So he kept silent, swung the door open and turned on the lights and disarmed the alarm system.
“What’s the skinny? What’s the skinny?”
Emma’s eyes rounded and she brushed past him into the living room. She stopped in front of Captain’s cage. “Hello, there.”
Captain sleepily ruffled his shoulder feathers, his beady eyes fixed on Emma. “She’s foxy.”
Laughing, Trick walked up to stand behind her. “Emma, meet Captain. Captain, Emma.”
Obviously sensing an easy mark, Captain sidled closer. “Polly wants a cracker,” he wheedled.
Emma turned to Trick.
He shook his head. “No, Captain. You’ve been fed tonight.”
Ignoring Trick, Captain hopped to the end of his perch and laid his head against the bars of the cage. He twisted his neck so he could peer at Emma at the same time. “Polly wants a cracker.” The bird put a pitiful edge on his voice.
“Ah.” Emma looked at Trick. “Not even one?”
“We-ell.” Inspiration struck. “If we give him a cracker, he’ll get all wound up. Nothing will settle him back down, except maybe low lights and a bright fire.” He nodded toward the used brick fireplace and adjacent leather couch at one end of the room.
“I thought you put birds to sleep with a blanket or something over the cage.”
Trick studiously ignored the cage cover folded over a straight-backed chair. “Low lights and a bright fire.” He crossed to the kitchen, pulled a cracker from the cookie jar and tossed it to Captain. “Would you like a glass of wine?”
“Please.”
As he poured two glasses, Trick watched Emma wander around the living room, her fingers trailing across every surface—the polished oak of the trestle table beside the bird cage, the shiny inside of the abalone shell holding Captain’s sunflower seeds, the smooth leather of the couch.
She finally halted at the French doors and pressed her nose against the glass, looking out at the beachfront terrace. “This place is incredible.”
Trick set the drinks on the coffee table. “I’ll pass that along.” His mother would appreciate the compliment. He’d chosen the location, she’d picked out the rest.
He lowered the lights, built a fire, then settled on the couch and propped his feet on the coffee table. He wanted her to join him, but for now, he enjoyed the view—Emma framed by the glass with the sparking fire reflected beside her. The ever-changing roar of the ocean filled the room, and the faint scent of Emma’s perfume filled his head.
“Someone has a bonfire going on the beach.” The quality of her voice had changed. She sounded short of air.
He considered his hands, and how he wanted them to be holding her. But only if it was right for both of them. “Do you want to go for a walk?” If she did, fine. If she wanted to go home right now, fine.
“No.” She turned and walked to the couch. “I want to be here, with you.” She sat beside him, leaving a good seven inches of space, and slipping off her shoes, propped her feet beside his on the table.
He handed her a wineglass and held up the other. “To?” He thought for a moment. “To Poseidon?”
Emma shook her head. “To the perfect man?”
“No.” Hell, no. Trying to find an apropos salute, he gazed into Emma’s eyes, and their green depths drew him from safety as surely as a riptide draws a swimmer from land. He tried filling his lungs around his thudding heart.
“To fantasy.” Her voice had that breathless quality again.
Trick felt a surge of panic. To fantasy? What the hell did that mean? Could it be, dream on, bud, the girl’s not interested?
She wet her lower lip with her tongue, and his panic ebbed.
Clearing his throat, he touched his glass to hers. “Yours or mine?”
A question entered those bewitching eyes.
“The fantasy,” he clarified. “Yours or mine?”
She sipped from her glass, then cupped it, staring inside like the wine might reveal the answer. Heartbeats. One, two, too many. Then she smiled, the corners of her lips flirty, and slanted a glance from beneath her lashes. “Think we have one in common?”
Trick reached for her glass and put both on the coffee table. Those few inches of space between them disappeared. “I’ll show you mine,” he said, “and you can tell me if yours is anything like it.”
She went willingly into his arms. “And if it’s not?”
“Honey, that’s why we have all night.”
