by Jess Dee
Or maybe her taste buds were just stimulated beyond reason. Because when Zachary had kissed her again, she’d known, with absolute certainty, nothing had ever tasted or felt better. Her response had been visceral. She’d felt it in every cell of her body, every nerve ending. And every one of those nerve endings still zinged, leaving her skin hypersensitive to even the slightest breeze. His gaze felt like a zillion tingles whistling over her flesh.
“I haven’t forgotten about your redhead, you know.” Was that a warning to him or to her?
“Neither have I,” he said honestly. “And I never will. She’s been a part of me since I was a kid. That doesn’t mean I’m a saint, Eve. It doesn’t mean I haven’t had flings or girlfriends or fallen in love before. Doesn’t mean I find you any less attractive. She’s not here now, and I intend to live my life to the fullest before she arrives.”
He set his knife and fork down and changed the subject. “Ya know, I would leave every last bite of food on this plate, maybe even give up food for good, if you would come on over here and let me feed you that chocolate mousse.”
She blinked. “Y-you want to feed me?”
“I want to watch, close up, how you savor every spoonful. The look on your face, the dreaminess in your eyes… It’s like you’re having an orgasm. Or approaching one fast.” He swallowed. “Get on over here. I wanna witness it up close.”
“W-why?”
“Because, it’s sexy as sin. And watching you eat is giving me the hard-on from hell.” He groaned softly and pushed his chair back, standing. “Forget it,” he rasped. “Don’t move. Not an inch.”
The second he rose, she spotted that hard-on. It was impossible to miss. And damn, it did funny things to those tingles on her skin. Intensified them. Made them feel like sharp darts of carnal need.
And then he was beside her, taking the spoon from her hand and dipping it into the bowl. “Open wide, beautiful.”
He held the spoon to her mouth.
She stared up at him, stunned, trying not to think about the erection from hell, which honestly she equated much more with heaven, the one mere inches from her cheek.
“Open,” he urged in that deep baritone of his. It sent shivers down her spine.
She opened.
A soft growl of satisfaction filled the air, and he touched the spoon to her lower lip, drawing it over the sensitive skin before pulling his hand away.
Drops of mousse stuck to her lip, and she licked them off, dabbing at them first with her tongue, then with her teeth, cleaning away every last bit.
The creaminess of the mousse burst on her tongue, an explosion of rich sweetness, made even sweeter by the fact Zachary fed her.
Another soft, masculine growl reverberated down her spine, and the spoon was back. This time he let her have a mouthful. It melted on her tongue, the flavor sparking every one of her taste buds.
He fed her another spoonful, and then another.
Eating became almost impossible. It was hard to swallow when his gaze tracked her every move, his green eyes not moving from her mouth.
Each time she licked her lips, he mimicked her, licking his own lips until his mouth glistened. She couldn’t look away, didn’t want to.
Neither did she want another spoon of mousse. Not anymore. Now it was Zachary she burned to taste. His mouth, his lips, his kiss.
His erection.
Zachary touched the spoon to her lower lip again and then to her upper one.
“Uh-uh,” he breathed when she attempted to lick them clean. He placed the spoon in the bowl. “My turn.”
She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t remember how. Her heart hammered as he caught her chin with his finger, tilted her face upwards, and ever so slowly leaned in.
Helpless beneath his touch, her eyes slid shut.
Zachary flicked his tongue over her upper lip, just a whisper of wet heat as he licked at a drop of mousse. And then another one. He took his time, savoring the treat, tasting every inch of her lip.
A soft rumble of appreciation resonated in his chest.
Sensation, wicked and frantic, washed over Eve, making her shiver.
Zachary turned his attention to her lower lip. Only he didn’t sweep his tongue over it. No, this time he caught it between his lips and nibbled.
Desire rocketed through her, fierce and hot. Her knees turned to jelly and moisture pooled between her legs. She couldn’t hold back the moan as he suckled on her lip.
