by Nancy Warren
Unable to respond, Emma shook her head.
“It makes me want things.” He brushed his knuckles around her jaw. Up her cheek. “Hot things.” His fingers slid into her hair “Pelvis-grinding, dirty, blow-your-mind things.”
The fingers of his other hand circled her wrist and he pressed her palm against the front of his jeans, where his swollen sex backed up his claim. Then he stood up, pulling her with him, his strong hands cupping her bottom, his pelvis grinding, just as he’d promised, against hers.
“Unfasten me,” he said against her mouth as his hands delved beneath the T-shirt and cupped her breasts.
The top button was already unfastened. He was gloriously naked beneath the jeans. Emma unfastened two more metal buttons, exposing the ebony hair that continued from his chest to his groin.
Anticipation curled hotly between her thighs as she finished with the last two buttons, then, feeling a great deal like the captured woman in The Last Pirate, Emma knelt on the hard, heart-of-pine floor and slowly drew the jeans down over Gabe’s lean male hips.
Then she sat back on her heels, devouring him with her eyes. Until this moment, Emma had not realized how beautiful the male penis could be.
“Touch me.” His voice was thick with need.
“Mais, yes,” Emma borrowed a bit of his Cajun French which, to her ear, sounded sexier.
Gabe bucked his hips forward, into her touch as she explored the satiny length. Holding her rioting hair back with one hand, so he could better view the action, she stroked his erection from base to knobbed tip.
A tiny drop of moisture gleamed like a pearl in the plump cleft. Leaning forward, Emma gathered it in with a swirl of her tongue.
He swelled in her hand. A groan, somewhere between a curse and a prayer, was ripped from his chest when she took the sleek silk into her mouth. Loving him with her tongue, Emma reveled at the power thrusting between her parted lips.
“Not that way.” He grabbed her hair, urging her back to her feet. “Not this time.”
His hand delved beneath the black T-shirt, tearing away her panties as if they were made of tissue paper.
“I’ll replace them,” he growled against her mouth as he plunged his fingers deep inside her.
“They’re not important.” She gripped his shoulders and sagged against the hard wall of his chest and she was rocked by a sudden, molten wave of pleasure. “Oh, God, what are you doing to me?”
“I’m taking you.” Balancing her on one knee, he swept the coffee mugs off the table, and laid her on her back and pressed his palms against her inner thighs, spreading her legs apart on the pine planks. “And you’re going to love it.”
Eleven
The kitchen was compact enough for him to keep one hand on her mound while grabbing the pair of wooden handled shears stuck in a wooden knife block. After using the shears to snip the hem of the shirt, he tossed them aside and ripped it open.
He was standing over her, looking down at her with the dark, hungry eyes of a conqueror.
“Christ, you’ve got some amazing body, chère.”
He cupped her breasts, then bent his head to scrape his teeth against a straining nipple.
Emma couldn’t hold back the moan his caressing touch dragged from her throat as he rolled the turgid peak between his thumb and forefinger; nor could she stop her body from arching upward, offering his wickedly clever hands and mouth better access.
“You are so beautiful.” His words vibrated against her burning hot skin as his mouth moved down her torso.
His caresses continued their treacherous trail downward, over the swell of her stomach, down her inner thighs, his fingers kneading the flesh that made swimsuit shopping such an exercise in masochism.
“Your skin’s so white.” His voice was rough as an oyster shell road. “Like magnolia petals.”
Even more amazing than the fact that he could make her want him with a single hot look or a lingering touch, was that where she saw stretch marks and cellulite, Gabe saw flowers.
“I’ve been wanting to do this all during supper.”
Grabbing a condom from the box he’d brought into the kitchen earlier, he sheathed himself, then, planting his long bare feet far apart, rubbed the latex-covered tip against the swollen lips of her labia, stroking in long, wet glides, teasing the tender flesh, while refusing to enter her until she was gasping, thighs quivering, heart hammering, begging him. “Please, Gabe. Oh, God, please, take me, now.”
