“I never told you that.”
“Didn’t have to. That man was totally lickable.”
“Can we talk about something else? Please.”
“Sure.” The mischief that sparked in Roxanne’s eyes raised the hair on her arms. “So. Which one of the Brooks Brothers set is your mom trying to hook you up with?”
“Oh Lord.” She dropped her head in her hands. “All of them.”
Miranda peeked through her fingers to spy on the stuffy, white-collar friends of her new brother-in-law. They appeared to be interested more in showing each other their latest Smartphone than responding to the single women buzzing around them like jet fighters trying to make a landing. As far as eligible men went, they weren’t all bad. In fact, if she had met them the week before, she would have blushed, stammered and probably made a complete goober of herself. But now…
They left her colder than the ice sculpture of Cupid near the wedding cake.
“Who do you have your eye on?”
Her head fell lower to rest upon the table. “None of them.”
“Yeah. They don’t compare at all to Mr. Tight Buns.”
“Miranda.” Her mother’s voice cracked like a whip near her ear. “Sit up. A man doesn’t want a wife with poor posture.”
“Well I don’t want a husband who’s judging me solely on the straightness of my spine. Actually, I don’t want a husband at all.”
“Nonsense. The only women who don’t want a husband are lesbians.”
Roxanne sputtered, spraying Dom Pérignon all over the purple satin table cloth.
“My God, Miranda, the people you consort with. Come with me.”
Miranda bit back a curse as her mother pinched her under the fleshy part of her triceps and propelled her across the room.
“I can walk, Mother.”
“Yes, but where to is another matter. I want you to meet Jefferson. He’s a new ad exec in your father’s firm. Recently divorced, he has moved to the city for a new start. You can be just the girl to show him around town.”
“You don’t mean the guy with the gray hair and seventies moustache? Mother. He’s practically your age.”
“You have to start somewhere. He’s single and successful. That’s the important thing.”
No. It wasn’t. What about chemistry? What about attraction? Where were the tingles that made every cell in her body warm like sitting in the path of the sun?
This Jefferson was probably a nice fellow and all, but the word “settled” blazed across her brain like neon. She didn’t want to settle. She didn’t want good enough. She wanted…
Several surprised gasps and a flurry of movement caught her attention as the crowd of dancers parted to reveal the cause of the commotion.
Him. She wanted him.
Her jaw dropped as the golden-tipped blond god stalked toward her with panther-like grace. With his tailored black suit and starched white button-down shirt left open at the neck to expose his tattoo, he was an Armani ad in the flesh.
Jorges came to a stop before them. His hot gaze touched all over her, from the top of her upswept hair to the bottom of her opened-toe silver sandals and everywhere in between. The blue of his eyes turned to liquid fire the longer he stared.
With each passing second her breath grew more ragged and she felt her lips move, trying to form a word, sound, anything, but she could only stare back, eating him up visually as if he were a bowl of cake batter ice cream, including bits of brownie and sprinkles.
Finally a slow grin curled his lips and he held out his hand. “May I have this dance?”
Was this a dream or had the underwire bra she wore cut off the blood flow to her brain? John Hughes moments did not happen to her, Miranda Caspar. Jorges was like Jake Ryan, only a thousand times sexier, a fact she would have bet good money was not possible. But here he was, gazing down at her as if she were the homecoming queen of his dreams.
She didn’t remember placing her hand in his, but in the next blink, they were on the dance floor. Breast to chest, he held her with one hand low on her back and the other clenched around her fingers and placed over his heart as they swayed to an eighties classic.
“You look stunning, Miranda. That shade of lilac was made for you.”
The observation broke through her shock, making her laugh. “You are the only man I know who didn’t call this color purple.”
He laughed with her, drawing her closer. “It’s my job to know colors.”
“What are you doing here?” she asked on a sigh. “How did you find me?”
“Well, you said your sister was getting married today, so I figured I’d go to every wedding venue in the city until I found you. This was my third try.”
He searched for her?
As her mind reeled with the implication, his brow furrowed and he pressed his forehead to hers. “As for why I’m here. That gets a bit more complicated.”
She clenched her teeth together to keep them from chattering as nerves shook her all over.
“Miranda, this week has been a real eye opener for me on so many levels.” His chuckle held no humor. “You have no idea what I went through and someday I hope I can tell you everything, but it all began the night I met you. I might have begun thinking we would have only one night between us, but what we shared was more than just sex. At least for me it was. I had hoped it was the same for you. And then came that Cammy girl.”
“Tammy.”
“Whoever. I know that hurt you, and I’m sorry. More than you know.”
“It isn’t my business,” she murmured, not wanting to spend a single second thinking about that skank.
“I want it to be your business. Your opinion matters because you matter to me. I didn’t sleep with her, or her friend. Kissed. Yes. Groped. Probably.”
She really didn’t need to hear that.
“But I didn’t have sex with them. I know what my reputation is, and while it’s not completely unfounded, I want more, and I want it with you.”
“I’m so plain,” she couldn’t help but interject. Ah! Why couldn’t she take his compliment?
