Well, he could hardly blame her but holy hell, he was exhausted and irritable. Most of all, he seemed to have forgotten how to think straight. He’d had it with trying to figure out if she was what Hamilton claimed or if she was something else.
Mostly he’d had it with trying to figure out how come he kept kissing this woman when so much pointed to her being bad news.
How come the feel of her skin under his hands was getting to him, even now?
The smell of her hair, too. That flower scent…
He had her down to her bra and panties. Enough, his weary brain said, and for once, he listened to it and let her go.
“Okay,” he said grimly. “My turn.”
He started to peel off his shirt. She gave a shocked sob and whirled toward the door.
“For heaven’s sake,” he snarled, and turned the lock. Then he picked her up and put her in the shower. She’d have to make it past him, if she made another break for freedom, and no way was he about to let that happen.
He tossed his shirt aside. Unzipped his jeans. Stepped out of them. Looked down at his Jockeys and decided to leave them on because as tired and angry as he was, he knew he was still on the edge of her having a predictable effect on him.
Then he stepped into the shower and closed the smoked glass door.
Mia shrank back. The look on her face almost made him laugh. The one time he’d stayed here, in a guest suite, the official who’d owned the house woke the place early in the morning with the kind of scream no grown man should make.
Everybody had come running.
They’d found the guy in this very shower stall, his back tight to the wall, a snake the size of the Amazon curled in the middle of the floor.
The way the guy had looked then was exactly the way Mia looked now.
Matthew reached past her. She all but bared her teeth. He plucked a bar of soap from the built-in shelf, made a point of showing it to her, then reached for a couple of washcloths.
She didn’t move.
Okay. Let her play it her way.
He lathered one of the cloths, scrubbed the dust and sweat of the day and the road from his face, then from his body.
Mia watched, the way he figured an anthropologist would watch a tribal ritual.
He reached for the shampoo. Worked up a good lather. Rinsed off, but not the way he liked to, head back, eyes closed, because closing his eyes on the woman sharing this enclosed space would probably win him a knee in the groin.
Finished, he held out the soap and the other washcloth.
Mouth set, eyes narrowed, she took what he offered with no thanks. Rubbed the soap on the cloth. Began washing. Her face. Her throat. Her arms. And all the while, the water sluiced down on her skin, tiny drops beading on the swell of her breasts above her bra.
That plain white, demure, completely unseductive bra.
It was soaked. And translucent. Matthew could see her nipples.
His gaze dropped lower. Her panties were soaked with water, too. The dark shadow of the curls on her mons was clearly visible.
And, the scent of the soap…
How come it didn’t smell like that on him?
He shifted his weight. Get out of the shower, Matthew, his head told him. Right now, you idiot. Right now!
Instead he watched her wash her hair. Watched the dark mass of it slither down her back as she raised her arms, put her head back, lifted her face to the spray.
Matthew groaned.
Mia’s eyes flew open. She stared at him and then her gaze dropped lower, lower, dropped to his boxer shorts.
To the heavy bulge beneath them that he couldn’t have controlled if his life depended on it.
She looked up. The shock of what he saw on her face jolted through him like a live wire.
The shampoo bottle fell from her hand.
“I’ll get it,” he said in a voice that bore no resemblance to his own.
He bent down, picked up the bottle, rose to his feet… Rose to his feet and put the bottle back on the shelf, and, hell, the only way to do that was to move closer to her.
“You missed a spot,” he said thickly.
Her lips parted. “What?”
“You left some lather on your shoulder.”
She didn’t move. He stepped closer, skimmed her shoulder with his fingertips, then bent his head and put his mouth to her skin.
Her wet, sweet-smelling skin.
The sound that came from her throat was as soft as the whisper of the wind.
“You know why there was soap on your shoulder?” he said. She shook her head, her gaze fixed to his. “Because you can’t take a proper shower with your clothes on.”
He reached behind her. Found the clasp of her bra. She began to tremble as he opened it and drew the straps slowly down her arms.
His throat constricted. Her breasts were so beautiful. So beautiful.
Matthew bent his head. Kissed her arched throat. Kissed the lush curve of one breast, then drew the nipple into his mouth.
She moaned. Raised her hands. Put her palms flat against his chest.
He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of her panties. Gently worked them down her hips. Crouched before her so he could ease first one foot and then the other free.
He kissed her insteps. Her ankles. He raised his face, kissed her thighs and put his face against her. Against those feminine curls. And inhaled the scent of soap and woman and desire.
“Mia,” he whispered, and he parted her labia with his tongue, touched it to the tiny, exotic bud that was hidden there, and she cried out, the sound high and wild and as exciting as her taste.