“I thought you’d never ask,” he said with a satisfied chuckle against her mouth.
Emma could taste herself on his lips as he gave her a long, slow soul kiss that had white-hot stars wheeling behind her closed eyes. Then—thank you, God, finally!—he slipped into her, as smoothly as if they’d been created to fit together in just this way.
“Dieu, I love the way your body feels against mine.” He moved his hips, sinking deeper. “All soft and welcoming.” Then deeper still. “Ah,” he breathed as his entire length was surrounded and they were fully joined. “That’s so good.”
Her senses swam. Her mind shut down.
Gabe laced his fingers with hers, moving their joined hands up, on either side of her head. “I wish I could stay inside you forever.”
He began to move, slowly at first. Tenderly. Then faster and faster, hot flesh slapping against hot flesh as Emma scissored her legs around him, lifting her hips with each down-stroke, meeting him thrust for thrust as they both raced over that dark edge together.
Colors—fading from the red of a bursting star to rose to a cooling pinkish blue—floated peacefully in her mind. Gabe’s mouth was against her throat. Their breathing, still in unison, gradually slowed. He lifted his head, combed the wet hair from her face. “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you,” he murmured, seeming, Emma thought, a bit surprised at the notion.
She smiled at that, even though she knew it was only the pleasure of the moment speaking. What she and Gabe had shared was wonderful. Better than wonderful, it was the most exquisite thing she’d ever known.
But the man who was sprawled lazily on top of her like a satiated lion, had broken her heart once before. And would again, if she didn’t guard her heart more carefully this time.
“Wait here,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”
As if she were capable of moving. Every bone in Emma’s body seemed to have turned to water. “Where are you going?”
“I promised to replace those panties.”
She leaned up on her elbows. “You’re not driving back into town? The stores will all be closed by now.”
“I’m not going to the store.” He opened the refrigerator and took out a tall red can. “I’m gonna give you a pair of whipped cream underpants, chère.” He winked. “Then I’m going to eat them off you.”
Impossibly, sexual tension sparked again, tightening muscles that had gone lax. “Is there enough whipped cream in that can for both of us to have dessert?”
He grinned. “I gua-ran-tee it.”
It was dark when Gabe felt Emma slipping out of the bed. If he were the kind of man who kissed and told, which he wasn’t, he would have thanked Nate for having bought that whipped cream. Mon Dieu, how he’d enjoyed spraying it onto her lush, rounded body. Enjoyed even more licking it off her.
And if she were worried about calories, she definitely hadn’t shown it, as she’d done the same thing to him.
Which had, of course, left them so messy, they’d been forced to take a shower. Amazingly, he’d taken her yet again, up against the tile wall. He hadn’t felt so horny, or been able to recover so quickly between rounds, since his high school days.
If only he’d known how hot the soft, sweet-smelling Emma Quinlan was back then. He’d gotten a hint of the passion she kept banked beneath that shy, wallflower exterior on graduation night.
Would things have changed if he’d just given into his rebellious body’s demands and taken her virginity? Would his life have turned out differently? Would hers?
Although he’d never believed in destiny, the past hours with Emma had Gabe wondering if perhaps there was some unseen force working here, some fate, that had led them down separate, individual paths, only to bring them back together once they were older, wiser, and even more hot for one another.
Whatever the reason, Gabe was determined to make up for lost time. The problem was, he considered, as he heard her rustling around in the dark, gathering up her scattered clothing, Emma didn’t seem to be on the same page.
The door’s hinges squeaked as she opened it. Gabe could feel her tense, like a deer fearing a predator’s approach.
He could stop her. He was, after all, larger. Stronger. Not that he’d have to use force. Because it would only take a slow kiss, a lingering touch, a hand to that slick hot place between her legs, to have her back in his bed.