“You’re not plain. You’re genuine. You don’t need glamour around you because your glamour lives on the inside and shines for all to see.” He laughed again and gestured to his clothes and face. “You saw through all of this to the heart of me. Miranda, you feed parts of me I didn’t know were starving until you were gone and I was left dying of hunger.”
Hope fluttered in her stomach. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I want a chance. I want to make you smile and go on real dates, maybe take a trip around the world. I want to cook breakfast for you after holding you in my arms all night long. I want to be working at my desk and look over to see you sitting on my loveseat doing whatever the hell you want. I want to be with you. Who knows if we’re meant to be forever, but I want to try.” His eyes shimmered with the depth of emotions from his heart. “Will you give me a chance? Us a chance?”
Temptation had never struck her so low in the belly. The word “yes” danced on her tongue, ready to leap out of her mouth, but fear wrangled it into submission.
With a shaking breath she admitted, “I’m scared.”
“I’m terrified.” As he raised his hand to brush back the wisps of hair on her cheek, she saw the strong tremors in his fingers, noticing that the shakes she thought were hers were actually Jorges’. “I’m afraid you won’t find me worthy. That I’ve messed up before we’ve even begun.”
“I’m afraid you’ll find me boring.”
“I’m afraid you’ll find out how unexciting I really am.” He tilted her chin up, his lips a whisper away from hers. “What do you say? Shall we face our fears together?”
One thing she had always prided herself on was her intelligence, and her gut was screaming at her that to walk away now would be the stupidest thing she could ever do.
“Yes.”
A flash sparked in his eyes followed by his slow, sexy smile that she only glimpse
d for a nanosecond before he kissed her. Melting like caramel over a low heat, she wrapped her arms around his neck and clung to him for purchase as her knees buckled.
The press of his palm smoothing up and down her back, as his tongue stole inside her mouth to tickle and tease, turned her molten. And when he ground his erection against her belly, an answering rush of moisture gathered in her loins. Lord have mercy, she was ready for his possession.
Only when her lungs burned with fire did she pull away, relishing the flush on his cheeks as he too struggled for breath.
Near her ear he whispered, “You undo me, Miranda. I’m tempted to take you right here with everyone watching.”
Shivers broke out over her body at the mention of others watching. She glanced around and gasped as she saw the shocked stares from practically the entire wedding party, who watched their interaction as if they were the breaking story on the evening news. Some had mouths agape while others talked behind hands in animated whispers. In the corner Megan fumed with fists clenched at her sides and her eyes shooting poisoned darts in their direction.
Funny. For once in Miranda’s life, she managed to upstage Megan, and she really couldn’t care less. What she did care about was Jorges and the need for more of his kisses. The sooner the better.
“Come with me.” She took his hand and led him out of the crowded ballroom and down the hallway. The doorknob of the unisex bathroom turned easily in her hand as she opened the door and pulled him inside.
A hot kiss cut off his delighted laughter, turning it into a moan as she ran her hands over his chest. Her nails scraped across the cotton shirt and down his sides, drawing a pain-filled hiss as he jumped away.
“Did I do something wrong?” she asked.
His nose wrinkled on a wince. “No. I—uh. Earlier this week I was stabbed.”
“What? Oh my God! Where?” She tugged the ends of his shirt from his pants and pulled up to expose his stomach. An angry red line slashed across his side, banded by black stitches over the swollen, puckered skin. “Oh Jorges. Were you mugged?”
“No. No. There was a man after Amaryllis. He thought he could get information out of me. I gave him enough to let me go but still keep her safe.”
“Is she okay? Is he still out there?”
“He’s been taken care of. And Amaryllis is safe with her husband.”
“Oh?” she questioned, striving for an indifferent tone. Although Jorges had claimed they were only friends, knowing Amaryllis was off the market loosened some of Miranda’s anxiety about their relationship. “I didn’t know she was married.”
“They’ve only been married a few days. I told you, it’s been quite a week for me. Her husband is a good man and will take good care of her. She’s deliriously happy. But, about us.” He pulled her into the circle of his arms. “When I was stabbed, the only thought on my mind was you. I wanted you with me to hold my hand and run your fingers through my hair as you told me everything was going to be all right. When I was threatened with that blade, the idea of never seeing you again hurt worse than the cut itself.”
“Wow.” The flutter of her heart tickled her throat. “That’s the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.”
“But not the last. I will endeavor to tell you at least one romantic thing a day. For example, right now you look like a siren, soft and girlish but with sex burning in your eyes, promising mind-blowing pleasure. It’s taking all of my willpower not to rip that pretty dress off your body.”
The muscles in her thighs bunched as he matched action to words, slipping his fingers under the spaghetti strap on her shoulder and tugging the side down until a rosy nipple popped free. Cupping her breast, he bent and took the peak into his mouth. Each pull of his mouth went right to her core, causing her sheath to pulse and made her achingly aware of the emptiness inside.
Not to be outdone, she slid her hand down the front of his trousers, scoring the hard length of his cock through the fabric with her nails. His answering moan against her breast skipped across her skin like wet pop rocks. Mindful of his injury, she went right to his fly, releasing the zipper and reaching inside his briefs to grasp the throbbing length with a greedy hand.
