‘You’ve been remembering this?’
‘Yes,’ he growled, sliding his hand back into her trousers and his cool, wet finger straight over where she needed him most. ‘And I’ve been imagining a hell of a lot more. So, let me ask you again, shall I continue or did you want me to stop?’
Her eyes fluttered slightly and it was all Anouk could do to bite her lip and shake her head. He’d stolen her voice again with a flick of his fingers, as if he were some wicked sorcerer using his clever fingers to wind the most magical of spells around her.
‘Say it,’ he growled.
It was an effort to open her heavy eyelids. Even more of one to speak. So instead she lifted her bottom, just a fraction, to brush his hand.
Yet it seemed he was one step ahead of her, and as she moved his hand shifted out of reach. Barely. She could still feel the heat from him rolling over her, but she couldn’t make contact.
‘I find I want to hear the words from you,’ Sol ground out.
The man was a fiend!
She swallowed. Hard.
‘Continue,’ she managed hoarsely. ‘Definitely, continue.’
Sol seemed only too happy to oblige.
‘So wet,’ he growled in a voice so carnal that it sent another ache slicing through her right to her core.
Anouk tried to answer, but speech was impossible. Even before he slid those expert fingers around to caress her.
It took her a moment to realise that the low moans she heard were her own. This—what Sol was doing to her right now—was like nothing she’d ever known before.
So adrift, so out of her own body, and yet so wholly at its mercy all at the same time. She was vaguely aware of moving her head so that she could fit her mouth back to Sol’s, every slip and slide of his tongue mirroring what his fingers were doing, stoking that fire higher with each passing moment.
He moved his other hand from the nape of her neck to cup her cheek, cradling it almost tenderly, if she hadn’t known that to be ridiculous. Still, when he angled his head for a deeper fit, she poured more into that kiss than she’d ever known possible.
It was incredible, the sensations rushing through her body from her mouth to her core and back again, everywhere that Sol was; the devastating rhythm he was building inside her. She would be ruined for any other man. She was sure of it. Solomon Gunn would make sure that no other man would ever be able to satisfy her again.
She didn’t think she cared—just as long as he never stopped doing what he was doing now.
She sighed, a sound of deep longing, causing Sol to wrench his mouth from hers, his eyes seeking her out and staring at her as though trying to see something in them. Either that, or conveying some silent message that she couldn’t understand. She wanted to ask him, but it wasn’t in her to speak, his dexterous fingers leaving her only just able to breathe; tracing her shape, holding her, cradling her and then, finally, slipping inside her slick heat. She felt the shudder roll through her even before she heard her needy moan.
His eyes went almost black with desire.
‘You respond so perfectly, zoloste,’ he murmured, his gravelly voice the perfect telltale.
She bit her lip and nodded, unable to speak. Not that it mattered, she wouldn’t know what to say even if she could. His fingers were still moving over her, around her, inside her. And she couldn’t get enough. Especially when he lowered his head, placing his wicked mouth on her neck and driving her wild with his clever tongue and devilish teeth.
She didn’t know when she began moving against his palm, urging him to quicken the pace when he seemed to want to take it at his own leisurely pace—to stretch out the blissful agony in her that much longer—she only knew she could feel herself hurtling along, and the abyss coming up on her so quickly she thought she might hurtle down for ever and ever and ever.
And she wanted Sol inside her. Properly. She reached down his body to his belt buckle, her fingers fumbling in her haste. She could feel him. Steel straining behind the denim, as though he wanted her just as badly. It was a thrilling thought. If only she could work the damned belt.
The driving rhythm didn’t stop or even slow for an instant, but with his free hand Sol caught her wrists and moved her away.
‘There’s time enough for that,’ he muttered, every word dancing across her skin as his fingers continued their devastating concerto. ‘Right now, this is about you.’
She’d never felt so worshipped, so powerful, or so confident in her own body.
Finally it broke over her, as if every nerve ending in her entire body were fizzing and popping, from the top of her head right down to her very toes, and then he twisted his wrist skilfully, in a way she’d never known before, and she felt herself catapult into the air. Higher and higher, further and longer, soaring spectacularly on a wave of shimmering, magical sensation that she thought might never end.
She certainly never wanted it to. And still Sol touched her, held her. So that as the wave finally began to slow, and drop, she found herself tumbling straight onto another, which took her soaring back up again.
Time after time.
Finally, sated and spent, she felt herself tumbling, her body sagging into Sol’s, her breathing rapid and harsh.
And all she could do was hope that he broke her fall when she finally hit the ground.
* * *
Anouk was in his bed by the time she started coming back to herself. Right where he’d been imagining her for too long now. As nonsensical as that notion was. He watched her, half amused, half ravenous, as she blinked and tried to focus on her new surroundings.
‘Oh.’ The small sound escaped her lips and he was powerless to do anything but lower his head and try to catch the sound in his own mouth.
‘I took the liberty of bringing you to my bed,’ he managed. Then, as her eyes wandered down to his naked form, he added, ‘I also took the liberty of stripping. Is that a problem?’