Eve was a violent inferno of need and want and lust, while Zachary was all gentle touches and soft caresses. He released her lip only to press his mouth against hers and run his tongue ever so slowly over her teeth and her tongue.
His moan echoed her own.
As fierce and demanding as the previous two kisses had been, so this one was tender. And beautiful. And delicious.
It captivated her. He captivated her.
Eve returned the kiss, tangling her tongue with his, molding her lips to the shape of his. She wanted to attack. Wanted to kiss him harder, make him hers. Damn, she wanted to own his mouth. Own him.
Or maybe she wanted him to own her.
She tamped down on her rampant excitement, on her fervor. Forced herself to move at his speed. To slow down and appreciate the moment for what it was.
A perfect kiss. An exquisite experience. A blissful blending of man and woman. It was almost as if Eve had been born to share this moment with this man. Born to share his mouth, his passion, his tenderness. Born to breathe the air he breathed.
Which was ridiculous really, as she hadn’t been born with red hair or green eyes.
The thought hurt, slamming home, and instinctively Eve tried to kill the moment, pulling away. Zachary refused to let her go.
He simply kissed her harder, more ardently, as Eve had desired. Trapped her with his mouth and wouldn’t release her lips.
Heat tingled up her back and down her arms. Her breasts grew heavy, needy. And still he increased the heat of his kiss, ramping it up, caressing her lips with his, seducing her with his tongue.
She lost herself to the zeal of his mouth, lost herself to the rapture, to the storm building in her belly…and lower. The muscles in her pussy clenched, fed by a voracious hunger. A desperate need for more of Zachary. So much more.
He broke the kiss, breathing heavily. His eyes were heavy-lidded as he forced them open and stared at her, seemingly dazed.
“I haven’t slept with a woman in months, Eve. Haven’t wanted to.” He closed his eyes with a hoarse groan. “But God help me, I want you. Want you so bad.”
His mouth reclaimed hers, his words still echoing in her ears like the soft beat of a drum, rhythmic, hypnotic, making her heart pound.
His arm snaked around her waist, pulling her upright, pulling her against him, lifting her into the air. He held her so tight, not even air could pass between them. Her breasts were squashed against his chest, her hips pressed into his stomach as her legs found their way around his waist, clutching him.
At some point her arms had wound themselves around his neck, holding him just as close as he held her.
All the while he kissed her, seduced her with his sinful mouth, made her think dirty thoughts. Made her want wicked, delicious things from him.
He turned and rested her ass on the table, nestling between her thighs, his groin pressed against hers, the stiffness of his erection a solid bulge against her aching pussy.
His mouth devoured hers, his chest rubbed against her swollen breasts. Her nipples beaded and throbbed with the hunger to be touched—skin upon skin.
Somehow he must have understood, because his hands found the hem of her shirt, and just like she’d wanted to do in the stadium—and every time she’d looked at him since—he tugged it up and over her shoulders, breaking their kiss only to pull it over her head.
Too late Eve realized what she’d let him do.
Swept away in the wave that was Zachary, she’d forgotten.
Panic struck.
Her heart th
udded as dread filled her belly. Instinctively, she dropped her right hand to her left shoulder, trying to hide the damage that could no longer be hidden.
Chapter Five
With her throat thick from words that refused to form, Eve found the strength to whisper just one thing.
“Scars.”
Zachary’s face darkened as his gaze lowered to her shoulder, as he took in what her hand couldn’t conceal.
She waited for the horror to set in, waited for the revulsion she knew would come. It always came when she revealed the long, pink line that ran from the top of her left shoulder, down over the upper curve of her breast—not quite covered by the cup of her bra—and ended halfway down her sternum.
“Scars,” he repeated, oh so quietly. But it wasn’t revulsion she saw on his face. It was something else. Something she couldn’t identify.
She held her breath, waited, wished she were anywhere but there.
Turn away, Zachary. Don’t look. Don’t recognize how hideous I am.
