Sinful Temptation

by Christopher, Ann

  That night, Talia startled awake, knowing something was wrong long before she could pinpoint what it was. She sat up and blinked into the darkness, trying to get her bearings.

  Her alarm clock’s digital display read 3:21. Her room, like the house, was utterly silent, but for the distant white noise of the surf. Since she kept her drapes open to enjoy the spectacular view, there was enough moonlight dappled from the waves to show that nothing was out of place in her room. There were no looming shadows behind the chair in the reading corner, for example, and no figures darting out from behind the entertainment armoire.

  And yet something—maybe everything—was wrong.

  Had she had a nightmare?

  Rubbing her eyes, she tried to shake off the anxiety—

  Wait. What was Chesley doing?

  The dog was sitting by the closed door, looking over her shoulder at Talia. When she caught Talia’s eye, she whined and pawed at the knob.

  Silly dog. Why couldn’t she do her peeing at a decent hour, like everyone else did?

  Muttering, Talia tugged a long-sleeved T-shirt on over her tank top and shorts, found her flip-flops, tightened her silky sleeping scarf around her head and was on her way to the door when she heard a muffled sound that made her spine melt.

  It was the long, eerie wail of someone in pain.

  Sudden fear rooted her feet to the floor. She’d never heard a sound like that, and whatever caused it wasn’t good. The keening rose up again, drowning out the roar of blood in her ears, and the last of her sleep-induced confusion dissipated.

  Tony. That was Tony in trouble.

  Over at the door, meanwhile, Chesley was running out of patience. Wriggling with agitation, she gave a sharp bark easily translated into English: hurry up, dummy!

  Talia snapped into action, throwing the door open and heading down the hallway at a dead run. Guided only by a small console lamp and Chesley’s haunches as she raced past, Talia sprinted around a corner and into another wing that she’d never visited, and then—

  Oh, no.

  This new corridor had a hundred freaking doors marching up and down its length, all of them shut. Which one was—

  Chesley went straight to a door midway down, sat and barked at her.

  Oh, thank God for this wonderful dog.

  They were just in time, too, because Tony was going berserk now. The last of his wails twisted into something coherent. A desperate plea for help and for…her?

  “Please. Don’t do that! Don’t— Talia… Taliaaaa… Talia!”

  Without thinking about the wisdom of what she was doing, she banged through his door, ready to face any enemy that presented itself, armed only with her bare hands and her primitive desire to protect Tony from whatever had him.

  Except a sweeping glance of his bedroom, which was even bigger than hers, revealed nothing. No raging fire. No bad guys. Not even Tony, because his massive bed was neat and empty.

  What the—?

  Once again, Chesley saved the day. Guided by that wonderful sixth sense that dogs have, she zeroed in on one end of the sofa, which was, Talia realized, pulled away from the wall at an odd angle.

  Was Tony behind there?

  The only answer was the sudden appearance of a flailing arm on the floor behind the sofa and Tony’s renewed yells.

  “Talia! Taliaaaa—”

  “I’m here.” Ignoring all rules about letting dreamers sleep, or waking dreamers gently or whatever the hell you were supposed to do, Talia skirted the side table, knelt at his head and grabbed his biceps to calm him. He was faceup and shirtless, with his eyes closed and his arms overhead. Down at the other end of his long body, his bare legs bent and kicked, as though he needed to swim away from a monster or risk drowning. “Wake up, baby. I’m here. I’m here.”

  He struggled against his demons, twisting and writhing into the nest of blankets he’d made for himself back there, and then, quite suddenly, his eyes opened and he stilled.

  He stared up at her, panting.

  She waited. Though she had only a dark and upside-down view of him, she could tell there was no dawning recognition in his expression. Nor was there any lessening of the tension that had strung his body tight. If anything, he seemed poised to strike—

  Beside her, Chesley whined.

  A warning, as it turned out.

  Tony struck with the lightning reflexes of a pouncing cheetah, lashing out and clamping down on her wrists. Even then, her sole thought was for his safety, not hers, and some inner peace took charge, filling her up and calming her down. There was only one thing he needed to hear, so she said it in a voice as soothing as she could make it.

  “It’s me, Tony. Talia. Everything’s okay. It’s me. I’m here.”

  The manacle grip of his fingers never loosened, even as he flipped over on his belly and did a military crawl out of the narrow space. He crept closer, looming over her where she knelt.

  “It’s me, Tony,” she kept murmuring. “It’s me.”

  Was he awake now?

  Surely not. The light in his eyes was so ferocious—so intent—that it seemed dangerous to look directly at him, like eyeballing a full solar eclipse.

  And yet she didn’t dare turn away.

  Finally she wound herself down, or maybe she ran out of air to breathe and therefore had none left for speaking. All she knew was that the world did a bewildering flip-flop, and she was no longer the one with all the answers.

  Hell. Maybe she was the one dreaming.

  “Tony?”

  Instead of answering, he rose to his feet with the steady grace of Mikhail Baryshnikov, pulling her along with him. Naturally, she wobbled. The only thing standing between her and a face-first dive for the floor was the solidity of his grip, so she didn’t pull away.

