Holding the Cards

by Joey Hill

  "A pleasure," Marcus agreed lightly. "Lisette has a king-sized mattress just down the hall. Josh has a bed of nails over two miles away, provided we don't fall off these excuses for trails into a ravine to die a slow, lingering death. A slumber party is the perfect end to a perfect night."

  She chuckled, and eased her grip on the stem of her glass. Josh's quiet, steady gaze was an unsettling but satisfying answer on its own.

  "Er, since you probably don't have any pajamas in our size," Marcus cocked a brow, "Does the lady have preference on sleepwear for her life-sized teddy bears? Or will just fur do, for those of us who have it?"

  "Oh," Lauren considered the problem and lifted a shoulder. "Whatever you're most comfortable in is fine with me."

  The double entendre was intended, if a bit juvenile, and the flash of humor in Marcus's eyes was as instant as the flame in Josh's.

  Lauren felt shy suddenly, and tried to shake off the feeling. She levered herself up, removing her foot from its pedestal of pillows to test it on the floor. It was already feeling better and she suspected she would be able to walk competently, albeit cautiously, by the following morning. "Well, then, I'm going to hobble back to the bathroom, take a bath and get ready for bed. Just leave the kitchen, I'll take care of it tomorrow."

  "No, don't worry about it, I'll do it, since I didn't have to cook," Marcus waved a hand at her. "Josh'll make sure you get to the bedroom safely."

  "Oh, you don't need to —"

  "I'm sure, but you'll agree it would be good for you to have an arm to grab if you lose your balance," he advised, taking her glass from her hand and giving her a wink. "Darling, if you have two men at your beck and call, do I really have to tell you to take advantage of them?"

  "Well, I'm sure the two of you had more important things to do with your day than to rescue a crazy naked woman from a tree."

  The two of them exchanged a look. "I can't think of a thing more important than that," Josh grinned. He rose and came to her side, scooping her up in his capable arms. "I like carrying you," he confessed before she could protest. "I haven't…" he stopped, and regret passed across his face, but he finished the thought. "I haven't had the chance to take care of a woman in awhile."

  "And you like that?" she asked.

  "I need that," he said simply.

  Chapter 8

  Josh carried her down the hall, being careful not to let her feet hit the wall as he turned the corner.

  Lisette's bedroom was as welcoming as the rest of the house, dominated by a bed with a wrought iron headboard, sculpted with a design of leaves and branches that brought to mind the forest that surrounded the house. The quilted spread and plethora of tapestry pillows made it into a nest, an impression furthered by soft green Berber carpet, natural wood panels covering the walls and the lack of windows in the room. As in every other part of the house, the clay and wood offerings of her artistic neighbors created an intriguing journey for the eye. The lighting was purposefully kept dim to enhance the effect of a place to escape and put the heart and mind at ease. Lisette, with her infallible sense of wit, called it The Womb.

  "I'll just leave you here," Josh crossed the carpet and turned on the light in the bathroom with a dip and slight upward jerk of his elbow. She could see the spacious bath with its sunken Jacuzzi tub, surrounded by porcelain, silk flowers and stone fountains.

  Josh sat her down at the vanity and turned a brass handle on the Jacuzzi controls. It brought the fountains to life, the hot water flowing over their rock foundations and through brass sculptures to give the fairies and butterflies carved into their design life, with artful placement of light and its reflection off the moving water.

  "Do you need me to bring you anything?" He nodded toward the fountains. "They'll fill up the tub in a few minutes, and you can use that control to turn the flow of the water into the separate channel drain, so the fountains will keep going but the tub won't overflow. It's programmed for 106 degrees."

  "Really?" Lauren raised a brow. "And how would you know so much about how Lisette's tub works?"

  Josh chuckled. "Get serious. I'm the one who programmed it for her. You know she can't even operate a blender without supervision."

  Lauren grinned. "I know. But I was hoping to get a rise out of you."

  "Believe me, you've done that more than once tonight." His eyes clouded. "I'm sure you know it."

  Lauren's brows drew together on her forehead. "Josh, I'm sorry. I'm not…I mean…” She sighed as the tension in his jaw eased into impassivity, and she felt something slipping away. She almost lunged after it, scrabbling like a starving dog for a scrap, but she'd been in that hell before and knew where it went. "I've had fun tonight," she said, her fingers knotted, restrained in her lap. "But it wasn't at your expense. I just haven't enjoyed someone's company…just enjoyed, for awhile. And Marcus made it sound so easy to trust, like we've been doing. I guess, …” Her words died, "I guess I wanted to believe…" She didn't seem capable of developing the cynical skepticism she had certainly earned the right to have. She should be pulling out the armor that this moment of withdrawal seemed to call for.

  She looked up into Josh's eyes and was startled to see a vulnerability that did not match the bitterness of his words. That fragility reminded her of a child, waiting with his hands down for the next blow, believing somehow in the miracle that the next touch from a clenched fist would be a caress.

  He dropped to one knee in front of her, covering her twisting fingers with one callused palm. "You weren't wrong," he said. "I'm sorry. Forgive me."

