by Karen Foley
Graeme straightened and shrugged the shirt from his shoulders, letting it slide along the length of his arms until it fell onto the floor behind him. Resting back on her heels, with her fingers still holding his belt loops, Lara looked up at him and all the breath in her lungs whooshed out.
His shoulders and arms were powerful and bunched with muscles. His chest was a slab of granite, with a sculpted six-pack that was so defined she could have lost her loose change in the grooves.
Five years ago, he’d been lean and athletic. Now he was Herculean. Reaching down, he grasped her by the upper arms and hauled her to her feet.
“Whatever it is you have in mind,” he rasped, “won’t be done here, against the door. I’m not a complete barbarian.”
“Oh, that’s too bad,” Lara murmured, but let herself be pulled upward. She leaned into him, allowing her bare breasts to press against his chest. “Where, then?”
She could sense his impatience, but wasn’t prepared when he scooped her fully into his arms. With a small gasp, she flung her arms around his neck, but couldn’t deny that she enjoyed the sensation of being weightless, as if lifting her caused him absolutely no strain whatsoever.
“Here,” he said, striding into a bedroom that adjoined the living area of the suite. “Much better for what I have in mind.”
He set her down on her feet next to the biggest bed Lara had ever seen in her life. Sumptuous swaths of champagne-colored silk cascaded from the ceiling and draped along either side of the headboard, and the bed itself was covered in a rich damask coverlet and heaped with pillows.
A small light burned on the bedside table, and Lara was only dimly aware of the discreet opulence that surrounded them, of the rich cream-and-beige color scheme, the paneled walls and the Louis XVI furnishings. Lara wasn’t unaccustomed to lavish surroundings, but it had been many years since she’d been surrounded by such luxury, and it was a far cry from the tiny apartment where Graeme had lived when she first met him.
“You certainly know how to live,” she commented, her eyes absorbing the details of the penthouse suite.
“I was given this room for security reasons.” Graeme frowned. “Personally, I don’t much care what my rooms look like, as long as they’re clean.”
“I’m not criticizing,” Lara assured him softly. “The room is beautiful.”
And in the middle of it all stood Graeme, looking every inch the masterful lord with his black pants and acres of bare, tanned skin. Lara could almost believe he was a sheikh or a sultan, entertaining a visit from his favorite harem girl in his private quarters.
And right now, she was that harem girl. His entire body was tightly coiled, anticipating the intense pleasure she would soon provide. Lara held on to the image she’d created in her head, finding it gave her courage. The mental picture she drew was at once so seductive and so intriguing, that she couldn’t wait to make it a reality.
“You forget,” she said, lowering her voice to a sultry tone as she slid her palms over the rise of his chest muscles, “this isn’t about what you have in mind. I’m the one providing the pleasure and right now—” she paused to drop a soft, wet kiss against his throat “—it pleases me to kiss you. Everywhere.” She punctuated her words with more wet kisses along his torso. “I want to taste you…to feel you beneath my mouth.”
Graeme stood passively as she spoke, allowing her to press her mouth against his body, but when she sat down on the edge of the bed and drew him between her knees, he caught her braid in one hand, wrapping it around his fist as he tipped her head back and studied her masked face in the indistinct light.
“Why are you doing this?” he asked, his voice no more than a husky growl.
For an instant, Lara panicked, wondering if he’d guessed her identity, before she determinedly pushed her doubts aside. There was no way he could know who she was. If he did, he’d never have allowed her into his suite. As far as he knew, she was just an enthusiastic and eager fan.
“Why wouldn’t I?” she countered, smoothing her hands along his rib cage. His skin was like hot silk beneath her fingers. “You’re an incredibly gorgeous man. A woman would give a lot to be with a guy like you.”
“Christ.” He made a sound that was half laugh, half groan, before bending down and slanting his mouth hard across hers.
Clearly, he was through with talking, which suited Lara just fine, because she could think of so many things she’d rather do with her mouth.
