Killing Time

by Leslie Kelly

  All she had to give him was herself. “And he deserves to have his present wrapped up in a pretty pink bow,” she murmured.

  Only, she didn’t have pink, she had virgin white or hooker red. He’d die if he saw the red. Simply fall flat at her feet at the sexy red bustier and thong.

  The white, though…for some reason, the white seemed sultrier. Wicked in its innocence. The kind of underclothes that satisfied propriety while at the same time flouting it.

  Kind of like Mick.

  Deciding, she drew on the white push-up bra and the silky garter belt. Then came the white lace panties, cut high on the thigh. And finally, white stockings.

  “Please don’t laugh, please don’t laugh,” she whispered as she reached for the door handle. Putting on stockings seemed terribly ridiculous at the end of the night.

  Gulping for courage, she opened the bathroom door and stepped into the bedroom. At first she didn’t see Mick. He wasn’t on the bed, nor standing by the champagne bottle. Then a slight movement caught her eye and she glanced toward the window overlooking the downtown street.

  Mick stood there, facing away from her, staring down at the twinkling lights of the traffic twenty stories below. His arms were raised above his head, his palms flat on the walls on either side of the window. The soft lighting in the room cast lines and shadows across his thickly muscled arms, his bare shoulders, then down his back and across his lean waist. She closed her eyes and grabbed the door frame, thinking again that she’d never seen a more perfectly made man in her life.

  Even those two wicked, tiny pointed ears rising above the low-riding waistband of his pants didn’t bother her tonight. They challenged her. They would challenge any woman to step closer, to take on the Big Bad Wolf, right in his own lair, and live to tell the tale.

  Oh, she wanted to take him on. She wanted to touch every bit and taste every inch of him. Nibble his hip and run her tongue over those spiked ears.

  She crossed silently over the carpet, then slipped her arms around his waist and pressed against his back.

  He leaned back, until his head nearly rested on her shoulder and their cheeks touched. “I was wondering if you’d fallen asleep in the tub.”

  “Just took my time deciding.”

  “Deciding what?” he asked as he reached back and caught her hand in his. The touch was electric and Caro shook in reaction, which made their bodies come that much closer.

  “I was trying to decide,” she said, moving back so she could press a moist kiss on the nape of his neck, “where I wanted to kiss you first.”

  He moaned as she continued her oral exploration of his shoulders, his neck and his spine. “I guess you decided.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” she mumbled as she moved lower, lower, until she was kneeling and kissing the small of his back. Then she moved her mouth over and traced her tongue over those wicked little ear points. “I’ve grown rather fond of him,” she whispered.

  She reached around his waist and found the tab of his zipper, drawing it down slowly, letting her hand brush against him through the fabric.

  He hissed in response and tried to turn around. Caro wasn’t ready for that. The moment he saw her, she knew the focus would change. That was fine with her. But first, she wanted to be in charge. She wanted to be the one making him crazy with need.

  She tugged the pants down, and with them his boxers, revealing more of the wolf’s face, then his wicked, salacious smile. She tasted every bit of the figure, pausing here to nibble Mick’s hip, and there to kiss the small of his back again.

  His trousers dropped to the floor and she began to rise, kissing her way up his body, loving the hot, salty taste of him as his skin grew slick with sweat.

  She’d made him sweat. How utterly perfect.

  “You’re killing me. Let me turn around.”

  “Not just yet.” When she was standing, she pressed against him again, letting him feel the jut of her nipples against his back. Their skin was separated only by the thinnest wisp of lace. She curved her hips forward in invitation.

  Only after he groaned did she reach around his body and begin to caress his chest. His stomach. Lower.

  “Oh, my God,” he cried when she encircled him in her hand.

  He was thick and hard. Caro’s mouth grew dry and her breathing rasped. She could feel his pulse throbbing against her, feel his blood roaring through his veins, and she squeezed him tighter. She continued to stroke him, using his body’s own moisture to slicken her palm and slide it up and down his shaft while she kept kissing, biting and licking his shoulders and neck.

