by Nina Bruhns
He stood there with his back to the wall, looking so bad-tempered she forgot all about her fears.
She walked up to him and put her hand on his cheek. “Mon amour,” she whispered.
The scent of his cologne, subtle, expensive, masculine, wrapped itself around her. She felt her body quicken. Heat. Melt.
And that quickly she wanted him again. That desperately. She moved closer and drew her fingers down his chest, the silky-fine cotton of his white dress shirt hot and slippery under their tips. Like she would be, if he touched her.
His harsh breaths scorched over her temple. She leaned into him, rubbing her nipples against his chest. A low rumble sounded deep in his throat. Like the warning growl of a wolf. But he didn’t touch her.
She reached for his shoulder holster and slid it off, laying it over his jacket on the chair. Then she went for his shirt buttons.
Slowly, one by one, she undid them. She could smell him now...the strong, musky odor of light sweat and potent lust. He didn’t utter a word, just watched her with wary, carnal eyes.
Pulling aside his shirt, she raked her fingers deliberately across his chest, sifting through the thatch of black hair, pausing over his tight, flat nipples erect with need. Like he would be, if she touched him.
She put her nose to his jaw, his throat, inhaled the erotic scent of his skin, the unique scent of her lover. Her insides clenched in recognition, twisting with the nearly unbearable desire to be united with him.
She was wet. Slick with need. Trembling with a tumult of sensations and emotions. Wanting him. Wanting him. She touched the button on his waistband.
He grabbed her wrists. “Non.” Then with strong, powerful hands he urged her down. Down to her knees.
He was hard, the bulge in his trousers long and thick. Excitement zinged a path through her body straight to her center.
His cruel, sculpted lips curled up at the corner. “Shoes,” he ordered softly. “My shoes and socks.”
With a moue of disappointment, she complied, quickly ridding him of the nuisances.
“Now get up,” he said. “Up on the bed.”
She blinked.
“Now!”
She scrambled to obey. Tucking her legs under her on the mattress, she sat self-consciously on her heels, awaiting his next command.
At last pushing away from the door, he took his time closing the distance. He halted at the edge of the bed.
She shivered, freezing cold in the hot, close room. Terrified. Electrified. Excited beyond reason.
He put his fingertips on her knee and she nearly jumped a foot in the air.
“Nervous?” he asked softly.
“What are you going to do to me?”
He smiled. The knowing smile of a devil. “Anything I want.” He paused. Raised a black brow. “D’accord?”
Her pulse went into hyperspace. What exactly did he have in mind? Did she trust him...to do anything he wanted?
She felt like she was about to jump off a cliff. But the amazing part was, she did trust him. To jump with her.
She fought not to gnaw her lip, and nodded. “Yes.”
His eyes glittered like black obsidian. “Bon. Kneel up, and spread your knees.” She did. “Wider.” She did.
Even kneeling on the bed, she was shorter than Jean-Marc. His broad-shouldered body towered above her, making her feel overpowered and helpless. Surprisingly, it wasn’t an unpleasant sensation. The fact was, she’d had to take care of herself for so long, it came as an unforeseen relief...to be under his complete control. To give herself up to his will.
Dangerous, a part of her warned—the sensible part. Don’t lose yourself to him. Don’t give in.
But she was beyond reason and beyond warning. She wanted this.
His fingers skimmed up her thighs and she shivered harder. His touch was light, illusive, as he explored the curves of her lower body, almost teasingly. Then they dipped under her T-shirt, more insistent as they reached for her breasts. The fabric was taut around her, so he had to shove his hands under it to get to them.
Her breath sucked in as he roughly seized her. His eyes never left hers; probing, analyzing, calculating. His thumbs rubbed over her sensitive nipples. She swallowed a cry as he did it again. And again. All the while watching her, his devil’s lips curved in their infuriatingly knowing smile.
“Unbuckle my trousers,” he finally said, rolling one nipple between thumb and forefinger.