Dragging her lips from his she concentrated instead on his hard-ridged stomach, stroking her lips along the flesh that rode just above his waistband, while her fingers worked his belt. His big hands descended to her shoulders and slid warmly along the length of her arms. When the button of his pants refused to cooperate beneath her trembling fingers, he swept them aside.
“Let me.”
She watched in utter fascination as he popped the button free, and an eternity seemed to pass as he eased the zipper down, exposing the waistband of the cotton boxer shorts he wore beneath.
“Oh,” Lara breathed, when she saw the hard thrust of his arousal beneath the material.
Pushing his pants down over his hips, she cupped him lightly through the boxers. He was hard and hot beneath the thin fabric. Lara slid her fingers beneath the stretchy waistband and eased the boxers down until his penis sprang free. Immediately, all the saliva in her mouth evaporated.
He was long and thick, and the head of his gorgeous erection strained toward her. How was it possible that she had forgotten how breathtaking the man was?
Slowly, as if mesmerized, Lara slid a finger along his length. “I want to do this, but with my tongue,” she breathed.
Above her, she heard his breath hitch. His hands cupped her face and his fingers began a slow, sensuous massage of the sensitive skin behind her ears. Slowly, Lara bent her head to him, sweeping his length with one long, wet pass of her tongue.
Graeme groaned loudly.
He tasted incredible. Intoxicating.
Her hands slid over him, letting instinct guide her as she as she took him fully into her mouth, her senses flooded with his taste and texture. She wanted to devour him, to lick and nibble and suck him until he cried out and his legs buckled beneath him. Instead, she took her time, wrapping her lips around his shaft and pulling softly on him, until he popped free of her mouth and she could run her tongue along the corona and tease the tiny slit at the top.
With her free hand, she stroked him from below, running her palm over his strong thighs and urging them apart so that she could cup and fondle his sac, and explore the smooth stretch of skin just behind. When she felt him tighten in her palm, she licked him like a lollipop, and then sucked on his length until he swelled even more.
With a guttural sound of intense pleasure, Graeme arched his hips toward her. She nearly groaned herself when he slid his hands down over her shoulders and cupped her naked breasts, his fingers teasing and plucking at the taut peaks until Lara couldn’t think straight. Her body pulsed with need, weeping with moisture, her nerve endings so sensitized that she was in danger of having a spontaneous orgasm.
As if reading her thoughts, Graeme caught her face in his hands and forced her away. She released him reluctantly, but couldn’t prevent her hands from continuing to stroke him.
“Stop,” he ground out, “or I’m not going to last.”
His breathing was fast and harsh, his expression pained, and she couldn’t resist stroking her finger one last time across the top of his erection. It came away wet and glistening with proof of his arousal, and Lara deliberately put her finger in her mouth, sucking on the digit the way she had just suckled him. She slanted him what she hoped was a provocative look.
“Mmm,” she hummed approvingly. “That was…delicious. I trust my master is pleased so far?”
5
GRAEME’S MOUTH went dry as he watched Lara suck her finger clean of his essence. His entire body throbbed with need, and he wanted nothing more than to push her back onto the wid
e bed and thrust himself into her welcoming heat. His cock twitched at the thought, and he didn’t think he’d ever been as hard as he was now.
She was too hot.Too tempting.
He was on fire, and the sight of her half-naked and on his bed was almost more than his poor, lust-sodden brain could handle. Every cell in his body cried out for her. She was all curves and sweet, satiny skin and he could willingly and easily lose himself in the pleasure her body promised. But the small part of his gray matter that still functioned demanded to know the reason for her sudden reappearance in his life, dressed as a slave girl who, apparently, couldn’t wait to get her hands—or any other part of her delectable anatomy—around him.
His first thought had been that she’d finally come to demand an end to their marriage, and the strength of his emotions had shocked him. There had been denial, fierce and swift. Even after five years, he thought of Lara as his. But he’d also been relieved to have the waiting finally come to an end.