The kiss was like no other they’d shared. Hot, open, wet. It was the first, Trick realized, they’d shared for purely personal reasons.
And then realizations left, and sensations took over.
He ran his hands down the golden skin of her arms, gathering her closer to the heat of his body. She moved into him, her mouth opening wider under his. His tongue searched out every texture of her mouth, then settled on stroking her tongue.
She moaned.
He lifted his head, desperate for air, then desperate for the taste of her neck. He ran his tongue down one side of the neckline of her dress, then up the other. She held his head against her, her fingers running through his hair.
Holding her curls aside, he traced her earlobe with his tongue and felt her begin to tremble. His hands shook, too, and he tried to control them by cupping her face and kissing her deeply, but fine tremors continued shaking his body.
Still moving his mouth against hers, he let his hands wander to cup her breasts. She immediately arched into his palms, and he gently squeezed the firm mounds until she tore her mouth away.
“Please,” she whispered hoarsely.
The need in her voice caused his groin to tighten unmercifully. With slow strokes, he caressed her jutting nipples with his thumbs, her fast breaths keeping pace with his own.
Her small hands ran up and down his chest, then fumbled at the buttons of his shirt. “I want to feel,” she said.
He kept up the deliberate strokes of his thumbs. “I thought this was my fantasy.”
Her palms found their way to his bare chest. “Do you want me to stop?” His nipples stood up against the caress of her thumbs.
He groaned, and instead of answering, undid the buttons of her dress to her waist. Placing his mouth against hers, he pushed the dress off her shoulders, then drew his mouth down her neck. Her bra was black and strapless, and he hooked an impatient finger in it and pulled it down to expose her nipple.
The sight of the tight, pink crown caused his erection to buck against his abdomen. With another groan, he bent his head and sucked her nipple into his mouth, pressing it against the roof of his mouth with his tongue.
“Oh, my.” She arched her back and held his head to her.
He found the back clasp of the bra, undid it and dropped the garment to the floor. He drew his mouth through the scented valley between her breasts, then slowly, slowly circled the other nipple with the wet tip of his tongue.
“So good,” she whispered.
He playfully flicked the nipple with his tongue. “You like my fantasy?”
Her eyes, dreamy, watched him as he went back to teasing her breast. “You make me crazy.”
“We’re even, then.” Gently, he laid her back against the couch and came down on her, between her willingly parted thighs. He rubbed his aching groin against hers, her immediate thrusting response causing his blood to roar in his ears.
She kissed him, stroking his lips and tongue with hers until he had to break free and taste her breasts again. This time as he teased and laved her nipples she pushed off his shirt. She urged his mouth back to hers, and the touch of her nipples, wet from his mouth, against his bare chest almost caused him to explode.
He struggled to fill his lungs. One deep, shaky breath. Two. “We need to slow down, honey.”
“Whatever you say.” Her hips tilted, then rocked against his groin.
Trick gritted his teeth. “Baby, that won’t slow me down.” He sat up, ignoring her disappointed moan. “Let’s take this
off.” His fingers worked on the remainder of the buttons on her dress. Underneath she wore a short, black slip. He stripped both garments away.
The lacy tops of her stockings stopped high on her thighs. She also wore a tiny pair of black lace panties. The air chuffed from his lungs. His heart stopped beating.
He thought he might die from desire.
He lay against her again, mouth to mouth, hoping she could revive him with a kiss. The taste of her lips, her tongue, set him gasping in much-needed air.
Reassured he’d survive, he sat up again and looked at her tempting body. “This is my fantasy.”
She didn’t reply, just stared at him with those vivid green eyes. He knelt on the floor beside the couch and ran his hands up her legs, past the lacy tops of her stockings. He caressed the golden skin, then dropped his head to her flat stomach, kissing her abdomen, teasing her navel with his tongue. He felt her tremors increase and he brought one hand up to cover her breast. With his other palm, he cupped the lace-covered mound between her legs.