Then he nodded, as if it all made sense. “Not scared. Scarred.”
Huh?
His expression changed again. This time to concern? “Christ, Tiny.” He traced the line of the scar with a touch so gentle it raised goose bumps on her flesh. “What happened to you?”
It took a few seconds before she could answer. A few seconds of processing his response. It was so unexpected, so tender.
So free of the expected revulsion.
Her heart softened, letting Zachary in. Letting the man step closer—both physically and emotionally—than anyone had gotten to her in a very long time.
It wasn’t easy. Eve fought the need to rail against him. Fought the need to pound her fists on his shoulders and force him to look away. Fought the impulse to cover her repulsive body and run.
She fought, because more than wanting to flee and escape his intense scrutiny, she wanted this time with Zachary. Wanted a chance with him. A minute, an hour. Maybe even a night.
She couldn’t have him forever, not with his redhead looming in his future. But just for now, after the kiss they’d shared, the intimacy that had somehow flowered between them, she wanted…something. With him.
Just for now.
“I…was…” She swallowed and forced the words out. “Injured, eleven years ago. A—” Lord, she didn’t want to tell him. Didn’t want to say it, remember it. “A shop window I was looking in exploded.”
“Jesus.” He stared some more, his brow puckered, his eyes troubled. “Fuck, this must have hurt like hell.”
He didn’t know the half of it.
She shrugged and closed her eyes, telling him silently she couldn’t, wouldn’t answer more questions. She rounded her shoulders, forcing herself to let him look, but this was something she simply wasn’t open to discussing.
Perhaps Zachary sensed as much, because the next thing Eve knew, it wasn’t his fingers feathering over the scar, it was his lips. His soft, warm lips tracing that line from her shoulder, over her breast and down to her sternum. And his tongue, leaving a tingly wet trail that made her belly tumble and her head wobble with confusion.
She flicked her eyes open to stare down at his beautiful brown hair. “Y-you don’t find it repulsive?”
He pressed a kiss to the top of her breastbone. “Find what repulsive?”
“The scar.”
He raised his head to look at her. “Why on earth would I find it repulsive?”
Him and his damn non-answers. “I have a line bisecting the left side of my upper body, Zachary. It’s hardly a visual delight.”
“It’s a scar, Eve. A mark left by what could only have been a physical trauma.” He traced it again with his finger. “The only thing that worries me about it is how fucking much you must have suffered when it happened.”
“Y-you don’t want me to put my shirt on? Go back to my room now?”
Now he stared at her as if she were crazy. “Are you nuts?” He took a step away, a tiny step, and caught her wrist in his hand. “Feel me, Eve. Put your hand over my erection and get a sense of what you to do to me.”
He directed her palm to his groin, making sure, Eve noted, to avoid hand-to-hand contact. “That’s it, Tiny. Press your hand flat against me, so you know how fucking much you turn me on. So you know that every inch of you, scarred or not, arouses me like no one has aroused me before.”
She pressed her palm to his groin, allowed his hard length to fill her hand, and let out a tiny rasp of air.
Yeah, she’d felt him pressed against her before, felt his excitement then, but to feel it now, after he’d seen the visible evidence of her trauma, to know he still wanted her…
God, it was a powerful aphrodisiac. And a powerful boost to her confidence.
“Now—” he snagged her other wrist, “—feel what your holding my cock is doing to my heart.” He placed her hand over his chest.
The thud of his pulse beat against her palm, firm, fast and pounding.
“It’s racing,” she whispered. Her eyes closed as she let his heart beat against her hand, felt his lifeblood pulsing through his chest. “Like your drums, only faster.”
“It’s the rhythm of my heart, Eve. Listen carefully. It’s beating like this because of you.”
“Zachary…”
“Your scar doesn’t scare me. But the thought of your walking away because you’re embarrassed by it does.”
Eve stared at him in wonder. This devastatingly sexual specimen of a man, who inspired hysteria in his fans, desired Eve. He wasn’t fazed by the disfigurement of her chest. Not even one bit.