He realized that a part of him had been living life on hold, anticipating that moment when Lara would reappear in his life and finally tell him that she wanted out.
Now here she was, and although it sure as hell seemed like a divorce was the last thing on her mind, Graeme had already made the decision to let her go. He’d thought he’d feel an enormous weight lift from his shoulders; he’d finally be free in every sense of the word.
Instead, he felt inexplicably angry and sad. Angry that she’d screwed things up so badly for them all those years ago, and sad that the resulting damage had been beyond repair. He’d been so furious with her for lying to him, and even more furious with her father for threatening to have him arrested. As if he was a criminal—nothing more than an ignorant thug with no breeding and no education.
But it had taken less than a week for his anger to subside. When he’d been able to think rationally, he’d understood that Lara must have loved him very much if she’d been willing to lie to him about her age and risk her father’s anger by marrying him. Once his temper had cooled, he realized what a fool he’d been to let her go. He should have stood up to her father and taken Lara on any terms. He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t concentrate on anything except what he’d lost.
So he’d sold everything he’d had, borrowed a little more money from his mother, and purchased a one-way ticket to New York. He’d had it all worked out; Lara would attend Columbia University as her father had wanted. Graeme would get an apartment nearby and find work as an actor. He’d graduated from the Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts and he had some connections on Broadway. He didn’t expect to land any major roles, just enough to ensure he had a steady income.
But when he’d reached New York, the customs officials told him that his visa had been denied for reasons related to “suspicion of criminal activity.” He’d been stunned. His protests had been ignored. He’d been told he was not welcome in the United States, and he’d been put on a return flight to England. At the time, Graeme had wanted to howl with frustration and fury. There was only one person with the political clout and the personal motivation to keep him out of the country, and that was Brent Whitfield.
Graeme had returned to London with nothing; no job, no apartment and no hope of being reunited with Lara. His life had taken a downward spiral. Even now, with all his hard-earned success, he couldn’t think of that time without his mood turning black.
Graeme pushed the thoughts aside and concentrated instead on the vision Lara made as she sat on the edge of his bed, watching him expectantly. In answer to her naughty question, he shucked his shoes and socks and shoved his pants down until he could kick them free. He saw Lara’s eyes turn cobalt behind her mask and was glad for the grueling exercise regimen he followed that kept his body in top shape. Ignoring her cry of surprise, he hefted her into middle of the bed and followed her, pressing the length of his body against her own.
“Oh, yeah,” he finally said, bending his head to one dusky nipple, “your…master…is more than pleased.” He flicked the hard tip with his tongue as he smoothed a hand over her stomach until he encountered the metal bikini bottom. “How the hell does this thing come off?”
Lara twisted toward him. “Here,” she said breathlessly, indicating the metal loops at her hip. “They twist apart.”
While he bent his attention to the mechanism, Lara did her best to distract him. She slid a leg over his and pressed her center against his erection. Her hands gripped his bottom, urging him closer. In all the years that they’d been apart, Graeme had never forgotten the soft texture of her skin. He’d lain awake more nights than he cared to remember, haunted by the memory of her limbs entwined with his own. Now, with her thigh thrown over his, it was all Graeme could do not to ease the fabric of the panties aside and thrust upward, to bury his aching shaft in her heat.
“Easy,” he grunted. “I can’t concentrate. There.”
The bikini bottom sprang free and Lara lifted her hips as he slid the contraption down her legs, pulling her little booties from her feet at the same time. She stiffened for an instant as he tossed it all onto the floor, but relaxed when he came back up beside her and fastened his mouth to her breast.
In the next second, he’d unhooked the bra of the costume and tossed it onto the floor, and she was completely naked but for the golden mask that concealed her features, the glittering bracelets that encircled her arms, and the collar around her neck.