She could barely stay upright. Moisture trickled down her inner thighs and there was an unbearable pressure clamping her sex in a vise of craving. She wanted to be filled.
But her fingers refused to cooperate. They fumbled with the button of his waistband and struggled with his zipper until she nearly screamed with frustration. But at last the trousers slid to his ankles, followed quickly by his boxer briefs.
Her breath caught. She’d seen him before, of course. Knew intimately how large and finely-proportioned his cock was. But today it seemed even bigger. Thicker. Angrier.
Her quivering hands reached for him.
He stepped back. She wanted to groan.
Removing his pants, he set them aside. His smile, such as it was, disappeared. “Get down on your hands and knees,” he ordered.
Her heartbeat stuttered. “Jean-Marc—”
“Do it!”
Haltingly, she dropped to her hands and knees along the length of the bed. Head up, she awaited his next move. It seemed like an eternity before it came.
Coming close to the bed, he gathered her long hair in his left hand and wound it around his fist until the knot rested tight at the back of her head. The pull on her hair was almost painful, the strength of his muscles as he held her there immobilizing. His right hand he placed on her naked bottom.
“Spread your knees,” he ordered her again. This time she spread them wide apart, desperately wanting him to touch her there.
Which he did. With almost clinical interest, he moved his hand down her bottom and along her cleft. Touching her with his palm and his fingers, gliding, squeezing, probing.
“Dieu. Tu es en feu.”
She was panting by now. Definitely on fire. “Jean-Marc—”
A sharp slap stung on her backside. “La ferme!” Quiet!
A cry escaped before she could stop it. Not so much of pain as pure surprise. And shock. He had spanked her!
His palm rubbed over the sore spot, soothing the sting on her derrière. Then his long finger slid into her, making her gasp in pleasure. She moaned, undulating against his hand.
“C’est bon?” he asked, his voice like the crunch of gravel under a car tire. “You like that?”
Though barely able to move her captive head, she decided just to nod, mindful of his last command. She was looking down at the pillow and wished she could see his face, but he stood too high above her back.
He withdrew his finger. She whimpered. He shoved her T-shirt up, tugging it off her breasts so they hung down ripe and begging for him. She had never felt so completely exposed in her life.
At least until he exerted pressure on her neck and urged her head to lower to the pillow. She wanted to drop her bottom too, but his hand between her legs prevented it. Her pulse thundered at her position.
“Stay like this,” he said, voice low. “I want you just like this.”
“Jean-Marc,” she began, and again a sharp slap stung across her ass. “Unh!” she cried.
“Do you understand?”
She swallowed and nodded quickly. But he spanked her anyway. Not hard, but fast and stinging. And again. And again. Her ass burned and she cried out to him. But all at once she realized she was crying out in pleasure. It didn’t hurt, it felt...arousing. He spanked her, and every agonizing sensation shot straight between her legs and throbbed there, increasing her desire for him.
Suddenly her hair was released, the bed dipped, and she felt him behind her. His fingers gripped her and his thumbs spread her apart and in one powerful thrust he mounted her.
His roughened voice caught on a roar as his cock pushed deep inside.
She came apart. She shuddered and shook as he scythed in and out twice, then swiftly joined her. He wrapped his arms around her and pressed his chest tight to her back as he spasmed, his hot essence spurting into her with each jerk.
He swore. Even before he was finished, he swore.
She was too wrung out, too sated, too filled with heated pleasure, to wonder why.
When he stilled, he held her even tighter, groaned, and whispered, “Merde
. I forgot the condom.”
Chapter 18
Ciara didn’t move.
“I’m sorry,” Jean-Marc murmured, his addled brain swamped with consternation. “I don’t know what happened. I never forget.”
Collapsing onto the bed, he turned her in his arms, gathering her into an embrace. She wouldn’t look at him. Twin flags of scarlet dotted her pleasure-flushed cheeks. She appeared slightly shell-shocked.
