by Toni Blake
"Then don't worry. I'm a big girl. I can take care of—?..
"No, you can't," he snapped. "I already had to rescue you once, and I thought you understood then what the deal was."
"But listen, Jake." She grabbed his wrist, her hand warming his skin. "I showed Tina's picture and found out she has been there before. The girls I spoke to haven't seen her in a few weeks, but they said she has a friend named Raven. They haven't seen Raven, either, but it's something. Another name. A place she's actually been. Did you get anything from the bartender?"
He sighed. "No." And he hated to admit it, but maybe she actually had done them some good. Raven was a lot more uncommon name than Tina. It was another piece of information to give Tony, a name he could drop at Sophia's.
As the cab pulled to a stop on Esplanade, Jake paid the driver, then took Stephanie's hand as they exited the car. Realizing he still held it once they reached the sidewalk, the taxi speeding away behind them, he let it drop, but automatically lifted a palm to the small of her back to propel her down the brick walk to her room. The gnarled oaks and their moss-draped boughs provided a canopy overhead.
"You have to admit that's helpful information, right?" she asked.
"Yeah, beb, you did good work tonight, but"—he stopped and turned her to face him, taking her hands in his—"you can't keep doin' this, understand?"
Their gazes met in the night, a sliver of moonlight righting its way down through the trees to make her eyes sparkle, and Jake's desire for her rose yet again. Had it ever waned since he'd set eyes on her this evening? Her hair was simple, falling over her shoulders in the same soft waves he'd seen earlier, only tamed now. Her filmy dress, its two wide swaths of black fabric tied behind her neck, made him think of old Hollywood glamour and sophistication. He caught sight of her nipples pushing against the fabric, and he wanted her naked, wanted to see her, touch her, explore her in a leisurely way he hadn't done with a woman in a very long time.
Since Becky, of course. Everything always led back to her. A more stinging guilt than usual bit at him with the knowledge that he didn't want to think about her right now. He only wanted Stephanie. No one else.
Finally, she turned and walked ahead on the path, digging a key from her fancy purse. "Well," she said, "looks like you managed to get me home safe and sound. I guess you can go now."
"No," he said, and as she stepped inside, he followed, shutting the door behind them. He heard a click as a dim lamp ht the room, which was filled with antique furniture and thick, elegant fabrics.
"I'll stay here this time, I promise. My work for the evening is done." She sounded far from contrite, though—more like pissed.
Well, that was too damn bad.
He watched as she dropped her purse on the bed, before reaching to undo the bracelet that sparkled at her wrist, tossing it carelessly on a dresser. When she turned toward him, he stepped up close to her. "You still don't get it, do you?"
"Yes, yes, I get it. While you search for my sister, I have to trap myself in this room, stare at the walls, and feel powerless, all because you think I'm defenseless."
"Damn it, Stephanie!" His voice raised without his intending it to. She flinched beneath him and he locked his gaze on hers, needing to make her understand. "I don't want you to get hurt, for God's sake!" he shouted, then tried to speak more gently. "That's not so hard to understand, no?"
But for Stephanie, it was hard to understand. Who was he? The gruff ex-cop who was all business? Or the softer man she saw only tiny hints of, hints so small that she wasn't even sure if they were real or simply in her tortured imagination? The answer mattered, a lot—because wouldn't it be easier to let herself sleep with him if she thought he cared for her?
He stood over her, his eyes filled with some combination of fury and tenderness so profound that she leaned back against the wall in an attempt not to wither and faint beneath his stare. She hated all the uncertainty, hated not knowing where she stood, not being in control of it. "What do you care?" she finally barked at him.
He shook his head. "What do you mean?"
"What do you care if I get hurt? What's it to you? You barely know me. You're only helping me because you think I'm a danger to myself, some stupid little waif playing private detective. And you couldn't really care less if we find my sister—except maybe to get me out of your hair so you'll never have to see me again."
As she'd spilled the indicting words, she'd watched his face tighten still more fiercely, aware that his shoulders were set tensely and his fingers curled into fists at his side. "You got one thing right, Stephanie Grant," he growled.
"What's that, tough guy?"
His hands closed on her shoulders and his expression appeared positively tortured. "If I never saw you again, it would make my life a hell of a lot easier." With that, his mouth came down on hers, hard and demanding, his kiss feeling as if he were attempting to wrench something out of her.
Her entire body responded, her breasts tingling, wetness pooling between her thighs. Their mouths struggled together, their tongues sparring hotly. And in that heated moment, she didn't care why he was kissing her, didn't care if he hated her and never wanted to see her again. She only wanted to take what he had to give, and wanted to give him whatever he needed. And clearly he needed. Something. No man had ever kissed her so powerfully.
His arms closed around her and she moved against him without hesitation, needing the sweet, hot friction, needing to feel his very maleness against her curves. Her lips felt bruised beneath his, but she didn't care. She clawed at his back, grabbed onto his hair, kissed him as feverishly as he was kissing her.
When one of Jake's hands sank to her butt, she clenched at the pleasure and unthinkingly lifted one leg, curling it around his thick denim-clad thigh. His erection pressed insistently between her legs, forcing a low moan from her throat. Oh God. Oh God. She closed her eyes as the heat licked at her inner thighs, the small of her back. She was lost to him, lost to the weight of the desire pressing down on her.
