BAD BOYS ON BOARD

by Lori Foster, Donna Kauffman, Nancy Warren

  "I can scent you."

  Dear God. The shiver became a shudder. The muscles between her legs tightened almost painfully. "The Panther," she breathed, not meaning to say it out loud. But it simply slipped out.

  That chuckle again, only this time his breath moved her hair so it tickled against her neck, so sensitized now even that brief caress made her pulse leap. "When it suits me."

  Then his fingers were on her face. Not holding her, framing her face, but tracing the contours. So lightly it was almost as if it was air brushing her skin.

  "Tell me to stop soon, Callie." He reached in and nipped at her bottom lip, releasing it before his teeth could leave a mark.

  She moaned.

  "Or tell me to keep touching you." He pressed a long, firm finger across her lips. "But be warned … I'll expect to be told where to touch you … and how … and for how long." He slowly drew his finger from her mouth, making her breath hitch at the protracted contact. Then his lips were touching hers, a breath separating them from an actual kiss. "Tell me, Callie. Provoke me."

  Her pulse drummed so hard it thundered inside her ears. Her throat tightened until she could barely breathe, much less swallow … or speak. She willed him to simply take over, take the responsibility away from her, to allow her to sink under and give in to the wicked spell of seduction he'd so expertly weaved.

  Then she felt the air shift as he moved away, surprised at how swiftly she'd become in tune to his presence. "No," she blurted, instinctively reaching for him.

  She'd barely brushed her hands against him when her wrists were taken hostage in his grip. Not harshly, but definitively. "I'll be the one doing the touching," he said. And for the first time, she heard a thread of hoarseness in his voice.

  The sense of empowerment that roared through her was swift and certain. She wasn't the only one being affected by this. She really had provoked him.

  "Yes, Callie," he said, as if he could read her mind. And maybe he could.

  She was rapidly beginning to believe anything was possible. "I want to be touched by you." She swore she felt him shudder, felt the air between them tremble.

  "But then we've only begun, haven't we?"

  She nodded, then realized she needed to speak, said, "Yes."

  "This is about you, about what you want to feel, want to be made to feel."

  She pressed her thighs tight and fought against the urge to squirm.

  "So there will be no touching. Only directing me where you want to be touched." He took her hands and slid one behind the small of her back. "So we can leave them here." He lifted the other one, pressing it to the wall above her head. "Or here."

  Her breath locked in her throat. Trembling harder now, she tugged one hand free … and tucked it behind her back with the other one. Shocked at how badly she'd wanted to keep it above her head.

  "Fine," he told her, then leaned in and ran the tip of his tongue along the side of her neck. "We'll leave them here." He crossed her wrists, pinning them with one hand, his grip tightening briefly, enough to let her know he wanted her to keep them that way, before withdrawing his hands all together. "For now," he added, the words barely audible above her ragged breathing.

  She turned her head as she felt him move away, straining to see him, wishing she had the same sense of his body's position as he did of hers.

  When he spoke again, it was clear he was back in the opposite corner. "You are completely in charge of what happens next."

  I don't think so, she thought.

  "Why the impatient sound? Tell me what just went through your mind."

  She hadn't realized she'd made a noise. Did the man have total jungle sensory perception? The very idea made her body tighten. As it was, she was so highly sensitized she could already feel every inch of the fabric of her dress against her skin. Her nipples had tightened almost to the point of pain. And there wasn't enough pressure in the world to assuage the ache that had become an almost constant throb between her legs.

  "I don't feel like I'm in control," she said, striving to sound like she was. "You understand the seduction game far better than I do."

  "This is no game," he said, sounding almost insulted at the very notion.

  She laughed shortly. "It's all a game."

  "Now who's the jaded one?" he responded, obviously amused.

  "What if I say that I trust you to take things from here?"

  "Then you won't have learned anything."