  “I hope to God nobody has a pair of binoculars trained on this window,” he muttered, his voice hoarse and thick.

  She peeked over his shoulder and saw that yes, they were fully visible in the high-rise window, their images reflecting in the smoked glass.

  She’d never seen a more erotic sight. She couldn’t pull her stare away, focused on the reflection of her hand encircling him, stroking back and forth against all that smooth male skin. His head was back, his eyes closed, a look of pure physical pleasure on his face. Then he opened his eyes and met her reflected stare.

  She thought there’d never been a more hungry look on Mick’s face than the one he wore right now. It made her nearly incoherent with sudden, driving need. Need for more than just her hand surrounding his throbbing erection.

  She let him go and stepped back.

  He immediately turned around. Another low, guttural groan fell from his lips as he saw her, studied her, inhaled her visually as if he’d never seen her before. “You’re stunning. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

  She knew that wasn’t true, but for now, for this moment, she completely believed him. He made her believe him. His eyes didn’t lie. His voice shook with sincerity. And his hands, when they reached for her, nearly trembled with suppressed tension and undiluted want.

  “You like it?” she asked, knowing that he did by his heavy-lidded eyes and the play of clenching muscles beneath all that golden male skin.

  But she should have known better than to expect Mick to burst into flames. Oh, no, he was too controlled for that. Too much a creature of sensation, a lover of all things intimate and sultry. He drew her toward him, pulled her in front of the window. And turned her around so her back was to him.

  “Mick…”

  “Shh,” he whispered against her shoulder as he began to kiss her, to taste her, sample her as she had him. “Fair’s fair.”

  “What if someone’s watching?” she asked, picturing a thousand faces behind the thousand windows in the surrounding buildings.

  “Then they’ll think I’m the luckiest bastard in the world.”

  Then she couldn’t speak, couldn’t protest, could only drop her head back and moan as he moved his way down her body. He kissed every single tiny bone of her spine, leaving her shaking and weak. The brush of his tongue on the small of her back sent a shock of sensation shooting down her legs.

  “Ahh, still sensitive here.”

  She couldn’t respond, could only nod mindlessly, feeling weak.

  As if sensing her weakness, he wrapped his big, warm hands around her hips, steadying her, but also stroking her with those strong fingers, so close to where she was throbbing and hungry for him. “Mmm,” she moaned.

  “You don’t have a tattoo. We might need to fix that,” he whispered against the elastic waist of her thong panties. “But not a lamb. A sleek, dark cat. Mysterious and sultry. With thick dark hair like yours and amazing eyes that stare right through you.”

  She could picture it, her mind filling with the images his words painted.

  “You wouldn’t be allergic to that kind of cat, would you, Caroline?” He kissed her just below her right hip, the same spot where his body held his original little lamb. Then he nibbled there lightly. “I’d love making you purr when I taste that pretty pussycat on your body.”

  Good Lord. His words were deliberately provocative, making her think of other place
s he would kiss her. Taste her. She nearly came right then and there. “You are so wicked.”

  “That’s what you love about me.”

  Yes. She did. She had always loved him and she always would. Because of that wickedness, not in spite of it.

  But she couldn’t tell him that. Not now, not when her mind was drifting somewhere out of her body. She gave up trying to think. She could focus only on his touch, his lips, his tongue, his warm breath making goose bumps on her flesh. He toyed with the waistband of her thong, tugging it with his teeth and tasting the skin beneath, then nibbled his way across her cheek, until he reached the back of her garter.

  God in heaven.

  She didn’t know of a single man on earth who could unfasten a garter with his mouth, other than Mick. Where most men would have fumbled if they’d even used both hands, he had no such difficulty. He flicked the hook with his tongue and teeth, leaving her bare to his mouth.

  Then he finally moved his hands. After deftly undoing the front hook, he cupped one thigh. With slow deliberation, he slid his palms down, bringing the silky stocking along with them, touching every inch of her limb.