Then, without warning, the passion turned slower— kisses still hard, but lingering. She heard them both panting as the heat of his body warmed her from shoulder to thigh. He tasted of cool mint. The kisses ended with his forehead pressed to hers in quiet, breathless recovery, but still their bodies writhed slowly together, as if they just couldn't stop.
"I don't want like this," he whispered hotly.
"Huh?" His voice caught her off guard, his words not quite making sense.
He hesitated slightly, and when he spoke, it came between heavy breaths. "I don't think I've ever wanted a woman ... the way I want you. Since that first night... in the red room. The second I see you ... I wanna sink so deep inside you, beb. Let me."
Let me have you.
Could she? Could she let go of whatever held her back each time? Now they were in her room—a private, comfortable, safe place. Let go, she told herself. Just let go and feel him the way you want to.
He pulled back just enough to look into her eyes. "Tell me you want me, chère."
"You know I do," she whispered.
They went totally still in that moment, no movement— just the connection of their gazes and the insistent beat of her heart against her rib cage.
She said it again, even softer this time. "You know I do."
His next kiss came shockingly gentle, swallowing and sweet; their tongues licked at each other, tasting deeply. Good, delicious kisses, the best of her life. She thought for a few moments that maybe she'd be content just to stand here and kiss him all night long. Her fingers curled in his thick hair and the musky, sexy scent of him permeated her senses. She wanted to crawl inside him.
When he slowly skimmed one hand to the side of her breast, her knees buckled, but he was there to catch her, his other arm anchored securely around her waist. The stroke of his thumb teased the outer curve, touching skin to skin, thanks to the bareness of her dress. Her breath grew more labored until she realized she was kissing him harder, pulling him
closer, thinking, Touch me, please touch me, feeling sure that if he didn't, she would die. Please, Jake.
But she was careful not to voice her wishes out loud. That would be too much, giving away every last ounce of control—and she had to hang onto something, didn't she?
When his thumb passed over her nipple through the dress, she went weak again, but still he held her, drawing back to look at her from beneath shaded lids. "You get me so hot, beb."
She could only sigh, her breath trembling, glad when his kisses returned, because she was better with that, with simply being swept away, than with having to acknowledge her passion with words.
As his hand closed full around her breast, inside the dress, she let out a low groan and locked her arms tighter around his neck so she wouldn't fall. His tongue delved deeply into her mouth as he slowly kneaded her, his thumb and forefinger teasing the hard peak. Harsh pleasure spiraled through her.
When his kisses trailed away from her mouth, over her cheek, to her neck, shoulder, she could do nothing but acquiesce, leaning her head to one side. Her breath grew shakier with each inch he descended, his mouth getting closer and closer to where his thumb and finger played.
Yes, yes. Kiss me there.
She never realized his other hand had left her waist until she felt the smooth, light tug at the back of her neck—he was untying the top of her dress. Oh God. Her knees trembled and she fought not to let them give way.
She'd had sex with enough men that this part wasn't foreign. Yet it still felt new—with Jake. He pulled back slightly and the top of the dress slipped like satin over her breasts, falling away to leave her bared to the waist.
He studied her unabashedly, his gaze making her even hotter. "So pretty, chère," he whispered, slowly lifting his brown eyes to hers.
She felt lost. Free. Trapped. Confused but wild, and growing hungrier with each passing second. "Kiss me there," she murmured. It was an accident—words never meant to leave her lips.
But Jake didn't hesitate. Stepping up close again, he curled both hands over her breasts, massaging deeply as he delivered a long, slow kiss to her mouth—and then lower. Her neck. The hollow of her throat. The upper curve of plump, pale flesh. Then his tongue flicked over the dark pink tip.
She gasped and the juncture of her thighs spasmned. Her own thready breath was the only sound.
More. Please. This time she held it inside, didn't beg, thank goodness—but it was almost as if he'd read her thoughts anyway, because his warm mouth closed over her distended nipple, his tongue swirling around it in wet, intoxicating circles.
Thank God she had the wall to lean against or she'd surely be on the floor by now. She moaned and sighed, drinking in the pleasures from his mouth and hands, still caressing her breasts, molding, shaping, making her crazy with the hot joy of it. God, yes.
When he switched his ministrations to the other breast, licking and teasing with tongue and teeth, a tiny bite that seemed to reach all the way into her panties made her cry out. She held his head there, ran her hands through his thick hair, and peered down to find him looking back, his tongue raking across the moistened peak as his brown gaze seared her.
She wanted desperately to look away because his eyes made her so wild inside, made her simply want to rip his clothes off, push him to the bed, do everything she'd ever dreamed of—and never dreamed of. Her wildest dreams had never been as wild as he turned her.
But control, control. You have to keep at least a little control. She'd never felt comfortable giving that up— especially when it came to sex.
Just when she was sure there was nothing he could do to make her any more deeply aroused, he bent even lower to kiss the smooth plane of her stomach. Her whole body seemed to flutter at the light assault.
