“Janna, I said sex was a bad idea for us. I’ve never been too wise about bad ideas. I want you more than I’ve ever wanted any woman.” His roughened voice shivered over her flesh like a caress.
She couldn’t deny him. And she couldn’t deny her need for him. Desire streaked through her. Remembering the incredible pleasure of their lovemaking in the water made her breath hitch, her knees weak. She wanted those raw sensations again, waves of pure feeling she experienced only with him.
To feel, to celebrate life.
When he trailed a finger across her lower lip, heat spiraled from the base of her stomach. She clenched her trembling thighs together. Before she could speak, he lowered his mouth to hers, and she reveled in his taste as if for the first time. Sea salt and male musk and heat. He was sparks of fire in the dark of night. He was strong and sexy and gentle. She pulled him closer, clutching at his shirt. But he held her gingerly, as if expecting her to panic. No fear. No panic. In his arms, she felt her soul expand and soar.
She sighed and sank against him, urging his arms tighter around her. Their tongues met, darted and tangled with the same urgency coursing through her body. A need deep within her flared up, hot and molten. A need only one night wouldn’t satisfy. More tears clogged her throat, but she fought them down.
“Simon, wise or not, I want you. I need you.” She twisted up the hem of her top, lifted it off over her head and dropped it at her feet.
“You are so beautiful.” His mouth descended on hers. He cupped one breast and caressed the nipple with the tough pad of his thumb.
Heat zinged from her tingling nipple straight down her body. Her thigh muscles quivered and she could barely stand. She fumbled at his cutoffs and began undoing the snap.
“Whoa. Slow down.” He took her hand and bringing it to his mouth. “Or this’ll end much too soon.” Still gripping her hand, he used his other to yank the white chaise cushion onto the deck. Then he tugged her with him onto the makeshift mattress. He tucked her close, so they lay side by side. “You won’t be sorry. I’ll make it good for you.” Desire burned with golden fire in the depths of his eyes.
Almost moaning with the effort of control, he lifted her hand to kiss each finger. Her eyelashes drifted lower as he kissed his way up her arm until he nuzzled the tender spot inside her elbow. She nearly jerked off the cushion. “Oh, Simon, I had no idea my elbows were so sensitive.”
“Ah, but I think your breasts are even more sensitive.” He traced a finger of fire down her breastbone and across each eager nipple. His lips followed the wake of his finger. “Your breasts are perfect. Your nipples are the same pink of those flowers on the island.”
“Hibiscus,” she murmured, as he bent to her left breast, then the right, brushing his mouth over the peaked nipples. The abrasion of his whiskers on the sensitive skin flowed arousal through her, lapping higher and higher each time.
“Of course. You researched it. You know their Latin name?” A wicked gleam lit his eyes.
His nonsensical question hovered in her passion-fogged brain. She blinked to focus. “Oh, um, yes, I know it.”
He grinned. “In a minute, you won’t.” He flicked her left nipple with his hot tongue, swirling, then laving and lapping as though at an ice-cream cone. When he opened his mouth and suckled her, she arched upward with the pleasure that spiked a tingling pulse between her thighs.
“Sex in the saltwater was fantastic,” he murmured, lifting his head from her needy breasts, “but tonight, I want to see you. All of you.”
Chapter 22
AS JANNA SHIMMIED out of her shorts and panties, dizziness pulsed in Simon’s head, in his loins. In his heart. His need for her overwhelmed him.
He loved how she looked, all hot and bothered, on the white cushion with her streaky hair a halo around her head and her lips pink and swollen from his kisses. The beard burn on her jaw gave him a guilty twinge, but she seemed oblivious. The companionway light gilded her moistened breasts, her flat belly, her runner’s legs, strong and shapely. His gaze riveted on the curls at their apex. A darker honey-gold, they hinted at the passion inside her.
That she trusted him enough to bare herself to him touched him more deeply than her desire for him. He was used to women wanting him, but trust had never been an issue. She’d journeyed from distrust of all men to reliance on him to free her from her fears. In spite of the hurdles she had yet to overcome, she opened herself to him.