Gabe was still weighing his options when he heard the engine turn over. Heaving a weary sigh, he climbed out of bed, flipped open the cell phone and called his best friend.
“Hey, Nate,” he said, when the sleep-husky voice on the other end of the line answered. “I need another favor. Yeah, everything went jus’ fine. But Emma’s on her way back to town from the swamp and I hate the idea of her driving through the bayou alone in the dark. Could your pretty sheriff wife send a deputy out to meet her on the highway and follow her home? Then let me know she got there okay? Thanks, cher.”
That little matter taken care of, Gabe pulled on a pair of boxers, and went into the kitchen to await the call letting him know that his ’tite chatte had made it home safe and sound.
“If she thinks we’re finished,” he said, as the coffee dripped into the pot, “the lady has another think coming.”
Having come to a crossroads in his life, Gabe wasn’t entirely sure where his future was headed. But he knew damn well that Emma was going to play a starring role.
“I gua-ran-tee it.”
Twelve
Emma was not having a good day. She’d mixed up her oils, using Mr. Lamoreaux’s sandlewood and juniper on Mrs. Breaux, who preferred the relaxing scent of lavender. Rather than appearing unhappy, the elderly lady assured Emma that it was occasionally a good idea to get out of a rut. While Etienne Lamoreaux, who wore a gold hoop in his ear and rode an old chopper Harley, seemed to take smelling like a little old lady’s sachet in stride.
All day long she jumped every time the phone rang. By closing time, she’d been forced to wonder if she wasn’t putting too much importance on what had probably been to him nothing more than a convenient, one-night stand. Especially since that polite, green as spring grass deputy had informed her that he had instructions to follow her back from the camp to her house, which meant Gabriel had been aware of her sneaking away.
How difficult would it have been to keep her there, if he’d wanted her to stay? He wouldn’t even have to use force. All it would’ve taken was a few kisses, some touches . . .
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Roxi asked.
Emma crossed her arms. “Absolutely.”
“Because I can sure as hell think of worse things than daydreaming of that hot Cajun Gabriel Broussard.”
“That’s just the point,” Emma argued. “I don’t want to dream of him.”
Her blood began to swim at the thought of Gabe touching her. Tasting her. “He’s like a fever in my blood, Roxi. I can’t concentrate. He’s all I think about. I want him gone.”
A moonstone ring, larger than the diamond one Gabe professed not to have bought for Tamara Templeton, glowed as Roxi tossed her long black hair over her shoulder. “You do realize, of course, that most of the time people want me to bring love to them. Not send it away.”
“We’re not talking about love. This is lust. Pure and simple.”
Although, in truth, there was nothing simple about her feelings for Gabe. He stirred her up. But at the same time, during supper, she’d felt strangely relaxed with him. Okay, maybe not relaxed. But comfortable. As if she could be herself.
“Oh, God,” Roxi groaned. “You went and did it, didn’t you?”
“I told you we did. Several times.”
“You said you had mind-bending, multi-orgasmic sex. You didn’t tell me you did a pair bonding with him.”
“There wasn’t any bonding going on.” At least not on Gabe’s part. If there had been, wouldn’t he have called by now?
Hell. She really wasn’t any good at casual sex.
“Haven’t I told you that you have to keep your emotions and your orgasms separate?”
“Easy for you to say. You haven’t had sex with Gabriel Broussard.”
“More’s the pity. Though unfortunately, he’s not my type.”
Emma snorted disbelievingly.
“Really,” Roxi insisted. “I have, when it comes to men, one steadfast rule: I refuse to sleep with any guy who has the whole package. The best way to keep sex a no-strings affair is to stick to only going to bed with a man who’s got a below-the-belt package.”
“Gabe has that, too.” Emma was feeling feverish just remembering him inside her. Filling her. Loving her. “Oh, God, Roxi.” She leaned her elbows on the table and dropped her face into her hands. “I love him.” So much, it hurt.
“It’s too bad I’m not into black magic, or I’d put a curse on that Hollywood stud muffin for seducing you.”