Inwardly, he called himself every kind of name.
“Ciara, mon ange, I swear I’m— Don’t worry, I haven’t given you anything.” At that, her eyes darted to his. “Except...” he added with a blown-out breath, “of course, maybe, depending on if you...” He braced himself. “Do you take the pill?”
The flags grew redder. “No,” she whispered.
Merde.
He wanted to curse long and hard. But then something very peculiar happened. A sudden feeling of intense pride blazed through him, and for one stark, unreal moment he wanted nothing more than for her to be carrying his child.
“You spanked me,” she whispered incredulously, breaking the uncharacteristic spell.
He cleared his throat, more than a little embarrassed. “Seemed like a good idea at the time,” he murmured, a bit defensively. The woman brought out things in him he’d never— Dieu.
“Is this some kind of clever new law enforcement strategy?” she asked with obvious pique, but settled her head on his shoulder. “Confess or I’ll spank you...”
Thank God she was regaining her sense of humor. Sort of. She seemed more dazed than upset. Denial? Denial worked for him.
“Well, you have been very naughty...” he ventured, testing the less daunting waters.
She didn’t whack him, so he raised her chin with his fingers and kissed her.
Her lips were soft and warm...and reluctant. But she didn’t pull away. A reprieve? He cradled her body and deepened the kiss. The tension in her limbs slowly seeped out and she wound her arms around his neck, letting him take his fill of her mouth.
“My God, Jean-Marc, you may have gotten me pregnant. Seems to me you’re the one who’s been naughty,” she murmured when their lips parted. “I should get to spank you.”
He swallowed and managed a half smile. “Wouldn’t want to assault an officer of the law. That’s a federal offense.”
“And what kind of offense is getting your prime suspect pregnant?” she asked pointedly.
He grimaced, growing somber. “A damn serious one.”
She held his career, as well as any chance at a conviction for le Revenant, in the palm of her hand—or the curve of her belly—and they both knew it.
He put his lips to her temple. “You going to report me?”
She lay quietly in his arms for so long he started making plans for what he’d do when he got kicked off the force. Unfortunately, everything he came up with involved bringing her and the baby along.
“I could never report you Jean-Marc,” she said at last, surprising the hell out of him. “That wouldn’t be fair. I seduced you, remember?”
“Which time?” he asked sardonically. A rhetorical question. It didn’t matter. He’d screwed up. Royally. Even if she didn’t report him, he’d have to report himself. Be removed from the case. Let someone else arrest her so the evidence wouldn’t be tainted by his monumental stupidity.
But the worst part was, he didn’t regret a thing he’d done. Not a single fucking thing.
He tipped her onto her back and canted his body over hers. He placed his hand between them, splayed his fingers over her belly. He felt the smooth dip of her abdomen, where his child might already be growing. And his passion bloomed. He kissed her, then lowered himself between her thighs and slid into her heat.
She made a noise and broke the kiss, gazing up at him uncertainly. She looked frightened, happy, hopeful...wary...all at the same time.
“Ciara,” he said, pushing himself deep inside her. “Let me take care of you. You don’t have to do what you’re doing. Quit, and come and live with me. I have plenty for all three of us.”
Her lips parted in disbelief, and again surprising him, her green eyes slowly filled. Then she tightened her arms around him and pulled him close. He couldn’t see her face, but her breath shuddered.
“Ciara? I’m serious—”
“Don’t,” she whispered. “You know it can never happen.”
She hooked her legs around his hips and took him deeper still. He was acutely aware he wasn’t sheathed, but this time it had been deliberate. He sensed she was equally aware. Had they both gone completely crazy?
He was teetering on the edge of...something he didn’t understand. But for the first time he had found something more important than his job.
He wanted her with him. And he wanted their child.
“We’ll find a way,” he said. “But you have to turn yourself in.”
She let out a watery laugh. “Jean-Marc, if I turn myself in I’ll be having your baby in jail, whether or not I’m guilty.”