And before she could think, he was dropping to his knees, slowly skimming his hands down the fabric that covered her hips. He gazed up, heat rushing from his eyes as his hands closed around the backs of her legs.
"Wh-what are you doing?"
"Want to kiss you here now, chère," he rasped, then lowered a chaste, tiny kiss to the black filmy fabric that lay across the juncture of her thighs.
Chapter 11
She gasped at the pure pleasure radiating through her. "Oh ..." she breathed.
His gaze rose to meet hers as his hands slid up the backs of her thighs, to her bottom, taking the soft black fabric with him.
"I never..." she whispered without meaning to.
"Never what, beb?" His voice was a deep purr from below.
Never felt such hot wanting. Never felt so on the edge of truly letting go.
He blinked, peering up at her. "Surely you've been kissed here before."
She nodded. "Yes, but..." It was never like this.
"But what?" he asked, lowering another soft kiss through the dress.
An unstoppable shiver rushed through her, leaving her unable to answer. Why had she even started talking at all? Words seemed ridiculously inadequate in summing up the intense heat surrounding them. He still looked up at her, waiting for a reply, but she only shook her head,
beseeching him with her eyes to go on. And just in case he didn't get the message, she eased one high-heeled foot to the side, parting her legs a bit farther. Kiss me again.
His eyes seemed to deepen a shade before he lowered them back to the part of her body so close to his mouth. His hands slid from her rear around to her knees, pausing just long enough to gather the fabric in front and push it up, higher, higher, until he held it bunched at her waist. She couldn't stop the trembling that assaulted her, but he seemed undaunted.
"Want to make you feel so good, chère." His voice fell over her as dark and soft as a shadow just before he kissed the front of her black silk panties, openmouthed, deep and passionate, as if it were a part of her that could kiss him back. Warm pressure and heat—his tongue—permeated her most sensitive spot, and without planning it, she began to grind against him. Maybe she could kiss him back—this way.
She closed her eyes, melting, thrusting—softly, softly. She pressed her palms flat against the wall behind her for support, then found her fingers curling, clawing at the slick wallpaper, reaching for purchase as she sank deeper into his ministrations.
She heard her own whimper as his fingers curved over the top edge of her panties. Yes. Take them off me.
Grabbing onto one side with both hands, he gave a rough tug and the thin elastic band snapped, leaving the underwear to fall away.
"Oh!" She drew in her breath.
Too much. This was too much. Too much pleasure, too much abandon.
Damn it, no—it was happening again, her body tensing sharply. And like everything else with this man, it was beyond her control.
Her legs snapped together tight as she tried desperately to quell the hungry sensations inside her. "I can't," she blurted out.
Still kneeling before her, he raised his gaze. "What?"
One glimpse of the disbelief in his sexy eyes and she couldn't continue to look at him. She tried to close her legs still tighter, but it wasn't possible. "I'm sorry," she whimpered, "so sorry. But I can't."
"You can't," he repeated, somber, bewildered.
"I'm sorry, Jake. I just..." She shook her head. Maybe she should tell him about Curtis. She didn't officially consider him her boyfriend, but maybe that's what this was about, some kind of guilt. God knew it would be easier if she had some sort of concrete reason to give him. Yet even without speaking the words, it sounded like a he to her. "I'm sorry," she said again.
He let her dress fall back down her thighs as he rose to his feet. Shutting his eyes, he ran his hands back through his hair and let out a heavy sigh of frustration. Feeling like the worst sort of tease, she remembered she was still half unclothed and began fumbling to grab up the front of her dress.
Casting only one last look of disappointment, he started for the door. "I'd better go." "Wait."
He paused, his hand on the doorknob, to look over his shoulder. Like always,
his eyes nearly buried her.
"Wh-what about Tina? Do you think you'll be able to find her now that we know her friend's name?"
He looked dumbfounded that she could be talking about that at a time like this—and at the moment she couldn't blame him. She asked too much of him.
They stood like that for a long, tense moment, until finally Jake gave his head a quick shake. T can't do this anymore."
He turned to go again and impulse made her rush forward. Still using one hand to hold her dress up in front, she latched onto his wrist with the other. "What do you mean?"
Shaking free from her grip, he took a step back, looking more dark and forbidding than usual. "I can't be near you, Stephanie, without wantin' you. And if I haven't been able to locate your sister by now, I seriously doubt a girl's name is gonna make a difference. I can't help you." He shook his head again. "I can't keep doin' this."
With that, he stalked out the door, pulling it firmly shut behind him. The slam drove home for her how alone she suddenly was. She stared at it blankly, feeling as if she'd just lost... everything that mattered.
Idiot, idiot, idiot. Ten minutes after Jake left, Stephanie's fear of sleeping with him had faded, but her desire remained in full swing, pulsing through her body like something trying to get out. Idiot.
Pushing up from the bed, where she'd let herself collapse a moment after his departure, she stripped off her dress, changing quickly into a pair of blue jeans, a gray tank top she usually wore to the gym, and her comfortable leather sandals.
Locking the door behind her, she headed for the customer parking lot. Jake had once told her—only because she'd pried—that he lived in an old building on Burgundy.