“He didn’t seduce me.” He hadn’t forced her to go buy that sexy outfit, that barely there underwear, those damn fuck-me-big-boy shoes, which had definitely lived up to their name. “I seduced him.”
It was Roxi’s turn to snort. “From what I’ve read, the guy doesn’t need a lot of convincing.”
“He’s not like that.”
“Not kinky?”
Emma thought about the way he’d taken her on the table. And later, the whipped cream. And she hadn’t even realized that some of the things he’d done to her in the shower were physically possible. “Define kinky.”
Roxi shook her head. “Shit. It just gets worse.” She stood up, went over to the kitchen and took out a small wooden chest. “Short of putting a stake through Gabriel Broussard’s manly chest, this is the most powerful ‘go away, lover’ spell I know.” She paused as she took a small glass vial of essential oil from the box. “So, I’m asking one last time—you sure this is what you want to do, chère?”
Emma had entered into their one-night stand with her eyes wide open. She’d known Gabe would hurt her. And he had.
So, the downside was that her heart was broken. Shattered, like the white shards of pottery that had covered the wood plank floor after he’d swept their coffee mugs off the table.
The upside was that she’d experienced a night of passion few women would ever know. With the sexiest man alive.
And that was worth remembering.
Now the thing to do was to get rid of Gabriel Broussard so she could move on with her life.
She nodded. “Absolutely.”
Gabe missed Emma.
And not just for the sex, which had been blow-your-mind incredible, but even before People magazine had named him the sexiest man alive, sex had been easy to come by. And, too often, easily forgotten.
Which was not the case with Emma. It was as if the woman had burned herself into his mind. Having given her mixed messages ten years ago, he spent all day and evening out on the gallerie, trying to logically sort out his feelings. Which wasn’t that easy to do since his mind kept returning to last night, rerunning every thing they’d done in Technicolor and Surround sound.
Every little detail about her was scorched onto his mind: her scent—tropical flowers blended with womanly arousal—as he’d dragged her down onto the bed; the flame silk of her hair draped over his thighs as she’d taken him deeper, with more en
thusiasm, than any woman had taken him before; the rosebud shaped birthmark at the base of her spine; the satin of her legs wrapped around his hips, the soft little sounds she made when he kissed that sensitive spot behind her ear; the way she screamed his name when she came.
But there was more. Much, much more. He liked the way her smile lit up her eyes; he admired the way she’d taken those lemons her ex had dumped on her and turned them into day spa lemonade. He enjoyed her enthusiasm when she talked about her business; got a kick out of knowing that she’d seen all his movies, and liked the fact that her opinions of each role were honest, even if they weren’t always flattering. Such as her belief that he’d made a mistake with that comic action hero flick, something he’d figured out on the first day of filming.
He’d also been damned relieved that she hadn’t seemed to hold a grudge against him for having taken off to California.
Which reminded him—he still owed her an explanation.
No time like the present, he decided.
Conveniently overlooking the fact that it was eleven-thirty at night, he flipped open his cell phone.
While Regan Callahan didn’t sound all that thrilled to be awakened for the second night in a row, Nate remained his typically unflappable self.
“No problem,” he said.
That little matter taken care of, Gabe left the cabin, climbed into the pirogue tied to the dock, and headed across the wine-dark water toward Blue Bayou.
And Emma.
Thirteen
Gabe admittedly hadn’t formulated much of a plan about what he’d do after he got to Emma’s house. The one contingency he hadn’t even considered was the notion that she’d be pulling out of the driveway just as he’d turned the corner onto her street.
It was nearly midnight. Where the hell was she going? To meet another man?
“The hell she is.”
He wasn’t stalking her, Gabe assured himself as he took off after the Miata. Not really. Even here in Blue Bayou, a woman driving alone in the middle of the night could be asking for trouble. He was merely looking out for her; the same way he’d want to protect anyone.