‘On the contrary.’ Her voice was thick, hoarse, and he liked that she couldn’t conceal her need for him. ‘I find I rather like that.’
And then, as if to prove her point, she stretched beneath him, parting her legs to settle him against her wet heat, and Sol almost lost it there and then.
‘There’s no rush, zolotse,’ he chided gently, as though he himself weren’t so perilously close to the edge.
But then Anouk looped her arms around his neck and her legs around his body and shot him a daring, cheeky grin.
‘Are you quite sure about that?’
Before he could answer, she lifted her hips and drew him inside her, as taut, scorching need knotted in his belly.
It stole his breath from his very lungs.
With a low moan, he thrust inside her, revelling in her answering shudder. The way she locked her legs tighter around him, and lifted her hips to meet him. He made himself slide out of her slowly, then back in again, setting a deliberate pace and fighting the driving urge to take her there and then.
He had no idea how he kept it going. Whether he even managed it for long at all. But then he found he was moving faster, harder, deeper, and Anouk was matching him stroke for stroke. And he could feel it building inside her, just as it was inside him.
When her breath came in shallower gasps, he hooked his hand under her and angled her perfectly, reaching between them to find the very centre of her need, and then he sent her over the edge, the sound of her crying his name far more potent than it should have been.
And Sol, unable to bear it any longer, followed her.
CHAPTER TEN
HE KNEW SHE was gone even before his eyes had adjusted to the pitch-black of the room. He could sense it. The bed felt...empty without her. And an irrational sense of anger rolled through him that she should have snuck out, like some kind of thief, whilst he slept. He who never slept soundly.
Throwing back the sheet and st
abbing his legs into a pair of night-time joggers, he stomped out of the bedroom and down the hallway. And stopped abruptly.
The light to the living area was on and he could hear the sound of cutlery on porcelain. It was insane how glad that sound made him.
Wandering through, he leaned on the doorjamb and watched her, perched on the granite worktop, one of his T-shirts swamping her delectable body, eating his cereal.
‘Hungry?’
She jumped instantly.
‘It was a long shift and...an energetic night.’ She offered him a sheepish grin. ‘I didn’t mean to wake you.’
‘You didn’t.’
Stepping in, he opened the cupboards and retrieved his own cereal bowl, filling it up and pouring on the milk she had left on the counter, before putting the bottle away.
‘I didn’t realise you were a neat freak,’ she teased.
‘I didn’t consider that you were a slob.’ He laughed.
She straightened up indignantly.
‘I am not, I was going to clean up as soon as I’d finished, so you can take that back.’
‘Fair enough.’ He took a spoonful of the cereal, watching her wriggle off the counter-top and potter around his kitchen.
He had no idea what rippled through him at the sight but he didn’t care to analyse it too deeply.
‘So...do I come back to...your bed? Or do I...go to the guest room?’
Ah, so the new, bold Anouk had taken cover again and the old, reserved Anouk was back.
‘Come back to bed.’ He didn’t even bother to keep the amusement from his tone.
‘It’s all very well for you to laugh.’ She bristled. ‘But I’m not used to...this.’
‘I know I have a reputation as a playboy, Anouk. But I’m not a complete bastard. Just because I’m not cut out for relationships, or love, or any of that mumbo jumbo, doesn’t mean I throw women out in the middle of the night as soon as the sex is over.’
‘About that,’ Anouk announced, loudly if a little shakily. ‘I think that’s utter tosh, as it happens.’
‘Say that again?’
To say he was incredulous didn’t cut it. Anouk moistened her lips nervously and he had to force himself not to let his eyes linger.
‘I think you use sex as a distraction,’ she declared.
‘Is that so?’
‘Yes.’ Clearly warming to her subject, she drew herself a little taller and eyed him determinedly. ‘I think you use sex as a distraction to stop you from getting too close to anyone.’
Anger and something else—something someone who didn’t know him might have categorised as fear—spread through his mind.
‘This idea that you’re not cut out for relationships, or love is nonsense.’
‘Careful, zoloste, you’re wandering into precarious territory.’
A lesser woman would have backed away at the dangerous edge in his voice.
But then, Anouk wasn’t a lesser anything.
‘Someone has to,’ defiance laced her tone.
‘Why? Because you want me to tell you that I love you?’
‘No!’ she actually looked horrified. ‘Not me. Of course not. That’s...insane.’
‘Of course it’s insane,’ Sol couldn’t pinpoint what charged through him in that millisecond. He didn’t want to. ‘Because I’m not a man who believes in ‘love’. I certainly can’t offer it.’
‘I think you are capable of love.’ The panic was gone and her defiance was back again. ‘The way you are with your patients, and those young carers, and even your relationship with your brother Malachi. You care, in everything that you do.’
He hated the way she thought he was a better man than he was. It only made it more apparent to him that he wasn’t that man.