It humbled him. Trembling with hunger for her, he tossed away his shorts so fast that she laughed. He craved her with an ache as powerful as a fever.
At last, they were skin to skin. She was kissing him with feverish hunger that matched his. She twisted to give him access as he sampled her shoulder, her breasts, her hips and thighs. He inhaled her unique feminine scent, the hot perfume of her skin. He stroked her as they moved together, exploring each other.
She smiled softly, pleasure shining molten in her eyes. She traced the contours of his chest with her soft, clever fingers, tickled his sensitive aureoles and plucked his nipples until he ground his teeth. She ran her palms down his back to his butt and scraped her nails over the base of his spine until he nearly levitated. At the wildfire streaking over his flesh, he groaned and strained to give her time to enjoy. Dammit, he would hold out long enough for her. He would.
He massaged the wet silken folds between her legs, first in gentle circles, then slipped a finger, and another inside. “You’re so ready for me.”
Moaning, she reached for him, explored and measured, cupped and stroked. “Yes. Now.”
Arms around her, he rolled onto his back, bringing her on top of him. “You’re in control. I won’t hurt you.”
“Oh, Simon, I know.” Rising above him like a goddess, she straddled his pelvis. Sighing, she bent to kiss his chest.
He palmed her beautiful breasts, eliciting a renewed leap of desire in her eyes.
Shimmying against the hard-to-bursting ridge beneath her, she said, “No riding or jockey jokes, Simon?”
“See what you do to me? Have your wicked way with me, woman. But no spurs.”
Chuckling, she pressed her knees against his hipbones and lifted herself onto his straining body. As she shimmied onto him, he groaned at the exquisite sensation. She was slick and small and tight. Unable to stand the slow torment, he pushed himself deeper into her, luxuriating in the velvety heat enveloping him. The wonder of their joining, the joy of the soul-deep oneness he felt with her stilled him.
Stunned him. Awed him.
She locked her legs tight against him as they moved together. Ancient rhythms rocked them, and they kissed endlessly with a growing, pulsing wave that promised greater pleasure. His climax clawed at him, but he would not rush her.
She gasped against his mouth, her eyelashes fluttering, lush mouth slack with the churning sensations.
The inevitable coiling tension built in his loins. He stiffened, fire surging in his blood, poised on the edge of the rising wave, straining to hold back until she joined him. “Let go, sweetheart. Let it take you.”
And then she cried out, her strong legs gripping him at the onset of her release. Her body rippled against him, radiating her pleasure into him.
Her internal spasms squeezed him, sent him over the tidal wave’s curl to join her in a flood of ecstasy.
Chapter 23
JANNA DIDN’T KNOW what awakened her, but she resisted full consciousness, preferring to luxuriate in the remnants of a rare good night’s sleep. In the comfort of the bed.
She burrowed into her pillow and backed toward the heat source. When she hit an unyielding wall of bare skin, her eyes flew open.
Her heart clattered, and a stony ache compressed her lungs. Oh, God, don’t wake him. What would he do? Would he punish her because it was too early? Or too late?
Seeing the half light of early morning through the porthole spun her out of her nightmare and into reality. She peered at the man beside her. Close enough t
o touch. Unkempt brown hair, not groomed blond. The glint of a stud earring.
Simon. Not Gabe.
She exhaled slowly and pressed a hand to her roiling stomach. How could she have made such a blunder?
Simon lay on his side, his back to her. His even breathing reassured her that he slept peacefully. He’d climbed into bed last night wearing nothing but a satisfied grin. An expanse of tanned, muscle-toned skin invited snuggling. The wall stirred. She froze, mesmerized by the slide of muscles as he turned. She held her breath. Would he waken? What would they say to each other this morning?
They’d made love two more times during the night in the master cabin’s queen-size bed, his bed. The sheets smelled of sex and salt air and Simon. She lay beneath him in passion and felt only pleasure, not one second of panic. Well, maybe a few seconds of panic, but not from fear. Panic because, in spite of her rules, in spite of her intentions to the contrary, she was desperately in love with him. Every moment of intimacy meant loving him more. Loving him meant setting herself up for more pain.