  If anything, she leaned closer, studying him as he studied her.

  The new silence was so profound that she’d swear she heard every blink of his eye and drop of sweat as it rolled down his brow. Certainly she heard every intake of his harsh breath, and every outward whoosh.

  Or was that her breath?

  Without warning, he released her wrists. This freedom from the scorching heat of his body should have been a relief. It wasn’t. Those big hands of his went straight to her face, cradling it in a rough grip and angling it so he could see her better in the dim light.

  “Talia?” His voice was gravel mixed with rock salt. “Is it you?”

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  “You’re here?”

  “Yes.”

  The answers didn’t ease him. If anything, the humming tension in his body rose higher, into a level beyond danger.

  “Are you leaving me now?” he demanded.

  The answer she wanted to give—the lie—wasn’t the one that came out of her mouth. “No.”

  His searching gaze swept her face one last time, just to be sure, and then he apparently decided to believe her. One side of his mouth twitched, forming a dimple in his hard jaw.

  There was no other warning before he yanked her into his arms, holding her tight.

  Chapter 7

  Tony’s body felt good against hers.

  Dizzyingly good. Too good.

  He was big and strong, for one thing. Warm, with the clean scent of someone who’d showered just before bed. With her cheek pressed against the hard slab of his chest muscles, and her hands sliding up the bare satin of his back, it occurred to her, too late, that while he may have just experienced a moment of weakness, he was still the sexiest and most powerful man she knew.

  And his body felt really good against hers.

  Now that the immediate crisis had passed, she had time to focus on a few details that had escaped her attention until now. He was nearly nude, for one thing, with only a pair of low-slung boxer briefs covering him and, with their hips pressed fully against each other, she was in a position to note that it wasn’t much cover. He wasn’t aroused, but he was well-endowed, and because she’d been celibate since Paul had ignomin
iously dumped her a while back, she noticed.

  He held her tight, with hot puffs of his breath fanning her neck. There was no room to arch away, or to lock her arms in place so that her braless breasts didn’t have to rub up against him. Their thighs were also pressed together, creating yet more points of electrical contact between them, and she had the insistent urge to hook one of her legs around his waist and thrust—

  “Sorry.” Pushing her away, Tony robbed her of that incredible sensory overload, leaving her body cold and her heart leaden. He walked to the window and stared out, running his hands over his head. “I’m okay now.”

  That was good, because she wasn’t okay. Not at all. Maybe it was the forced intimacy of being clinched next to him in the middle of the night, or maybe her defenses were at a natural low because she’d been sleeping.

  Or maybe those were excuses.

  Maybe her need for him was just getting harder to control. The fact that she’d managed her feelings this long was, as far as she was concerned, a feat worthy of some kind of gold medal.

  Bottom line? She didn’t want to let him go.

  “You sure you’re okay?”

  He kept his back to her, probably because he was embarrassed again. “Yeah.”

  There it was: her cue to leave and let this man process his demons by himself.

  She ignored it.

  “Can I get you some water or something?”

  “No. Thanks.”

  Great. Everything was fine, and he didn’t want her help. It stung a little, but so be it. Her own wishes didn’t matter at a moment like this, even if her hands itched to smooth over his back again, offering comfort. Even if she did want to sit on the sofa, take his head in her lap and massage his temples until the tension left his body. Even if her luxurious room did feel like a Siberian gulag compared to being here with him.

  She hesitated, torn.

  Chesley, who’d been watching the proceedings from a few feet away, trotted over and sat at her feet, waiting for her marching orders.

  Talia snapped her fingers and pointed to Tony. Clearly the best dog in the world, Chesley headed straight for Tony and nudged his leg. This pulled Tony out of his dark thoughts long enough to look down at the dog and scratch her ears.

  “Hey, pooch,” he murmured. “How’re you doing? How’re you doing?”

  Deep inside her chest, Talia felt some of her torment begin to ease. “Tony,” she began.

  “Go back to bed. I’m fine. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  Again, she ignored him. “Does this happen often? The night terrors?”

  Those broad shoulders shrugged.

  “Every night?”

  Another shrug.

  Okay. So he wasn’t in the mood to talk. Pick up on a clue, why don’t you, Talia?

  But…he’d been calling her name.

  “What was the dream about?”

  “You don’t want to know,” he said, his voice hard now.

  Was that a warning? It sure sounded like one.

  “Actually,” she said quietly, “I do want to know.”

  He wheeled around, facing her. The darkness shadowed his expression and made his eyes glint with something disquieting and equally irresistible.

  “Go to bed, Talia.”

  He had a way of saying her name sometimes, turning the syllables into a velvety seduction that awakened nerve endings and made her yearn for things that weren’t hers to have. Not in this lifetime. The warning note was there again, and she had to admire his sense of honor. They were heading in a direction tonight where they didn’t need to go. Really, she should turn and walk out.

  Too bad she couldn’t.

  “You said my name,” she reminded him.

  Was that a trick of the light, or did his sensual lips curl? “So?”

  “You didn’t call for your brother or your sister, or even your ex-fiancée. You called for me.”

  He said nothing.

  “That seems important.”