  Oh, I'm already on information overload, she wanted to tell him. "You'll teach me," she said, damning the quiver that threaded through her words. But the very idea of him "tutoring" her in the finer points of seduction … and all the pleasurable things it might lead them to do, was almost enough to make her climax just thinking about it. And though he'd moved out of her immediate personal space, that hadn't remotely lessoned the tension screaming between them. In fact, it seemed to increase it somehow. Her crossed wrists even more so, along with the slight arch to her back the position forced her into. Supplicant, she thought. And felt her panties soak at the very idea.

  "No," he said, then flicked his fingers lightly against the sole of her foot making her flinch—and moan softly. "You'll teach yourself."

  Callie was overwhelmed with conflicting sensations, emotions, but was afraid if she let herself analyze them in any depth, she'd lose whatever nerve she had to see this through. And after long months of celibacy, she was not going to jeopardize what was looking to be the highlight of her entire year. Hell, maybe her whole life.

  She heard the rustle of fabric as he shifted away from her again … and made her decision. "Take off your jacket."

  There was a sudden stillness and she held her breath. Then there was another rustle of fabric, followed by the twin sensations of linen and silk lining as he drew his suit jacket across her legs as proof that he'd done as she'd asked.

  It was immensely heady, the duality of her position here. She commanded him, and yet it was she who willingly kept her wrists pinned behind her back.

  "Now your tie."

  "Do you plan to undress me entirely?"

  "Isn't that my prerogative?" She grinned when he paused. "You set up the rules."

  "That I did," he said quietly.

  She said nothing, merely waited. She was rewarded shortly with the sounds of silk sliding on silk. Never had her sense of hearing been so acute. Then she swiftly drew in her breath as her hypersensitivity to touch was also tested. He drew the length of silk tie along the inside of her ankle … then higher.

  "What—are you doing?"

  "Offering proof."

  She struggled to keep from moaning when he continued the soft torture up past her knee. She could easily flick away the tie, but that would mean ending the invisible bond on her wrists … and possibly the end of their agreement. No, he'd set it up so that she'd have to tell him, clearly, what she wanted. And what she didn't want.

  "I didn't ask you to do that," she said, not in as commanding a tone as she'd have liked. The silk was doing incredible things to her senses. But she instinctively knew she shouldn't let him have the upper hand, no matter that she'd been ready to beg him to have just that.

  You won't learn anything that way.

  She wasn't entirely sure she believed that, but he was right in that she wouldn't necessarily learn the things she'd been most curious about. One of which was finding out what she could get … just by asking for it. But doing that was a lot harder than she'd expected.

  The tie stopped moving, but remained just brushing at her leg. "You don't like the feel of this on your skin?"

  "I didn't say that," she managed, working hard not to tremble as the tip of the tie continued to tickle her senses.

  "Ah," he said. And the tie disappeared.

  She stifled a sigh. If she was going to keep the upper hand, push her own boundaries, she had to be decisive … and direct him before he directed her. "Take off my other shoe."

  Her heel was popped off almost instantly.

 
; "I—I liked it when you began to massage my foot."

  His hands skimmed over her feet. "You want me to continue."

  It seemed about the safest way to start. If there was such a thing with him. "Yes."

  But the instant his thumbs pressed directly into the arch of her feet, she moaned … and realized nothing about this interlude would fall under that heading.

  He kept the pressure up. Kneading, stroking, then concentrating both hands on one foot … then the other, until she thought she'd simply slide down the wall completely onto her back. And here she'd been upset when she hadn't been able to find a pair of panty hose with no runs in them this morning. She decided right then and there she might never wear panty hose again.

  She also knew she couldn't have him massage her feet forever.

  As if sensing this, his hands slowed, then finally rested on her ankles. He said nothing, letting the silence—and the tension—build between them.

  "I—you—would you—" She broke off, disgusted with her inability to be simply bold, daring.

  "Would I what?"

  For God's sake, just say it. She swallowed, hard. "Your mouth." She paused, licking suddenly dry lips.

  "What about my mouth," he asked quietly.