She’d survived Gabe. She could survive a broken heart. The important thing now was to hide her true feelings, to keep the mood light, the time together temporary. During her marriage, she’d learned how to maintain a calm, cool facade with pain and rage steaming inside her. She could do it again.
Maybe she should get up, get on with her day as though nothing had happened. Better to face him clothed rather than in nothing, even if clothed meant only a bikini. She started to peel back the sheet.
Simon rolled to face her. Eyes closed, inky lashes fanned across his cheeks, he slept on. He threw one leg across hers and one arm over her torso. Emitting little grunts of pleasure, he tucked her head beneath his chin.
She exhaled gingerly. How could she get up now? To tell the truth, she didn’t want to. Cuddling in the curve of his hard body was heaven in spite of the sun’s rays beating through the porthole. Maybe she could extricate herself before he awoke, but for now, she burrowed into his lean strength. She allowed herself to pillow her head on his chest and to lay one hand on his firm belly. The even rise and fall of his breathing lulled her to relax again.
A moment later, she felt tension in his muscles and a hard length against her thigh. Her pulse kicked up and unwanted heat surged in her belly. She should’ve slipped away when she had the chance.
“Mmm,” said a sleepy, smiling voice against her hair, “my second favorite way to wake up.”
Okay. Light and affectionate, here we go. Janna kissed his chest. “Good morning, sleepyhead. I was about to get up, but didn’t want to wake you.”
“Back to business, Q? Hitting the computer already? Wham, bam, thank you, sir?”
Q. Already distancing himself. She swallowed a pang. “I wouldn’t put it that way, but yes, we had our night. Our wonderful night. But it’s time to focus on the mission.”
A muscle in his jaw jumped. He propped himself up on an elbow. “You’re right. The mission ends tonight — success or failure. And us? What we’ve had?”
“We agreed. Our time on this yacht is all we can have.” She hoped he didn’t detect the quiver in her voice.
His mouth quirked in his cocky pirate grin. “You agreed. I didn’t. We have a good thing going. Why end it?”
“You may think my rules are a cage, but I need them. What about your rules, Mr. No-Strings?” Leaving the bed naked with no clothing in sight didn’t afford her much dignity. Chin high, she slid out, clutching the sheet in front of her.
He tossed aside what little cover she’d left him and rolled off the other side, putting the bed between them. More at ease with his nakedness than she was, he yawned and stretched.
Since it would be the last time, she feasted her eyes on his hard body — on one hard part, in particular. Pulse leaping, she jerked her gaze upward before he could notice.
A look as hot as the sun baking the morning glazed over his grin. His dark eyes skated over her as he stalked around the bed toward her. “I’ve had my rules, true. But being with you makes me see that it’s no kind of life if no-strings means being alone. The thing about self-made rules is you can break them, even throw them out. I want to see where this — us — leads.”
She backed up a step, but came up against the wall. “Not me. No relationships. No traps. I’m in control of my life. Those are my rules.” And I’m sticking to them. But the silent words shattered to bits in her head.
He cupped her face in a hand and burned her with a smoldering look. “Rules are—”
“Made to be broken,” she gasped out, barely able to breathe. “I know. But not this time.”
“You afraid I’ll beat you? Isolate you? Run your life?” He stepped aside so she could escape.
Escape? All she wanted was the return of his touch. “No, I know you won’t do any of that. But—”
“Can you deny that you care for me? That you crave my … hard drive?”
She slugged him in the biceps. “Simon!” How could she deny this man who made her laugh even when her pulse tripped over itself with anxiety and desire at the same time?
He grinned as he drew a finger down her cheek. “Come on, stretch your rule. Think of it as adding more RAM. We’ll take it slow. Easy. You can get out anytime you want.”
Or you can. She ought to say no. She ought to run. Her pulse jittered, but at the passionate promise in his eyes, her insides melted. She turned and kissed his finger. “You’re the biggest con artist in the Caribbean, but okay. I’ll take a chance on us.”
