ship to Fort Lauderdale? she’d told Sam. She knew it was a long shot even before he vetoed the idea and drowsily pulled her into his arms. He’d been such an adorable sleepyhead, all warm and cuddly and naked, she hadn’t been able to resist him.
Their lovemaking had been wonderful. Too wonderful, that was the problem. He’d been gentle, and so unexpectedly sensitive to her needs that she was moved nearly to tears. She had opened to him emotionally, surrendering her defenses in what must have been a desperate need for affirmation. When he told her how beautiful she was, she had cried. Worse, she had said things, sweet, reckless things that afterward she wished she could take back.
Now she tried to remember the words she’d used, the context, and all she knew for sure was that she had exposed too much. She had spoken from her heart, impetuously, foolishly. She’d said something about not wanting to be with any other man but him, about needing him in her life. She’d even revealed her fear that she might be falling in love with him.
Careful not to wake him, she sat up, holding the sheet to her breasts. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d made a total fool of herself, that Sam must think she was desperate. And she had no idea how to repair the damage.
Moments later, casting about for something to put on, she found a courtesy terry robe in the hotel bathroom. Though it was far too big, she wrapped herself in it and walked to the bedroom’s terrace door. The view was magnificent. The hotel overlooked a turquoise cove where transparent waters shimmered gently, but Bev was barely conscious of it.
The questions taking shape in her mind had transfixed her. Was she afraid of falling in love with Sam? Or afraid because she was in love with him? Had it already gone too far?
A soft musical sound interrupted Bev’s turmoil. She turned, confused, and saw a gleaming marble box on the night table next to the bed. As the chimes continued, she realized it was a telephone. She couldn’t imagine who knew where they were. Lydia? Her father?
She wasn’t eager to talk to either of them. How could she ever explain what had happened? As she forced herself to replay the steps of her investigation, trying to formulate some reasonable defense, reality crashed down on her. There was no way to explain it. Arthur was gone. They’d blown it. She’d blown it, because that was how her father and Lydia would see it. She represented Brewster’s, not Sam.
She opened the marble lid and stared at the sleek bl
ack receiver a moment before picking it up. “Yes?”
“B-Bev?”
The stumbling voice sent a shot of adrenaline through her. “Arthur?”
“I—I hoped you’d still be there, Bev. I’m sorry—”
“No, Arthur, it’s all right! Where are you?”
“In Key West ... with Lydia.”
“What? You went back? That’s wonderful!” Bev thought she could hear someone sobbing softly in the background. “Who’s crying, Arthur? Is that Lydia? Is she all right?”
“She’s overcome, Bev, with happiness. We’ve been talking for hours, and we’ve decided to try it again. I promised I’d see a psychiatrist, and of course, I’ll join Con Artists Anonymous, if there is such a thing.”
Bev could hardly contain herself. As relieved as she was that she and Sam hadn’t blown the case, it was far more important to her that Arthur had turned out to be an honorable man! She felt as though her professional judgment had been vindicated. “What about the money, Arthur? How did you handle that?”
“I’m going to get a job as soon as I’m rehabilitated. Lydia has some contacts in the investment counseling industry back in Beverly Hills, but I think I’ll hang out my own shingle.”
“Attaboy! I can’t wait to tell Sam!”
“Oh, S-Sam. How is Sam? He didn’t look very happy last night.”
Bev glanced over at the man she’d just spent the most torrid night of her life with. He was stretched out on the bed like a sleek, muscular panther, sleeping contentedly in the morning sun. “I’d say he looks happy this morning, Arthur. Very happy.”
“You two worked out your differences?”
Soft laughter filled the line. “We did, yes. In a big way. You may have done us a favor, Arthur.”
Bev was bursting with relief and excitement by the time she hung up the phone. “Sam!” she cried, climbing onto the bed to shake him awake. “That was Arthur! Everything’s all right.”
Private Dancer Page 15