  He took a step toward her. “So did your letters, but look how wrong I was about that.”

  There it was. The lie. She’d known it wouldn’t take long to get there.

  The ice was cracking beneath her feet, threatening to break, and yet she took a step closer. Did that make her a self-destructive fool?

  Then she was a fool.

  “You dream about me?”

  “Does that surprise you?”

  “Yes,” she admitted.

  “Why? Didn’t we cover this ground already, when I came to your studio and you spit in my face?”

  “I didn’t spit in your face.”

  “No? What else should I call it when you lie to me and think that I’m stupid enough to believe it, beautiful Talia? A love letter?”

  There was no answer for that, but her silence only infuriated him.

  Another aggressive step brought him right up to her face, where he loomed, killing her with the anger in his glare.

  “Huh?” he demanded, sweeping his arms wide. It was funny—the more unglued he became, the more certain she felt that she was walking the right path tonight, even though it scared her. “Do you think I don’t see the way you look at me? Do you think I didn’t notice you named your dog after my unit’s dog in Afghanistan? Do you think I missed that little detail?”

  “You have a lot of questions for me, don’t you? But why don’t you answer my question, Tony?”

  “Why would I do that?” he roared. “Why would I tell you how I feel about you again? So you can look at me with those big eyes and feel sorry for me? Or maybe you’re dying to tell me how you’d give the same comfort to any passing soldier who had a nightmare? Why are you screwing with my head?”

  God. That was a sucker punch directly to her solar plexus. She wavered, fighting sudden hot tears, because she knew he was right, and the truth was ugly.

  “I don’t mean to.”

  “It doesn’t matter whether you mean to or not. You are. And don’t you dare stand there and cry on me.”

  “Fine.” Blinking furiously, she swiped away her tears before they fell. “How about I tell you the truth?”

  “That would be a refreshing change.”

  She took a deep breath. When that didn’t help, she took another one. He waited, watching her every blink. As usual, there was something about his intensity that paralyzed her, making her feel clumsy and inadequate. All she could think was that if he hated the sight of pity in her eyes, it would kill her to ever see it in his.

  Finally, he took mercy on her.

  Reaching out, he took her hand and reeled her in, infusing her with some of his warmth and strength and loosening up her throat. She twined her fingers with his and held on, squeezing until she expected to hear the snap of several of their bones. Ducking his head, he pressed his cheek to hers and whispered in her ear.

  “Tell me, baby.”

  “It’s been a tough year.”

  Against her temple, she felt the prickle of his brow as it contracted, and she could understand his confusion. Maybe he thought she was referring to her broken relationship with Paul, which would be a natural conclusion. The wrong one, but still natural. Tony had only seen the tip of her iceberg of secrets.

  She couldn’t bear the though of telling him about the rest.

  “I understand,” he murmured. “I know about tough years.”

  “I’m strong. I can handle almost anything.”

  “I know you can.”

  “The one thing I can’t handle,” she said, raising her head so she could look him in the eyes, even though she was about one second away from bawling like a baby, “is having you and then losing you.”

  A glimmer of something—relief? Hope?—flashed across his face. “You’re not going to lose me.”

  That did it. The first tear fell, splashing down her face. “It’s inevitable.”

  His brow furrowed into a vague frown, but he chose not to pursue it now, which was, she knew, a temporary reprieve.

  Instead, he l
owered his head and, taking all the time in the world, covered her mouth with his.

  Questions buzzed inside Tony’s mind, demanding answers.

  What was driving Talia’s fear?

  How could he convince her to trust him?

  It was too soon, wasn’t it?

  Would she regret everything in the morning?

  The second their mouths connected, though, all his questions evaporated into mist.

  The first kiss was sweetly perfect, a gentle brush of lips so that they could get past the initial shock of intimacy and learn the feel of each other.

  A catalyst, nothing more.

  The next kiss was an explosion of all the things he’d kept too deep inside for too long and now could no longer contain.

  He’d wanted her for too long. Needed her too much.

  And now she was here. His.

  This was no time for gentle exploration.

  He just couldn’t manage it.

  “Talia.”

  Yanking away her scarf—why did women always wear scarves at night?—he tunneled his fingers into her silky short curls, surprised at how close-cropped they were, and angled her head the way he needed it. There. Greed made him trigger-happy, but she drove him to it, sighing and opening for him so he could thrust his tongue deep, nipping, sucking and licking until it seemed possible—hell, likely—that he’d swallow her whole.

  And then she surged up, digging her sharp little nails into his nape as she writhed against him and hooked one of her legs around his waist. Instinct made him clamp his hands on her ass (Jesus; it was firm and plump—perfectly round) and pump his hips, searching for the sweet cleft between her thighs.

  “Ah, Tony,” she gasped, her face twisting as her head fell back. “Don’t stop.”

  That was it, then. The spot that made her unravel.

  He thrust again, harder. “There?”

  The only response was her sharp cry, followed by the thrilling sound of her breath hitching and then stopping.

  She nimbly hooked her other leg around him, climbing him as if she was shinnying up a coconut tree.

  Mindless now, he swung her around and headed for the bed.

  There were things he should be saying at a moment like this, things she needed to know.