  "Your hands feel wonderful," she said. "So did—" Her heart was pounding almost uncontrollably. It was only partly terror … the rest was an almost unbearable spike of anticipation. "So did your mouth."

  A shocking moment later, she felt the tip of his tongue trace a circle around her ankle bone. She hadn't meant him to replace his hands with his tongue, but as he began to work his way up the curve of her calf, she didn't stop him.

  "Your skin is soft," he murmured. "Sweet."

  She sighed as he shifted his body around, so he could continue the torture. Her legs were only an inch apart. She silently begged him to push them wider, wishing she had the nerve to do it herself. Or tell him to.

  He hovered just above her knee, pressing hot kisses on the tender skin just inside. She trembled, she shuddered … but when he started to move higher, she lost her nerve. "Don't."

  "Don't what?"

  She could feel his warm breath, caressing the skin on her inner thighs. "Come—come here. Up here."

  She'd meant for him to sit beside her, bring his mouth to hers, or even to her neck, or her ear, as he had before. To her continued shock, he straddled her legs, keeping his weight on his knees as he braced his hands on either side of her head … and leaned down until he was so close she swore she could hear his heart beat.

  "I'm here," he said softly. "What do you want me to do to you, Callie?" He moved in until his lips barely touched hers. "Kiss you?" He moved slowly, his lips almost but not quite brushing her chin. "Lick you?" He moved along the curve of her neck until he was beside her ear. "Taste you?"

  Her control snapped and she slid her hands out from behind her back. She ran her fingers over the hard contours of his face and told him exactly what she wanted. "Take me." She ran a shaking finger over his lips and felt his swift intake of breath. Yes. That was all the provocation she needed.

  "I want you, Dominic Colbourne, to take me." He groaned, somewhere deep in his throat. She slid her fingers into his hair, and stepped off the highest of cliffs. "All of me."

  Chapter Five

  He took her hands from his face, rocked by the power of her words. Of the trust she'd placed in him. He pinned them to wall well above her head, swallowed the little gasp with his mouth.

  "I've been dying to taste this mouth," he said, kissing the corners, nipping at her slightly fuller lower lip. "I could spend hours making love to your mouth."

  "Dear God," she whispered.

  "He can't help you now. Don't you know you've just signed yourself over to the devil himself?"

  It was his turn to be surprised when she laughed and said, "Then my prayers have been answered."

  And that was when he felt the first real tug at his heart. The first sense of what she'd meant … about those other emotions that weren't entirely sexual.

  She was teetering on the edge, an edge he'd purposely pushed her toward … and yet despite the power he knew he wielded over her, she continued to tease him, spark him, nudge him toward his own edge. Defense mechanism … or natural instinct, he didn't know. Didn't care. What mattered was that it wasn't a calculated response, it was simply Callie. And he intended to take her. Couldn't imagine not taking her now. She'd all but demanded it of him.

  He'd intended to go slow. Take them both to the very ragged edge of control. But when he finally took those lips, parted them with his tongue and barely dipped himself into her … he lost his focus. And when she whimpered, opened herself to him, arched toward him in an effort to feel more of him than his lips on hers, he ceased to care how they got there. Fast and furious this first time, he thought, racing past that edge. Slow and languorously the next. Because, oh, there was going to be a next time. He'd led her into this exploration as a guide, but had somehow become the adventurer himself. And it had been a long time since he'd discovered a new treasure. He planned to savor every last bit of it.

  As he sunk more deeply into her mouth, tangling his tongue with hers, coaxing her into a duel, he was tempted to drag her the rest of the way to the floor and strip them both just enough that he could truly sink into her. He'd felt her quiver with every touch of his lips and tongue along the delectable skin of her legs, had scented her readiness, which had made his body harden to the point of pain. He could take her right now, fast, deep, and rip them both over the edge in no time at all.

  But he couldn't seem to let go of her hands, or take his mouth from hers long enough to accomplish the task.