“Non. I’ll get you the best lawyer in the country. We’ve got no evidence—”
She put her fingers over his mouth and gave him a heartrending smile. “Shhh,” she whispered. “You mustn’t say these things, my love. It would never work. For either of us. But I love you even more for asking.”
His heart squeezed so hard his chest hurt. “What if there really is a baby?”
Her head gave a tiny shake. “There’s probably not. Wrong time of month.”
Searingly disappointed, he buried his face in her hair, inhaled the sweet scent of her. Fought to keep his emotions in check. He pulled out and drove back into her.
No baby would be a good thing. At least he could keep a modicum of dignity when he resigned from the case. And he wouldn’t have to explain to the Préfet why le Revenant’s baby had his DNA.
“This is so fucked up,” he muttered.
“Yeah,” she agreed.
He thrust into her again.
“I want you with me.”
“I want to be with you, too.”
Pulled and thrust.
“There has to be a way.”
“Maybe in another lifetime,” she said with a moan as he scythed in deep, deep.
“Turn yourself in,” he urged again.
“I can’t,” she panted. “Who’ll take care of the Orphans?”
“I will,” he promised, astonishing both of them. He paused.
She looked up at him. Met his eyes. “And Beck?”
“I’ll keep Sofie safe. He won’t ever get close to her.”
“Jean-Marc...what if there’s not a baby?”
He gazed down at the face of the woman who had turned his world on its head. For whom he had compromised everything. The woman who would surely end his career and negate everything he’d deemed important in life up until this very moment.
“Then we’ll keep trying,” he whispered.
♥♥♥
They made love.
For the first time.
Sweet and tender, with both laughter and tears, their lovemaking transcended anything Jean-Marc had ever experienced. Sure, he’d had more creative sex. But never more emotionally satisfying. It was so much better this way. It made him happy from the inside out, clear to his toes happy.
He brushed it off when Ciara wouldn’t be pinned down to a specific date to move in with him; he concentrated instead on how beautiful she looked pinned down under him, c
alling his name as he brought her to orgasm. He didn’t worry when she still wouldn’t admit she was le Revenant, nor speak again about agreeing to turn herself in. His only thought was that she’d agreed to have his child—if implicitly, by allowing him to make love to her unprotected.
He was too busy falling in love to notice those things.
Too busy being happy, learning her body and her responses to his touch. Too busy listening to his heart, not his head.
When she finally, hours later, fell asleep in his arms, he was as content as a man could be. He would think about it later—all the problems, all the obstacles they’d have to overcome to be together. Right now there were only two things that mattered.
She was his. And he wasn’t going to let her go.
♥♥♥
“Jean-Marc.” Ciara shook him reluctantly. He looked so at peace. “Baby, we should go. We’ll miss our train.”
His eyes fluttered open, and immediately she was gifted with a blinding smile. My God, he was handsome when he smiled. It happened all too rarely. At least when he was around her.
“Mon ange,” he murmured, and reached for her. “So it wasn’t a dream.”
Guilt swirled through her insides as he took her in his arms. He’d be a lot better off if it had been.
“That depends on what you dreamed,” she said teasingly. Better to keep it light. Avoid the agonizing emotion they’d shared while making love. She’d start to cry again if she gave herself time to think about everything he’d offered her. Everything she must turn down.
His smile widened. “It was one hell of a dream.”
“Yeah?”
He rolled on top of her and she felt his cock slide home.
“Oh, yeah.”
She wrapped her arms around him. Oh, how she wished they could stay here in their satin and lace cocoon forever!
“Did it involve a brothel and a magic wand?” she asked, waggling her eyebrows. Wishing she really had a magic wand. A powerful one that could change the past...and the future.
His teeth flashed white in a fading sunbeam. “Oh, it’s magic, all right. It’s amazing the things it can do.”
“Mmm,” she purred. “Show me.”