Her hands were in his hair. Her hips were undulating. She was weeping and he knew he was going to come any second and he didn’t want that to happen, didn’t want this to end before it had really begun.
He rose to his feet. Cupped her face and kissed her deeply, letting her taste the mingled flavors of his hunger and her desire.
Then he shut off the water, scooped her into his arms and headed for the bedroom.
CHAPTER SIX
A WASH of ivory moonlight lay over the huge bed.
Matthew carried Mia to it and lay her down in a sea of cool white linen. She opened her arms to him and he whispered her name as he went into her embrace.
He kissed her, kissed her again and again. Her honeyed taste filled his senses; he could kiss her forever, he thought, and never weary of doing it.
He caught her bottom lip between his teeth and bit gently into the soft flesh. She gasped and he soothed the hurt with kisses before slipping his tongue into her mouth.
She moaned at the sweet intrusion. That delicate sound, the arching of her body toward his, made him shut his eyes with pleasure.
Her breasts pressed lightly against the hard planes of his chest. Matthew cupped one, feathered his thumb over the nipple and exulted in her swift gasp of arousal.
“Do you like it when I touch your breasts?” he said hoarsely.
She answered by bringing his head to hers and kissing him, her mouth open and hot against his.
He was never going to make this last!
Sex was all about pleasure but it wasn’t about losing control, not until that final second of release. And yet, he was close to losing control now. He could feel it happening. Reality was slipping away. He could hear the pounding of his blood, thick in his veins.
His erection was so full it was almost painful.
Never, not in his entire life, had he wanted a woman as he wanted Mia.
Still cupping her breast, molding its shape with his hand, Matthew caught the nipple between his teeth, then sucked it into his mouth. Her cry rang into the still night.
“Matthew,” she whispered. “Oh, Matthew…”
He rolled above her. Sent his hand skimming the length of her body. Her satin flesh was perfumed with desire.
Fragrant with it, because of him.
He had done this to her. Made her feel this way.
He was the one. Nobody else.
/> Her hands were on him. Her fingers moved over his shoulders and chest, stroked down his abdomen. Down and down again, and he caught his breath, anticipating her touch on his swollen flesh.
Her hand closed around him and Matthew threw back his head and groaned, every nerve-ending pulsing with the excitement of her caress.
It was almost more than he could take.
He had to stop her, he thought, and he closed his hand around hers…
And showed her, instead, how to move those smooth fingers along his steely length and drive him toward exquisite insanity.
His breath hissed through his teeth and he caught her hand again, brought it to his mouth, kissed it.
“Not yet,” he said, “not yet, sweetheart.”
He clasped her wrists, drew her arms high over her head. Kissed the tender flesh he’d exposed. Bit it. Licked it, until he reached her wrists again. Until his mouth was once more at her breasts.
Until he slid his free hand between her legs.
Her cry almost made him come.
That sound, the glorious female surrender in it, the feel of her wet heat against his palm, damned near unmanned him.
Matthew closed his eyes and struggled for composure.
Mia was trembling beneath him. Sobbing his name. Moving, writhing against his hand.
“Mia,” he said hoarsely, and he brushed his fingers over her clitoris.
She went wild, bucking against him, reaching up to kiss his mouth, to bite it, struggling to free her wrists from his grasp.
“No,” she sobbed, “Matthew, no…”
“Yes,” he said huskily, letting go of her wrists, sliding his hands beneath her. Raising her to him, opening her thighs wide so that she was entirely vulnerable.
She was so beautiful, here, in her very heart. The petals of her labia, the fragile bud within…
He kissed that bud. Tongued it. Worshipped her with his mouth. Felt the intensity of her response, her moans, her whispers, and when she gave a long, keening cry and lost herself in his arms, he felt something happen deep inside him, something that had less to do with sex and more to do with joy.
He moved up her body, held her close as she clung to him and wept. Then he clasped her face and kissed her mouth and when her eyes met his, when he saw her lips form his name, he entered her on a deep, sleek thrust.
Her hips lifted from the bed. Her legs rose and wrapped around his waist.
“Matthew,” she said brokenly, and he began to move. Slowly. Deeply. Thrusting into her silken heat, then pulling back, and the pace of his lovemaking quickened, her cries grew more breathless and he felt it start, the incredible tension, the built-up of energy.
The long climb to the top, and then the moment when he stood poised on the very edge of the world…
Mia began to tremble. Her hands gripped his biceps; he saw her eyes blur with what was happening to her, what was happening to them both…
Then, only then, Matthew threw his head back and echoed her cry as he tumbled over the precipice.