‘You’re trying to make me into something I’m not to suit your own agenda, zolotse,’ he gritted out, suddenly angry. Because anger was easier than these other emotions that threatened to churn inside him. ‘Because you hate yourself for a one-night stand with me and you want to make yourself feel better by claiming I can be more than that. But that isn’t me. I’m not built that way, Anouk. I don’t want to be. I warned you about that.’
She hated hearing those words; he could see it in her stiff stance, and the belligerent tilt of her head.
‘That isn’t what I’m doing, Sol,’ she snapped. ‘I’m telling you that I think you’re a different man from the image of yourself you put out there, and I don’t know if it’s because you want others to believe that’s all there is to you, or if you actually really do believe it’s the truth. But, whatever the truth is, that’s for you to know. It has no bearing on me, either way.’
‘Your eagerness to change me suggests otherwise.’
If his cereal had contained broken glass, it couldn’t have shredded him inside any worse. But Anouk didn’t reply straight away. She just watched him, a solemn expression in those arresting blue eyes.
He couldn’t help wishing he knew what she was thinking.
‘Did I ever tell you that the reason I came to the UK was to find my father?’ she asked, just as he was about to give up thinking she was going to speak again.
They both knew the answer to that. Her eyes were too bright, too flitting. He doubted she’d ever told anyone, expect maybe Saskia. Still, he could play the game for her, if that was what she needed.
He realised his previous anger had begun to dissipate.
‘No.’ He feigned a casualness. ‘I don’t think you did.’
‘Just before my mother...died...’ she faltered ‘...she told me that she had once received a letter from my father.’
‘You hadn’t known him?’
‘Not at all. Only the story she’d told me about him not wanting to be around for us.’ Her strained tone suggested that wasn’t all there was to it, but Sol didn’t press her on it. It was shocking enough that she was telling him this much. ‘I didn’t know he’d ever contacted us. Her. Me.’
‘What did he say?’
‘I don’t know.’ She looked angry for a moment, but then smoothed it away quickly, efficiently. ‘Apparently she’d thrown it on the fire in a pique of temper. By the time she’d changed her mind, most of it was gone. She just about managed to retrieve part of an address.’
‘To his home in the UK?’
Anouk eyed him speculatively for several long moments. There was patently more to the story than she was willing to reveal to him. And he shouldn’t be so desperate to know the truth. To understand it more.
He shouldn’t be so wrapped up in the abridged version she was feeding him now. It shouldn’t matter to him.
‘You came all the way from America because he lives in the UK.’
‘Not just the UK. Moorlands itself,’ she bit out, at length.
That was why she’d come here?
‘Did you track him down?’ He couldn’t help himself.
What the hell was it about this woman that slid, so devilishly slickly, under his skin?
An internal war waged within Sol and for seconds, minutes, maybe hours, he couldn’t breathe. He had no idea what would win.
There was another pause, before she nodded.
‘Eight years ago. With Saskia.’
‘And?’
‘He’d died about five years before that. There was a young family living in the house, but the neighbours confirmed it.’
‘You’re sure it was him.’
‘There’s no doubt about it, Sol.’ She offered a wan smile. ‘I even visited his grave.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ he told her sincerely.
What more was there to say?
She leaned on the counter, her arms folded defensively across her chest.
‘I’m not after pity, Sol. I just wanted you to know that I wasn’t telling you that I think you’re capable of l
ove because I want you to love me. I know our deal was just sex. It’s the only reason I agreed to it, so I’m not about to change the rules now. I don’t want love in my life either. I don’t trust it. I never have.’
Some seething thing slunk around inside him. But the anger wasn’t directed at Anouk any more. Or himself. It was directed at those people who had never deserved her care in the first place. Who had hurt her. Who had destroyed something as fragile and precious as her trust in anyone who could love her.
‘You trusted the wrong people,’ he gritted out, realising that he wanted to reach out and pull her to him.
To tell her that she was beautiful, and caring, and lovable. Especially because it was only now occurring to him that she didn’t know that for herself. How had he not seen that before? He was usually skilled at reading others.
‘Of course, I trusted the wrong people,’ she agreed flatly. ‘But who would have thought that my mother and my grandmother were those wrong people? They lied to me my whole life. In the end I think my mother only told me the truth to get one final dig at me. To prove to me that she’d had the upper hand right up until her moment of death.’
‘That doesn’t mean you should still let her get to you now. You can trust people. You can trust me.’
Her eyebrows shot up.
‘Said the spider to the fly.’
It was a fair point. Maybe that was why it grated on him. Maybe that was why, instead of shutting her question down as he would have done had any other woman asked, he found himself answering the question she’d once put to him.
‘I was five when Malachi started to become a carer.’
She blinked.
‘You don’t have to do this, Sol. I wasn’t telling you about me just to make you feel obliged to do the same.’
‘He became a carer for me, and for our mum, when she needed it,’ he continued, as if she hadn’t spoken.
She only hesitated for a moment.
‘She was ill?’
If you could call being a drug addict ill. Some people called it an illness. Having lived through it, borne the brunt of it, he and Malachi had always been considerably less charitable. Not that Sol was about to say any of that aloud.
Unwrapping the Neurosurgeon's Heart Page 12