Graeme stroked a finger along the delicate line of her collarbone and drew it down between her breasts. Her breath hitched and she arched her spine, seeking closer contact with his hand.
“Christ, you’re beautiful, La—Leia.”
She stilled for a fraction of a second, and Graeme could have bitten his tongue off at his near slip. Had she noticed? He wasn’t sure he could be with her and pretend she was a complete stranger to him. Not when he wanted to tear the goddamned mask from her face and shake her and demand to know why she was doing this, when for the past five years she hadn’t ever—not once—tried to contact him.
Still another part of him wanted to thrust into her heat until they both came apart and she acknowledged that she belonged to him. He’d been her first. She’d always belong to him.
But he knew full well that he’d continue with the seductive farce, because he wanted her that much. If she wanted to pretend she was someone else, then he’d accommodate her.
For now.
There would be time later for revelations and recriminations. He didn’t even care what her motivations were for coming back into his life, although he suspected she might only be interested in him because he was the face of Kip Corrigan. Most people he met seemed to have difficulty separating him from the fictional character he played on television. But right now, all he wanted was Lara, sweetly passionate beneath him, the way he’d dreamed so many times.
“Is that what you want to be called?” he asked, dipping his head to torment her nipple with his tongue. “Or do you want to give me your real name?”
“Leia,” she gasped. “Call me Leia.”
With a grunt of assent, Graeme slid a hand along the length of her thigh and over her hip. Her waist, always narrow, seemed more so now against the womanly flare of her buttocks and breasts. He wanted to look at her endlessly, to absorb all the details of her appearance in order to compare them mentally to his youthful memories of her.
Instead, he slid a hand over the smooth curve of her rear and between her thighs, easing a finger along her cleft. She was wet and ready for him, and the knowledge was like tossing fuel onto an open flame. He stroked her slick folds, tormenting the small rise of her clitoris until she clutched desperately at his shoulders and writhed against him.
“Oh, please.” Her breath came in soft pants and her hips moved against his hand, seeking more of the intimate contact. “Please, I need—” She broke abruptly off and wound her arms around Graeme’s neck and kissed him until he was breathless.
They were deep, openmouthed kisses that sent lust jackknifing t
hrough his midsection. She tasted of sweet Cointreau and pomegranate and Graeme was quickly becoming intoxicated.
Rolling her beneath him, he braced himself on one elbow and looked down at Lara’s eyes behind the mask. They were foggy with desire, and her mouth was open and moist.
“Do you want this?” He couldn’t bring himself to call her Leia; it would lend credence to her half-baked belief that he didn’t know her. But he could damn well make sure she knew exactly who it was that was fucking her. “Do you?”
“Yes.” She sighed and slid her hands over his back to cup his buttocks and urge him closer. “Yes, please.”
Graeme didn’t need to hear any more. Hooking his hands behind her knees, he pushed her legs back until they were up by her breasts, and her feminine core was pressed against his pelvis. But he didn’t take her.
Not yet.
Instead, he dragged his mouth down the center of her rib cage. Her chest heaved with her breathing, and as his lips traveled across her stomach, she quivered in response to his touch. Her hands tunneled through his hair, stroking his scalp and urging him on.
“Say my name,” he muttered against her skin, and traced an intricate pattern around her navel with his tongue.
“Oh, oh…please,” she gasped.
Graeme moved lower, rubbing his cheek across her mons before planting damp kisses along the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. Her scent was tantalizing. Heady. He breathed deeply before sweeping his tongue over her in one long, firm stroke, much as she had done to him.
She cried out and bucked her hips, but Graeme held her legs firmly in place. He softened the caress, swirling his tongue around the aroused bud of her clitoris, teasing it until he felt her muscles tighten with her impending orgasm. Lifting his face, he looked at her over the heaving landscape of her belly and breasts, to where her mask caught the light of the bedside table and flung shards of golden brilliance across the bedspread.
She was achingly beautiful.