They lay in a tangle of linen and moonlight, two strangers wrapped in each other’s arms.
Cool air from the blades of a ceiling fan washed over them.
Maybe that was why Mia suddenly felt chilly… Or maybe it was something else. Maybe it was the sudden and dizzying return of sanity.
She opened her eyes. Stared up at the shadowed ceiling. Felt the powerful weight of Matthew’s body on hers…and her blood ran cold.
Had she lost her mind?
She’d slept with two men in her entire life. A boy she’d dated in college and a man she’d almost become engaged to. She’d known each one for months before she let things get this far.
She’d known Matthew Knight for less than twenty-four hours.
And he wasn’t a sweet-faced college kid or a doting suitor. He was—he was hired muscle, come to take her back to Cartagena any way he could.
Hired by a man who wanted what she had in her compact. Wanted it enough to see her dead.
She must have done something, made a little sound, because Matthew lifted his head and looked at her.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” she said quickly. “Nothing’s the matter.”
“I’m too heavy for you,” he said, and rolled off her. She began to move away but he drew her into his arms.
“Hey,” he said softly.
She forced a smile. “Hey, yourself.”
He gave her a soft kiss. How could a man like him be so tender? “You sure you’re okay?”
No, she thought, I’m not. But she knew what he was asking.
“Yes. I’m fine.”
“Because—” He gave a husky laugh. “Because if that was a little too fast—”
It wasn’t. It had been wonderful. Incredible. Incredible sex, with a man who’d abducted her…
“No,” she said, “no, it was fine.”
“Ah,” he said solemnly, “I get it. You’re fine, and the sex was fine. So, let’s see, on a scale of one to ten, what’s that register? A four?”
“No. Honestly. I only meant—”
“You meant,” he said quietly, “you don’t know what the hell you’re doing, lying here in my arms.”
She felt the color rush into her face. Foolish, because what was there to blush about, considering what they’d just done?
“I don’t…” She cleared her throat. “I don’t really want to talk about it, Matthew.”
She tried to move, but his arms tightened around her.
“Good.” His tone roughened. “Neither do I, because I don’t have any answers, either.” He rolled her onto her back, clasping her wrists so her hands were at her sides, his eyes a luminous emerald green in the moonlight. “All I know is that I wanted to make love to you as soon as I saw you.”
“Was that before or after you broke into my room?”
He let go of her hand, caught hold of her face, held it so she had no choice but to meet his gaze.
“Yeah,” he said gruffly, “I broke in. I forced you to go with me.” She started to twist away but he wouldn’t let her. His fingers dug into her jaw. “And you still have something you got in Cartagena. I don’t know what it is. I don’t even know who you are.” A muscle knotted in his jaw; his eyes moved over her face, lingering on her parted lips, then rose to meet her gaze again. “But I’ve never wanted a woman the way I want you.”
“That’s a charming line. Does it always wor—”
She gasped as he kissed her, his mouth ruthless against hers. She struggled but he showed her no mercy until, to her horror, she felt herself giving in to his kiss, felt her lips moving against his, her heartbeat quickening as it had before.
“You see?” he whispered, stroking his hand down her body. “It’s the same for you.”
“It’s not. It’s not! I don’t want you. I don’t—”
He kissed her, his mouth brushing lightly over hers.
“One way or another,” he said, “I’ve been a soldier all my life. I live by a code, Mia. Call it a code of honor, call it discipline—any name you give it, it means the same thing. I honor my commitments.”
“Meaning,” she said, a little catch in her voice, “don’t expect special treatment, just because we’ve—we’ve—”
“Meaning,” he said harshly, “this is the first time I’ve broken that code. I shouldn’t have made love to you.” His voice softened; he stroked her hair back from her face and this time, when he kissed her, the kiss was so tender she felt her heart melt. “The truth is, I don’t know what happens next. I only know that talking never accomplishes anything.”
His hand moved and covered her breast. His thumb brushed her nipple, and the liquid tug it elicited deep in her belly was intense enough to make her moan.
“But this,” he said in a low, hot voice, “this will.”
He kissed her again and again, until she knew he was right. Nothing mattered but him and the way she felt when he touched her. The way he groaned under the
stroke of her hand. The way he tasted, all salt and passion and clean, powerful man, when she kissed him.
When at last, Matthew slid into her, deep into her, he rode her until she was blind to everything but him.
Sweat glistened on his shoulders. Mia kissed his salty skin, clasped his hips, levered herself up to meet his powerful thrusts.
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