“Shhh,” she admonished as his groan echoed against the tile walls. “People will hear.”
“I’ll take that as a challenge. Let’s see how well you keep quiet.” He spun her around to face the mirror and had her panties down around her knees before she could gasp. “Hang on to the basin.”
The cool ceramic felt like ice against her skin while his hand cupping her breast was like molten silver surrounding her trembling flesh.
His eyes flashed with wicked intent as his other hand pulled up her skirt one slow inch at a time. The taffeta rustled and creased in his grip. “Even if you do manage to keep quiet, people are going to see these wrinkles in your dress, your swollen lips and the satisfied glow on your face and know exactly what we did in here.”
With his upper body, he bent her over the counter and his hand moved from the rich fabric of her skirt to the puffy lips of her drenched sex. His fingers slid along the slit and plunged into her sheath with no effort.
Biting her lip, she swallowed her moan, her gaze torn between the reflection of his wrist rotating under her skirt as he fucked her with his hand and the stamp of lust on his face, making the blue in his eyes glow like diamonds in the sun.
His hips hitched forward, pressing the damp head of his cock against the seam of her ass. As he swiveled his hips, the blunt end stroked over her bottom until it pressed against his churning fingers.
“God, you feel so good,” he moaned against her shoulder. “I bet I could slide balls-deep in one thrust.”
A whimper broke past her vocal cords and she panted, “Jorges.”
“Ah, baby.” He pressed a kiss to her temple as he laughed. “I know this isn’t the best time to ask, or the most romantic, but are you on birth control?”
What? He wanted her to think rationally? Now, with his fingers twisting her nipples so deliciously?
“I’m—I’m. Pill. I’m on the Pill.”
“Thank God. I’m clean, you know. And I’ve always worn a condom. But I don’t want to with you.”
Silence fell across the room as her world stopped. “What are you saying?”
“I want to be inside you. Bare.” He nipped her earlobe. “I want to feel this hot syrup bathe my cock. I want to mix my cum with yours. But only if you want to, Miranda. It’s your choice.”
How the hell was she supposed to make such a huge decision with his cock stroking between her thighs and his fingers rubbing against her G-spot? Some people might think going without a condom was no big deal, but this was a ginormous leap. He was asking her to trust him with her body.
Just as he risked trusting his with her.
Jorges was so tense against her back, he was like a stone wall, every muscle tight as he awaited her answer.
“If I say no?”
He backed an inch away. “I can find a condom.”
“No.” Her fingers tightened around the lip of the sink. “I want to feel you too.”
His posture relaxed and his fingers left her passage to spread her lips open for the head of his cock to lodge against her opening. He pushed in. Deeper and deeper and deeper he tunneled until the crown kissed her cervix.
“Shit.” He groaned, squeezing his eyes tightly shut he muttered, “Bad idea. Bad idea. Bad idea.”
Lordy, how so? He felt wonderful gliding inside her without the catch of latex rubbing her raw.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m going to last two seconds. Exquisite. That’s the only thing I can think of right now to describe this feeling. Exquisite. Ah, don’t move.” His hot breath dampened the hair at her nape.
With that little plea, he unleashed her inner vixen, releasing a woman who was sure in her sensuality and who wanted to see her man brought to his knees.
She flexed the muscles in her cunt, caressing his length in pu
lsating ripples.
“Damn it. Don’t move.”
“Jorges.” She covered his hand that palmed her mound. “Is this the last time we’re having sex?”
“Fuck no.”
“Then take me. Fuck me now.” She turned to whisper the naughty thought that came to mind. “Later I’ll spread my legs for you to show you how well you fucked me. I’ll play with my pussy and take your cum that spills out and paint my nipples.”
His arms tensed around her a split second before he pulled back and lunged in a burst of power. Her hand flew up, slapping the mirror to keep from smacking her head against the glass. Her hot breath clouded the image of Jorges ravishing her neck with his teeth and tongue as he pounded into her with ruthless abandon. If not for his arm banded across her chest, she was convinced her heart was going to burst from her ribs.
Those nimble fingers of his slipped over her distended clitoris, sending a bolt of pleasure up her spine and more cream to gush from her pussy to ease his possession.
Oh shit. Her knees gave out. This was going to hurt in the most delicious way. She was sky jumping without a parachute and the ground was coming up fast.
Bam!
Her orgasm hit her with all the subtly of a sledgehammer. A veil dropped over her vision and fire erupted up her throat. Somewhere in her mind she heard the faint cry of her name as Jorges’ cock hardened in her rippling sheath, then kicked with his release. Each hot spurt of cum sent mini-quakes through her body, drawn out by the irregular jerking of his hips.
Okay. This cinched it. Wherever Jorges wanted to take her, she was on board. Her bags were packed and her ticket was punched. When did they set sail?
Minutes, or hours, later, she found the strength to lift an eyelid and realized her face was pressed to the glass and Jorges draped over her like a cloak.
“Can’t breathe,” she wheezed past raw vocal cords.
“Sorry,” he slurred. When he stepped back, his cock slid free, releasing the flood of their juices to spill down her thighs.
ANightatTheCavern Page 8