  Then he repeated his actions on her other leg, until both stockings were puddled on the floor below her feet.

  Finally he rose, just as she had, delighting in making her quiver by teasing her with mouth and hands, letting his fingers dip between her thighs and brush her curls, but never touching her as intimately as she desired.

  She whimpered, wanting so much more, wanting him there and, oh God, there.

  She thought she’d die when he finally reached a standing position and mimicked her yet again. He pressed against her, his erection resting against her buttocks and thighs, hot and heavy. Then he tilted his hips closer, rocking up as she had against him, mimicking a kind of lovemaking he knew damn well made her turn into a madwoman.

  She choked back a helpless sob, unable to help it. “Please, Mick…”

  “Almost,” he whispered. “One final thing.”

  She remembered just as he moved his arms around her waist. One of his perfect hands dropped down to her panties and slid beneath them. When he dipped one finger into her moist flesh, she went weak and jerked in response. She had to lean against him, making nearly incoherent cries as he plucked and caressed with lazy circles that brought her higher and higher.

  “I’ve got you. Open your eyes.”

  She did, watching their shadowy reflection in the window, watching the way his dark hand moved against her soft, pale belly. She couldn’t speak as his other hand rose to cup her breast through the bra, tweaking her nipple until the touch merged with the visual and she got lost somewhere in between.

  Then, finally, he unfastened her bra and they both watched it fall away. He stared at her reflection, slowly moving his hand up to cup her breast, catch her puckered nipple between his fingers and delicately pluck at the sensitive spot.

  She whimpered. The tension rose. And while she loved the way he touched her breasts, and his other hand stroked her hip and thigh, she wanted more. She shifted, arching toward him, wanting to feel some part of him inside her. Now. Right now.

  He understood and complied. She cried out as his finger dipped into her wet body. Watching the reflection—the movement of his hands, the way his fingers disappeared inside her—was almost as delicious as feeling them. Almost.

  “More,” he whispered as he finally stepped away. Caro couldn’t move, she was hot and mindless, almost unable to remember where they were or who she was or anything except how it felt to be in Mick’s arms.

  He swept her up into those arms and carried her to the bed, then placed her gently in the center of it. For a moment, he stared down at her, devouring her, his control nearly gone. She could tell by the jagged breaths he drew through parted lips and the dark, heavy-lidded look in his eyes.

  “Take me, Mick.”

  He nodded. But before he joined her, he went back to the window and looked outside. Giving a tiny, mocking bow he whispered to the night, “I think you’ve seen enough.”

  Then he closed the drapes and returned to the bed.

  MICK WOKE UP slowly Sunday morning, aware of the coolness of the air in the hotel room, not to mention an unusual sensation on his chest. His stomach. His thighs.

  Sweet, silky, so soft as it slid down his body, over his morning hard-on. He wondered if Caroline had found a feather, or was scraping her silky panties over him. But no. It was her hair. Caroline’s hair was sliding across him as she made an erotic journey down his body.

  The covers were gone, the room lit by a sliver of morning light creeping in through the slight part in the drapes.

  Not that he could see much with his eyes nearly closed. Not that he could think anything with his mind focused only on what she was doing. Not that he could feel anything other than her mouth, her hands, her tongue…her tongue.

  “Oh, God,” he moaned, wondering how Caroline had the energy to torment him after the long, sensual night they’d just shared.

  “Good morning,” she whispered as she continued to kiss, taste and lick her way down…down…pressing her lips to that hollow over his pelvic bone, then lower. Her sweet dark hair, so soft and thick, slid across his skin with the sensuality of silk. And her mouth…what her mouth was doing to him could make a grown man beg for mercy.

  “Caroline…”

  “Shh,” she whispered against his thigh. Then she moved over him, took him in her mouth, slowly sucking the length of him until he thought he’d go out of his mind.

  Wet. Hot. Tight. So incredibly erotic that it was hard to control his instinctive reaction. His body wanted him to come right then, to give in to the sweet suction and the little coos of delight she made as she pleasured him. She liked driving him crazy like this. She always had. And it had always taken every bit of restraint he had not to explode into her mouth when what he really wanted was to explode deep inside her body.

