by Kylie Brant
An answering smile curled her lips. “Maybe that’s what you need now. To build a fire in the den and curl up in front of it.”
Abruptly his nostalgia vanished. He’d spent too many hours in that room last night, staring blankly into the darkness, fighting ghosts that refused to stay banished. “I don’t think so.” Because the words sounded harsher than he wished, he added, in masterful understatement, “I didn’t get much sleep last night. After the long day I put in today, I wouldn’t trust myself to start a fire, much less tend to it.”
Was that a hint? she wondered. If so, it lacked his usual subtlety. All at once, she questioned her decision to wait for him. He had probably come home exhausted, and was just too well-mannered to tell her to go. “You must be tired.” Zoey rose abruptly. “I’ll just clean these dishes up and head home.”
“You can leave them.”
She looked at him askance. “No way. Did I mention I met your housekeeper?”
His lips curved. “Ila. I figured she must have let you in. And I’m just as afraid of her as you are. But tomorrow’s Sunday so she won’t be in. I’ll do them in the morning.”
She already had water running in the sink for the broiler, and had the dishwasher open.
“Or,” he murmured, leaning back and propping his feet on the chair she’d vacated, “you could just clean those dishes right up.” He sipped from his beer and watched her.
“It won’t take me long at all,” she assured him, turning from the counter to bend over the dishwasher rack, arranging the plates efficiently. With a subtle twitch and roll of her hips, she rose, turned for another handful of dishes and repeated the process. “I’ll be out of here in no time.”
He watched with great appreciation as she swayed and twisted, her shorts riding up with each movement as she leaned over the dishwasher, glimpses of muscles flashing in those fine legs as she straightened. “I’m in no hurry.” He cocked his head consideringly and wondered if he had to choose the sexiest, most mouthwatering part of her, would it be those long, smooth legs or that sweet little butt? He tipped his head to get a different angle. Some decisions weren’t to be made lightly.
One of the forks escaped her grip and fell to the bottom of the dishwasher. She gave a curse that she probably thought he couldn’t hear, and bent to retrieve it.
“You can reach it.” He offered the words as encouragement, paused for another drink. “Stretch on in there.”
“I’ve got it.” Turning triumphantly, she caught the wicked grin of pure enjoyment on his face and realized what he’d been up to. “You are a sick and depraved man, Gauthier.”
He gave her a slow, lusty wink. “Funny you should say that. I’m feeling remarkably healthy.”
She dropped the fork into the silverware holder, filled the soap container and slammed the door shut. Starting the appliance, she turned back to the sink, her cheeks hot. “I’m beginning to think that red meat is the last thing I should have fed you tonight.”
“Did you have something else in mind as dessert?”
Her hands stilled in the act of scrubbing the broiler and she resisted the urge to press a wet hand to her fluttering stomach. She might be the writer, but she was more than willing to admit that when it came to double entendres, he was the master.
“The only thing I have in mind—” her shoulders jerked as a loud crack of thunder reverberated overhead “—is getting out of here so you can catch some sleep. I should have realized when it got so late that you’d be too tired for company.”
One moment he was lounging in the chair, the picture of indolence, the next he was at her side. Her breath tangled in her throat as she looked up at him. He was so laid-back most of the time that it was easy to forget that he could move like a whip when he wanted to.
“I would have been too tired for company,” he agreed, lifting a hand to smooth the hair away from her face. “But I can’t think of a more welcome sight than finding you in my kitchen waiting for me.” His hand lingered on her jawline, stroked lightly. “I don’t think I can tell you how much I needed that tonight.”
His words warmed her as surely as his touch. And when his lips lowered to hers, a candle of heat sparked to life, flickering along each and every nerve ending. Her heart began to thud.
The pressure was light, a mere whisper of movement. Then his lips firmed, rubbed against hers once, twice, and again. He savored her mouth with all the leisure and enjoyment of a man lingering over a prized wine. Or the decadent dessert he’d mentioned earlier. With a little sigh of pleasure, she leaned into the kiss.
For long moments thunder rolled overhead, rain pelted the windows, but she was oblivious to the elements. She sank against him, delighting in the feel of hard arms wrapped around her, of her breasts pressed against his muscled chest. If she’d been thinking, she might have been alarmed by how natural it seemed to be in his arms now; how right. But thought had danced capriciously away. Now there was only sensation.
Much too soon he lifted his head to rest his brow against hers, his voice slightly unsteady. “I believe I finally realize what Shelley meant. ‘I arise from dreams of thee / In the first sweet sleep of night, / When the winds are breathing low, / And the stars are shining bright.’”
A shiver cascaded down her spine. “Shelley.” Would he never cease to surprise her? “I’m impressed.”
His lips brushed against her eyelids, her temple. “English lit, senior year. Mr. Gilhardy had a gallbladder attack and our sub was a twenty-something dewy-skinned college grad with high expectations and short skirts. For three weeks I was a star pupil.”
She smiled, as he’d meant her to. But she was well aware that the bit of humor was meant to defuse the situation. She took a deep breath, and used every bit of willpower she could muster to step back.