All the blood rushed from her head as he kissed her. His firm lips held hers for a long, breath-stealing moment. Then his smile nearly blinded her. “You won’t be sorry. I’d like to take you to my mountain cabin. The stable where I board Rebel has a gentle mare you could ride. You do ride?”
“I ride, and I don’t even need gentle.”
“Hoo, baby! Now you’re talking!”
Her cheeks heated. “You’re impossible.”
After a glance at his watch, he plucked clothing from the drawer beneath the bed. He stepped into silk briefs and linen shorts. “My last meeting with our damn elusive target is in one hour. I’ll go make coffee.”
She was taking a big chance. A dangerous chance. But she loved him so much she couldn’t bear to end it so soon.
But would he? Would he start to fear that she’d leave him?
Tears stung Janna’s eyes and her chest was so constricted she could barely breathe.
***
Simon spent the late morning in conference with Viktor Roszca. He named an obscene seven-figure sum as his final offer, supposedly authorized by Colonel Wharton.
Then, Roszca’s lips curving in the self-satisfied smile of a jackal that had beat other scavengers to a fat, juicy carcass, he expounded on his favorite subject — himself and his business acumen.
Frustration drilled into Simon’s temples later as he returned to the dock.
Luring Roszca into leaving his island had proved tougher than he’d thought. The competition of a yacht race hadn’t tempted him. Kidnapping the man’s mistress tonight was the last chance. Simon had most of the plan nailed, including a farewell note he’d have Yelena write.
The main hitch was the tunnel door. Janna had a one-liner from her lock guru saying he’d get back to her. Simon crossed mental fingers that Houdini would produce a way to crack that door without explosives — and soon.
His escort tag team left him at the land end of the long dock. He lifted one hand in a mock salute. “It’s been a blast, guys. Don’t be strangers.”
Neither Cleatian bodyguard reacted. As one, they executed a military about-face and marched back to the compound.
He climbed into the dinghy with the mooring line in his hand. Turning the key, he caught a flash of pink bikini bra at the Horizon’s companionway.
Damn. There was a second hitch. Janna.
He’d said nothing to her about using Yelena as bait for Roszca. Janna was so f
ocused on rescuing the woman that she didn’t seem to see the possibility. If springing the captive mistress served a dual purpose, why should it matter? Why should he feel guilt finger-walking up his spine about not mentioning that part of his plan?
He shouldn’t. Because it might not work anyway.
His edginess stemmed from a different burr under his saddle. Janna again. Their lovemaking hadn’t been just sex. Not for him anyway. With her, not only did the climaxes blow him away, but he felt this eerie connection with her down to the deepest part of him. It felt right, somehow, and scared him.
He wasn’t used to chemistry morphing into … hell, into what, he wasn’t sure. But whatever it was, ending it now was not an option. So his libido and his jumbled emotions had opened his big mouth. He talked her — and himself — into trying a real relationship. She agreed but for how long? The thought of losing her tied knots in his chest.
Ending it made more sense. They came from different universes. She had baggage. He had baggage. But his rules against involvement were traps as much as hers. When you were locked between fear and trust, taking a chance on each other was as daring or crazy as riding a zebra in the Preakness Stakes.
All the odds were against them, but dammit, the emotions filling his chest outraced logic and odds. Admiration for her strength and her mind. Fierce protectiveness roused by her vulnerability and compassion. And need more intense than he’d known was possible, need that would send her running for the hills if he didn’t rein himself in.
He slapped the boat’s steering wheel as he guided the small craft away from the dock.
***
In the evening, Simon and Janna sat on the white leather wraparound settee in the salon. They’d spent the afternoon finalizing plans to spring Roszca’s mistress. The plans of the Isla Alta compound covered the cocktail table.
The FBI expert hadn’t yet responded to Janna’s plea for a fast answer. If he didn’t come through with access through the tunnel door, Simon’s plans were toast.
He tapped the builder’s drawing with his index finger. Yelena’s rooms were at the end of the front wing. The mistress didn’t share Roszca’s bedroom full-time. “I think he has her confined to her quarters, at least, when I’m there. I saw Ivan taking in a tray.”
Dark Rules (The DARK Files Book 3) Page 18