  “Enough,” he groaned, grabbing her shoulders to pull her up.

  She resisted, taking one or two more mind-blowing tastes of his cock, as if she’d never tasted anything better and didn’t want to stop.

  “Caroline….”

  “Oh, all right,” she grumbled, letting him pull her up so she rested on his chest and their eyes met. Hers held a definite twinkle, a bit of mischief. “I was hoping you wouldn’t wake up until it was…um…too late.”

  The mental picture of what she suggested made him lean back his head, close his eyes and groan. He clenched his fists to strive for control. Her words inflamed him as much as her touch.

  “You okay?” she whispered, her tone sultry, her lips brushing against his neck.

  He thrust up against her, letting her feel just how okay he was. Then, before she had a chance to get away, he grabbed her arms and rolled her over on the bed.

  “My turn.”

  He didn’t give her a chance to protest before he traveled the same path she had gone on him. Stopping to taste the indentation of her navel, the curve of her hip. That sweet, tender skin just above the dark curls at the apex of her thighs.

  Caroline began to sigh, then to groan and finally to cry out as he brought his mouth to that sweet spot. Her cries sounded as good to his ears as her moisture tasted to his tongue. He sipped, drank her in, making her shake and come in his mouth before he returned up her body to kiss her as she demanded.

  “Finish,” she ordered, thrusting up in demand.

  “Finish?” He chuckled. Then he thrust into that wet place where sanity ended and fantasy began.

  “Oh, baby, we’re just getting started.”

  HESTER COULDN’T THINK of a better time to pay a visit to the Little Bohemie Inn than during the ridiculous Halloween party being taped Sunday night. Everyone in town would be there and even if she was noticed, no one would think a thing of it. So it suited her purposes, even though at first she’d been disgusted by the idea. As if the holiday weren’t decadent enough, did it really have to be put right into the middle o
f nice, God-fearing September?

  When she arrived at around eight—dark enough to slip in shadows, and late enough for some drinking to have taken place—it looked like half the town was present. Of those, three-quarters had had too much spiked cider, beer or candy. They were high on liquor, sugar and the presence of those all-seeing TV cameras.

  That made it ever so easy to slip around the back of the inn, away from those prying eyes and prying lenses. She entered through the mudroom door. Hester had been in this house before, back when it had been an abandoned white elephant, dusty and dour, overlooking Derryville like some horror movie set.

  She’d preferred it then. It had some character. And it was good for scaring bratty kids who had the gall to ring her doorbell and run. All she had to do was yell out a threat to chase them up to the Marsden place and that would be the end of that nonsense.

  She knew the owners had done some work on the place, but felt pretty certain they wouldn’t have changed much of the actual layout. Her first few steps inside confirmed that. Not much had changed, except, of course, there were no cobwebs, drooping wallpaper, mouse turds or moldy stains on the floor.

  It surprised her when she saw just how well that nutty Hildy Compton and her niece had fixed up the place. She’d predicted a quick failure back when they’d shown up in town. Obviously, she’d been wrong.

  “Well, anybody can be wrong once,” she muttered, not willing to concede that it had ever happened before. She didn’t count her friendship with Victoria Lynn, and the life they’d lived. She hadn’t been wrong, in that instance. Merely young and misled.

  Seeing the antique settee and delicately carved telephone table in a hall alcove, she harrumphed. The Compton women did appear to have some taste.

  But she had no time for looking around. Hearing laughing voices in the kitchen next door and from the front hallway, she ducked into a doorway until the coast was clear. Not an easy feat, but the dark shadows aided her effort.

  When all was clear, she made her way to a set of back, enclosed stairs, nearly hidden by a small doorway set into the paneling. They’d probably been built for servants during the house’s heyday. She remembered them being a bit narrow, and a bit steep. They were still both, as well as dusty. She was out of breath by the time she reached the first landing and almost gasping by the time she reached the second.