The man standing before her—with his heart in her hand—made her feel things the scarred, traumatized girl hadn’t felt in, well, ever.
He made her desire things she hadn’t felt worthy of desiring.
Even if the visible scar was just the tip of the iceberg, the sense of being wanted, of being appreciated made her dizzy. It made her emotions crash around like crazy.
“I don’t want to walk away, Zachary.”
Stupidly, speaking out loud made her eyes fill with tears. Which in turn brought back a wave of panic. For the first time in so very, very long, Eve was happy. And sexy. And beautiful. And she had Zachary Pace to thank for that.
The last thing she needed to do now was destroy his image of her with tears. Because if those tears spilled over and wet her cheeks, that image would be torn to shreds—just like her face had been, eleven years ago.
“Oh, shit.” Zachary looked stricken. “Now I’ve made you cry.”
Hastily she brushed at her eyes. Much as she hated to move her hand away from the rhythm of his heart, it would do her no good whatsoever ruining her makeup now. Zachary may have accepted the scar on her chest. There was no need to subject him to the other ones.
“They’re good tears,” she insisted. “Emotional, not sad.”
He frowned. “There’s a difference?”
“There is. You’re making me feel things I’ve never allowed myself to feel. It’s good. Liberating. Scary, but good.”
Obviously Eve wasn’t doing a good enough job convincing him. Zachary’s erection began to shrink.
“You make me feel beautiful,” she told him. “Make me feel like my scars…this scar is just a natural part of me.” Time to be brave. “You make me want to show you more of myself.” Well, more of her body anyway. Her face—her real face—could remain hidden.
Some scars were way too hard to reveal.
Eve reached behind her back and unclasped her bra. She let it fall to the floor between Zachary and herself.
His harsh intake of breath as he looked his fill was all the reward she needed for her courage, yet he showered her with more.
“Jesus.” He swallowed. “You’re beautiful.” And slowly, almost reverently, he cupped her breasts, groaning hoarsely in appreciation. “You feel so good. So right.”
“I don’t have red hair,” she reminded him. “Or green eyes.”
Zachary dismissed yet an
other of her concerns. “You have everything I need or want right now. More than everything.”
He ran his thumbs over her nipples, and Eve shuddered as shivers rippled through her.
“Give me your mouth, Tiny.” Zachary’s eyes were closed, his face creased with pleasure. “Let me taste you while I touch you.”
Impossible to resist such a request. Eve leaned forward, pressing her breasts more firmly into Zachary’s hands and melding her lips to his.
He kissed her so tenderly, Eve forgot to breathe.
Zachary released her mouth only to press heated kisses down her jaw and over her neck. He nuzzled his nose beneath her ear and inhaled deeply.
“You smell so good. Better than a garden full of roses.”
Eve caught his arms, ran her hands over his biceps and beneath the sleeves of his T-shirt, confirming what she’d suspected all along. Now that she’d touched him, she never wanted to let go. She itched to run her hands all over his arms, his shoulders, his chest.
It was her turn to remove his shirt, and he released her to help shrug it off. As soon as the shirt hit the floor, Eve leaned in even closer, molding her breasts to the shape of his chest, hiding her scar with his body, imbibing the sensation of flesh against flesh.
The man was ripped. Abs of steel. Arms the same. Yet his skin was almost satiny smooth beneath the light sprinkle of hair that covered his chest and forearms.
“Zachary?”
He ran his hands down the length of her back, slowly, seductively. “Mmm?”
“We have a problem.”
“We do?”
“We do,” she whispered against his shoulder. “You know how you liked the fact that I wasn’t trying to get you into bed?”
“Yeah?” He lifted her hair away from her back and planted a warm kiss on her neck.
“Please, don’t hate me for saying this, but…but…getting you into bed is about the only thing I can think of right now.” Her skin was covered in goose flesh, her nipples were tight beads and her pussy was slick with need.