“I was going.” The slight distance seemed to help her head clear, so she took another step away. She looked around for the dog, which seemed to have disappeared. “Oxy?” she called. “Where did you get to? Here, boy.”
The soft kissy noises she made to summon the mutt weren’t particularly effective for Oxy, but Cage had to suppress his sudden savage urge to cover her mouth again, swallow the sounds. He jammed his hands in his pockets instead. One thing last night had taught him was the need for patience. Zoey had to come along at her own pace; she couldn’t be hurried or rushed. Because right now, patience had never seemed more distant, he turned and went to look for the dog.
They found him curled up in a corner of the parlor, one long ear lying across his nose. A ghost of a smile passed across Cage’s mouth. “Looks like he’s made himself right at home. Why don’t you leave him here? I can deliver him tomorrow.”
She eyed the dog doubtfully. “I can’t be sure he’ll be this peaceful all night. He has a penchant for nocturnal wanderings, and I didn’t bring any of his toys to chew on. I’d hate if he decided to chew on anything valuable. Ila would have my head.”
Lightning flashed and it seemed as though the wind would drive the rain right through the windows. Cage cocked his head. “I’m beginning to think both of you would be better off right here for the night.” A corner of his mouth pulled up when he saw her immediate reaction. “No need to worry. This house has about ten bedrooms, give or take. You can choose the one farthest away from mine, with the stoutest lock.”
Silently she looked at him. He was telling her she had nothing to fear from him, but he needn’t have wasted his breath. It wasn’t Cage’s restraint she was fearing, at any rate, but her own.
With an edge of desperation prodding her, she turned and went down the hall to pull open the front door. The rain came down in sheets, slanted by the heavy wind. Except for the frequent flashes of lightning, the darkness was solid. She couldn’t even make out the shape of her car next to the house.
Without turning around, she knew he was behind her, could feel his breath in her hair. “There’s no way I’m letting you go out alone in this.” As if he sensed a protest coming, he added, “If you’re set
on going home tonight, I’ll follow you in my car. Just to be sure you get there all right.”
He’d managed to make her feel guilty. She knew he was exhausted. “That won’t be necessary. It’s only a couple of miles.”
But he was already crossing the hall, pulling a rain poncho from the hallway closet and tossing it toward her. “Won’t take me but a minute. And I wouldn’t sleep tonight if I didn’t get you home safely.” His voice was muffled; he had his head deep in the closet.
She was being ridiculous. Already weary from little sleep and long hours on the job, Cage didn’t need to be dragged out in the middle of a storm like this. And there would be no talking him out of this plan. He had an ingrained sense of responsibility that she’d only recently let herself become aware of. She took a deep breath.
“No, you’re right.” He straightened to look at her quizzically, a second poncho in his hand. “There’s no reason for both of us to go out in this storm. I’ll…” Inexplicably, her throat went dry. “I’ll just…stay here for the night. That is, if your offer’s still open.”
There was a flicker of something indiscernible in his eye, then he turned away and replaced the poncho in the closet. “It’s still open.” She shut the front door and went to him, handed him the second poncho. When he’d hung it up he turned to her. “Why don’t I show you the bedrooms? I think I’m going to take a page from Oxy and turn in for the night.”
She nodded, then said, “Wait a second.” She went to the kitchen and retrieved the book she’d begun reading. Reaching him again, she held it up. “I browsed through the books in the den while I was waiting for you. I hope that’s all right.”
He stared at the book for a moment, before giving her a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “That’s fine.” She followed him up a long, sweeping staircase that Scarlett O’Hara would have looked at home on, to a spacious hallway. The room he took her to was at the end of the hall. “You have an adjoining bathroom. If you’d like something to wear, I can get you a T-shirt or something.”
Her skin went hot. She couldn’t imagine anything less practical than spending the night wrapped in something of Cage’s. Something that still held his scent, his warmth. Something that would guarantee that if she got any sleep tonight, it would be filled with disturbing dreams of him.
Her gaze met his and her words were soft.
“I’d like that.”
Chapter 9
The wind continued to shake the graceful old Southern home and the rain continued to fall. But Cage couldn’t blame his restlessness on the weather. It wasn’t the occasional crack of thunder that kept him edgy. It wasn’t the flashes of lightning that made it impossible for him to get the sleep his body so desperately craved. It was the woman down the hall from him. The one who’d probably been blissfully asleep for the past hour.
He stood shirtless on the porch that connected to his room by way of heavy French doors. The roof protected him from the worst of the rain, although the wind flung darting pinpricks of moisture against his skin. Outside he felt at one with the elements. The savage weather was a match for the frustrated emotions that churned within him.
Surely he was doing penance for some long-forgotten sin. Having Zoey only steps away and not being able to touch her was a temptation beyond description. He welcomed the occasional stinging needles of rain, the cold wind against his heated skin. But it didn’t help. The only thing that would bring him relief from this fire burning him from the inside was the one thing he wasn’t likely to get.
Something in the fierceness of the weather drew him. He walked to the railing, braced his fists against it. Closing his eyes, he raised his face to the rain.
That was how Zoey found him. The open French doors attracted her gaze, the man outside held it. She stopped midway into the room, the inner argument she’d been waging for the last hour forgotten. Mesmerized, she couldn’t take her eyes off him.