She moaned. “Trick…”
He insinuated his fingers under the elastic edge of the panties. “Hmm?”
Her legs opened wider. “I think slow is overrated.”
He slid a finger into her. She was hot, wet, and he almost lost it right there. He caught his breath. “No.” He started a slow rhythm and pushed a second finger inside.
Her head moved restlessly against the couch. “You’re teasing.” Her voice had a desperate edge. “The perfect man wouldn’t tease.”
Trick’s fingers stilled. Perfect man. In the space of an indrawn breath, all that he was holding back from her filled his head. He’d wanted her to desire him for himself, but she didn’t even know who he was, or the scars that marred his body and his heart.
“Emma—”
As if she sensed his mood, she reached out and placed her hand across his lips. “Please, Trick. For tonight, let’s just concentrate on the fantasy.” She stroked his lips with her fingers. “Just for tonight. Please.”
Still unsure, he bent his head and kissed her. She drew his tongue into her mouth, then he felt her body clench his fingers. Oh, God, I’m lost.
He withdrew his mouth and hand and took her up in his arms. He strode down the hall to his bedroom and entered, knowing its darkness would shield his scars from her. He’d never before made love to anyone who didn’t already know of them.
Peeling the covers back, he laid her on the bed, then shucked his shoes and socks and came down next to her. She pulled him close and took his mouth wildly. He felt just as desperate, needing to find himself again. Knowing that somewhere within her he would.
He drew off her panties, touched her wetness again and caressed the small bud that caused her to moan and whisper his name. Her hands found him, caressed his hardness, and he quickly stripped out of his pants and boxers. From the drawer in the bedside table, he found a condom and donned the protection.
“I can’t see you,” she complained, but unerringly found his erection and closed her fingers over it.
“Feel me,” he whispered, and she set up a rhythmic caress that he matched with his own fingers between her legs.
She breathed in his ear, faster and faster, and it seemed to fill the whole room, displacing darkness, displacing loneliness.
“Now,” she cried.
He rolled to his back, pulled her up to straddle him and brought her hips down onto his shaft. She moaned as he filled her, and he teased the tiny button between her legs with his thumb.
One stroke, two, then she gripped him with the inside of her body and he felt the rhythmic tremors overtake her. He cupped her breasts, squeezed them, and as she let a long, low moan escape, he thrust again.
His own wave of desire swelled higher, riding the power of her climax. His body trembled violently, he felt suspended on the crest, and then her fingers caressed his chest, and he fell a long, long distance, his body finally released to the pleasure that was Emma.
She fell asleep in his arms, draped over his body, her breath tickling his ear. He eased from beneath her, made a trip to the bathroom and came out wearing a long pair of flannel boxers. The bed creaked under his weight, but she didn’t waken as he pulled her into his embrace.
Between them they created a burning warmth inside him that was part desire, part some emotion he couldn’t, maybe wouldn’t, put a name to. Sighing, he tangled his fingers in her hair.
He feared he’d gone about getting her here all wrong. He feared that he’d be hurt again. Mostly he feared that she wouldn’t want to stay.
But he didn’t regret her presence in his arms, in his bed. God, no.
She stirred, her hair tickling his chest as she brushed a kiss on his skin. “You okay?” she whispered.
“Yes. How about you?” He held his breath.
He couldn’t see her smile, but he knew she did. Its radiance was a tangible thing. “I think it’s time I thanked Poseidon.”
“For what?”
“For a truly wondrous gift.”
He ran his hands down her bare back and cupped her bottom. “Me?” The little fire in the pit of his belly flared up.
“No, silly.” She smoothed his hair from his face with her palms. “For us.”
Trick rolled over and put his mouth to Emma’s. She threw her arms around his neck, and her thighs around his hips, and the word us didn’t scare him at all.
9
Emma snuggled her cheek more deeply into the pillow. She wiggled her backside against the hard, flannel-covered warmth that curved around it. Palm and fingers gave an answering squeeze to her breast….