  "I ache to feel you wrapped around me," he said against her lips, shocked at the desperate need he heard in his own voice. "Every inch of you." He speared his tongue back into her mouth, then withdrew it just as quickly. "Every." He dipped his tongue again. "Inch." Again. "Of me." This time she took him tightly into her mouth and didn't let him go, moaning deeply when he met her silent demand, thrust after thrust.

  She tried to slide down, all but growling at the limitations their current positions had put them in. He understood the frustration. Agreed wholeheartedly with her notion. Which did nothing to explain what he did next.

  He left her mouth, rocked back onto his feet, and dragged them both upright, walking her up against the wall, hands still pinned above her head. It took every last scrap of his control to keep from shoving his hips into hers, or yanking her dress up and his pants down so he could wrap her legs around his waist and bring their bodies truly together.

  He just barely brushed the contours of her body with his. A slight tease of her dress against his shirt, a brush of her skirt against his pants.

  "Imagine what this would feel like if I were to undress you," he said, his own voice sinking to a rough whisper. "How my shirt would feel against your bare skin. And my pants shifting across the damp skin of your thighs."

  She quivered hard beneath his grip. "Yes."

  He shifted forward, fabric rustling against fabric, making her moan. But she didn't arch her back, or buck her hips in a blind search for his. Which told him she wanted to extend this exquisite torture, too.

  "So do it," she said, a bit of a growl in her words.

  He thought his heart would claw right out of his chest. That he wouldn't need to take off his trousers as he'd simply bust through the zipper. He pressed her wrists to the wall, then slid his hands slowly down her arms, around the outer edges of the swell of her breasts, bringing his hands to rest on the span of her waist, trembling himself as he felt her quiver beneath his touch. He couldn't remember the first detail of what she'd had on, not even the color of her dress. He really was as blind as Isabella claimed, as Callie had so adroitly noticed only seconds after meeting him.

  No more. And never with her. It would be impossible now. In fact, at that exact moment, he couldn't imagine not being consumed by the burning need to know every last thing about her. H
er taste, her thoughts, her scent, her laughter. Her dreams, her desires. He could tell himself it was lust driving those thoughts … but he'd lusted before. And it didn't come close to feeling anything like this. To consuming him the way this did. The way she did.

  He flattened his palms on her stomach and pushed upward with his thumbs, moving his hands slowly up the center of her torso. He stopped just shy of cupping her breasts. Her chest was moving in and out as she took rapid, shallow breaths. No buttons. No zipper. He slid his hands back to her waist. She whimpered. His pulse thundered in his ears.

  Then he spun her around, pushed her up firmly against the wall. She moaned at the contact the hard wood made against her hypersensitized body. He groaned just thinking about it. He traced his thumbs up her back, walked just close enough that every aching inch of him brushed against the insanely sweet curve of her buttocks. He thought he'd lose it then, would have for certain if she'd moved even a fraction of an inch back against him.

  But she stilled instead. Completely. "Yes," she breathed.

  And he realized, with stunning clarity, just what it was his Callie wanted now. She'd made her demands, gotten him to do what she wanted. At least as much as she knew what she wanted. Because she'd never been shown the actual breadth of what she could have. Never truly seduced to the depths and sparkling heights he now knew she could be taken to.

  Her former husband had been a complete idiot. If he'd only taken the time to show her, to teach her body the wide range of pleasure it could feel … he'd have never let her go. But Dominic knew without a doubt that even if her ex had been clued in enough to know that … he'd have been far too selfish and insecure to do anything about it. Hence his harsh criticism. Much easier to make Callie out to be the one with the problem.

  Dominic's mouth curved wickedly in the dark as a certain kind of peace settled over him, despite his highly aroused state. Because he knew, with absolute certainty that he did possess the patience and the skill to take her to whatever limits she was willing to allow him to take her. Yes, she'd wanted—needed—to know she could drive someone mad with desire. And Lord knows he thought they would both easily agree she'd done that in spades.