The darkness and the lightning warred around him, first painting him in shadow, then strobing him with flashes of brilliant illumination that etched his body against the sky, before the night swallowed him up again.
She was unaware of taking the steps that brought her closer to him. Logic vanished, to be replaced by pure emotion. The trouble with unleashing her feelings, she was discovering, was that they took on a life of their own. Restraint disappeared, caution faded. What was left was as raw and wild as the storm raging outside.
He stiffened then, like an animal scenting her presence, and turned around. She was close enough to see the play of bone and sinew in his back and arms, then to note the lightly padded muscles of his torso, and the fascinating line of hair trailing into his unfastened pants. Desire chugged through her veins.
Cage blinked once, then again. But the apparition before him didn’t disappear. The hand she held out touched his chest, trailed a wake of fire down to his stomach. When her fingertips paused at his waistband, he closed the distance between them with two quick steps and took her into his arms.
His lips were wet, but heated. His skin should have been chilled but it warmed her wherever they touched. When his mouth met hers, she fisted her hand in his damp hair and let the riptide of pleasure pull her under.
Yes, she thought dimly. Yes, and yes and yes. The inner war she’d waged in her room was forgotten now, flooded by a sea of sensation. There was only the keen blade of desire, honed to an almost-painful edge, slicing away all semblance of control. He was as hungry as she, as fierce as the storm, when his mouth twisted over hers. Tongues battled, teeth scraped, while each strove to dive closer. She was vaguely aware that stray drops of rain still reached them; the only surprise was that they didn’t sizzle upon impact with their skin.
He moved his hands up under the tank top she still wore. She was warm and smooth to the touch. He stroked her, fingers discovering the delicate vertebrae of her spine, the intriguing curve of her waist. Patience was elusive. He pulled the top over her head and dragged his mouth from hers, drank the rain from her skin.
A path of flame lingered on every inch he touched. Neither of them noticed that the grumble of thunder sounded slightly farther away; that the slashing rain was lessening to a steady drumming. They were immersed in a storm of their own making.
She arched her throat to him, forgetting the bargain she’d struck with herself to take what he offered and retain her distance. What had seemed entirely possible in the solitude of her room was swirling out of reach now. He could make her lose that carefully crafted control. He could make her want.
Her hand wedged between their bodies, fingertips trailing across the sculpted muscles of his chest. When her fingernail scraped his nipple she felt the hiss of his breath, the tightening of his arms around her. She made a pleased sound in her throat. She’d never before considered how much pleasure could be had in bringing pleasure to another. It was a discovery rife with promise.
Cage released the back catch on her bra, dragged the straps down her arms and dropped it at their feet. For the first time that evening, he damned the darkness. He wanted to see each curve and hollow, wanted to explore the contrast where light skin turned into rosy nipple. Since the shadows prevented that, he went on the sensual discovery by taste alone.
When he drew her nipple into his mouth, Zoey gasped, her fingers tightening in his hair. Colors fragmented behind her closed eyelids, a brilliant contrast to the surrounding night. Each flick of his tongue, each scrape of teeth, pulled her deeper into a vortex from which there was no return.
His mouth sealed hers again. She greeted it eagerly. Dimly aware of moving, it wasn’t until she heard the quiet click of a door closing and the muting of the rain, that she realized they were in his room. He released her for a moment, then his arms were around her again, lowering her to the comforter he’d dragged from the bed. The down quilt cushioned them from the carpet beneath. Cage’s hard body pressed her into the softness. Outside, the weather still raged. But the sensual storm had moved indoors.
Their hands lowered
and battled, releasing zippers, tugging at clothing. Aided by determination and dexterity, they were soon free to touch. Damp skin glided against damp skin. Muscles jumped reflexively beneath heated fingers. Hearts thudded in unison.
They rose to their knees. Dreamily Zoey lifted her arm to his neck, only to have him catch it, press a kiss inside her elbow, before allowing it to complete its journey. If she opened her eyes she could see the doors behind him, the occasional flashes of lightning, throwing their bodies in sharp relief against the shadows. But she was too absorbed in Cage to notice. Everything else had ceased to exist.
His hands were everywhere, stroking and caressing, just a few degrees shy of desperate. He moved behind her, lifting her hair from her nape, dropping kisses there, trailing them across her shoulders. She leaned back against him, turned her head to meet his lips, reveling in the freedom the position gave him.
He buried his mouth against her neck, cupped her smooth breasts, trailed his fingers down her flat stomach and then lower. He couldn’t see her response, but felt it in the way her muscles tautened as he traced the apex of her thighs. He waited for her to gradually soften against him before he cupped her damp center and slid a finger inside her.
Her breath came in whimpers, and she arched against him. Her skin was smooth and soft, and quivered helplessly beneath his touch. The evidence of her passion was brutally satisfying. He’d thought he’d known all there was to know about intimacy. A month ago he’d have sworn that pleasure was the same, regardless of the partner. A month ago he hadn’t dreamed of the depths a man could fall to when he was steeped in one particular woman; the degree to which a man could want, his desire honed to a wickedly keen edge.