Her eyes snapped open. Early morning. Trick’s room, Trick’s bed. Trick’s hand and—Trick’s flannel? His breath moved regularly past her ear, and she cautiously reached behind to pat his hip, confirming the fact that her snoozing bed partner wore boxers while she lay naked in his arms.
An indulgent smile curved her lips. He’s modest, she thought. The things you don’t know about some people.
The smile softened as she remembered the things she did know about him. The taste of his skin, the pulsefluttering quality of his kisses, his knowing touch that had found its way to her soul.
She drew in a long breath, and the tumbled covers revealed her breast pressing eagerly into his hand. I’ve given my heart to him, just as eagerly.
Like cymbals crashing, the realization reverberated in her mind. Waves of knowledge and understanding shimmered from her head to her toes.
Suddenly needing to see Trick, Emma slowly eased away from him. His body, heavy with sleep, quarterrolled, so he lay stomach down, his face toward her. Propped up on an elbow, she let her gaze trace the masculine strength of his profile and caress the golden stubble on his cheeks.
So this is love.
Any feeling she’d had before paled beside the total, sensual, emotional bond she felt with Trick. The absolute certainty of her feelings stunned her. His absolute beauty set her heart thumping painfully against her chest.
A ragged breath only half filled her lungs. She needed a little time alone. Not distance—she wanted to be close to him—but just a few minutes to absorb and adjust. She brushed his hair gently from his face. “Trick,” she whispered.
“Mmm.” The sound was just a rumble in his chest.
“I’m going to take a shower. Okay?”
“‘Kay,” he mumbled automatically. Then he stirred and turned on his side again, gathering the free pillow to his chest. “Stay right here.” He squeezed the pillow around its middle. “So soft…” A dreamy smile passed over his face, then he settled back into sleep.
Emma slowly moved off the bed. Looking at Trick, she couldn’t help the accordion contraction of her heart. Love was powerful. Love was awesome.
She crossed to the bathroom, trying to ignore the niggle of unease at being so easily replaced in his arms by fabric and feathers.
Love scared the beejeebers out of her.
The sound of the shower running filtered
through Trick’s consciousness. Slowly emerging from sleep, he pulled the woman in his arms closer and buried his face in her—pillowcase.
He opened his eyes. No Emma.
Disappointment pierced him until he put together her absence from his bed and the sound of the shower. He stretched and let his imagination course like the water down her body. He remembered the sweet taste of her nipples and the passion-scent of the skin of her thighs. In the immediate, achingly hard response of his body he remembered the astounding pleasure of his climax.
He thought of her standing inside his custom shower, with its dual showerheads and the small seat built into the tile wall. Need burst over him. Need for his mermaid, wet and slick and warm. And possibly waiting.
Blood pounding in anticipation, he sat up and rolled to his feet, then strode stiffly toward the bathroom. If he joined her in the shower, he’d have to share things about himself he’d always tried keeping in the shadows. He was ready.
The phone rang, halting his progress. With a grimace, he crossed to the bed and picked up the receiver.
Gary’s voice rasped in Trick’s ear. “Surf’s up at Wind-and-Sea. Wanna join me?”
“Not today.” Trick cleared his throat. “I’ve got a guest.”
“A woman?” Gary sounded shocked.
“Yes, a woman. I’m not a monk, for God’s sake.”
“No, but you’ve always put that all-important question like this—’Your place or your place?’“
Trick ran his hand through his hair. “I haven’t wanted to give anyone the wrong idea.”
“You’re worrying me now, bud. What right idea are you giving this babe?”
“The babe’s name is Emma.” Trick heard the edge in his voice.
“I shoulda guessed. So what’s going on with you two?”
“I’m not sure.” Truer words were never spoken, Trick thought.
Gary snorted. “Be careful, man.”
Trick pulled open the drawer of the bedside table and fingered the foil-wrapped packets inside. “I’ve got a full box in the medicine chest.”
Another snort. “Can’t put one of those over your heart.”
The Wedding Date Page 10