  She suspected they both had been slogging through a dumpsite of emotions for so long they were unbalanced to find they had stepped into a fragrant garden. They should probably just turn and retreat, not drag the stench and offal clinging to them into it. However, like all lost souls, they were desperate for the sunshine and earth that could be found in fertile ground.

  How could she not forgive him? His warm skin over her knuckles was making her itch to touch. And he made it worse, the way his gaze lingered, hungered, but he made no further attempt to touch her. She understood the primitive nature of what lay behind his eyes.

  "Hold still," she said softly, wanting to test it. "Put your hands at your sides."

  Josh studied her, blinked once, that sensual mouth twitching at one corner. He took his hands from hers, lowering them to his sides as he knelt before her.

  Lauren reached out and slid her knuckles along the curve of his neck, trailed her fingertips in the hair that lay on his shoulder. A breath shuddered out of her at the adrenaline that surged through her veins. Her palm flattened against his pectoral, just over his heart. She raised her gaze from avid appreciation of the line of his ribcage and flat abdomen, to the stillness of his face, the lion rising in his eyes. It was masculine power that could overwhelm her, but for now was held in check. She leaned forward, breathing along his jawline. She placed a gentle kiss, just a soft brush of lips, against the corner of his mouth. "Forgiven," she murmured.

  She sat back, taking her touch away, and looked at him. A rueful expression twisted his firm mouth and he made to rise.

  "No." She took his hand.

  "You're killing me," he muttered, and she nodded, simple unrepentant acknowledgement of her power over him.

  "Marcus said it was my card. Do you trust me?"

  "How could I not? You're like…" he lost the train of thought as he stared into her steady blue eyes, and she loved him for it. "It's your card," he murmured. "I'll do whatever you want me to do." And the bleakness was back in his face.

  "Josh, what did she do to you?" she said softly.

  A sigh escaped his lips, just a breath, and she saw his eyes close. He bent forward on his one knee, laid his cheek alongside her calf, and brushed a kiss just above her ankle. Then, his back curving, he went lower, to the insole, his lips parting so he nipped some of her skin in the moist caress. He stayed there, without kissing her further, his jaw pressed against her leg.

  Lauren lo
wered her hand and stroked his hair, somehow understanding that he would not rise until she bade him do so. Her eyes moved along the bare ridge of his spine, the way his hair beneath her fingers fell along his shoulders and forward, curtaining his profile from her.

  "Lauren." It was a whisper. "I can't tell you —"

  "Hush."

  * * * * *

  Josh wasn't sure if she said it in reaction to his statement or as an answer to it. But he quieted, compelled by a strange yearning to let her hold the reins. It created a nervous anticipation in him that intensified how much he wanted her. If she had thrown open the gates to him, he might have leaped upon her, filled his hands and mouth with her like a savage animal. But with that gentle command, that "hush", the wildness was reined in, even as it was stoked to a higher pitch. Being given the hope of touching her was almost more overwhelming than having her, in that perverse way that a small bite of the finest Belgian chocolate was more tempting than a one-pound bar of the same.

  Whereas a moment before he would have fed upon her body like a lion tearing into fresh blood, now he ached fiercely for permission to press his lips alongside her knee, or even the bridge of her dainty foot again.

  "Keep your eyes down," she said in that same soft voice, velvet-covering steel. She rose, using his bare shoulder to steady herself. He swallowed, audibly, as the silk robe pooled around her feet, the sash falling over his shoulder.

  "If you look up, I will be very angry," she murmured. Her fingers ran beneath the hair at his nape, and he made a sound, guttural in its passion. "I won't let you sleep in my bed tonight."

  His lids had twitched, wanting to test her resolve, but at that, they stayed locked down, keeping his eyes focused on her bare feet and the slender curve of her ankles. He wasn't sure if Marcus had anticipated her turning the game in this direction. He knew he hadn't, with her soft, vulnerable eyes and pink mouth, a mouth with lips he would have given anything at this moment to lick and suck until they were full and moist, the way the secret folds between her legs would be at the same form of ministration. He wanted… hell, he wanted to look at her, had to look at her.

  "Don't test me, Josh," she warned, as if she could read his mind. She chuckled when he swore, inventively, and the music of it caressed his ears the way her hand was doing to his neck. If she had yanked on his hair or sharpened her tone, he might have laughed it off, sparred with her will, but it was the sheer gentleness of her voice, weighted with command, that kept him obeying. "I want you to close your eyes and stand up."

  He complied and stood, keeping his hands at his sides, though his palms were so hot he suspected they'd burn her fair skin, turning it as red as if he'd laid her over his knee and spanked her round, sweet ass.

  His whole body went rigid with cold horror. Jesus, where the hell had that thought come from?

  He turned away from her because he had to open his eyes, had to break away from that line of thought, and get away. "Lauren, I can't… I have to—"

  "Josh," her fingers circled his wrist, delicate as flower stems. He could have broken free with a mere pressure, but her soft touch was as effective as a manacle of iron. "It's my card." There was a hesitation, a slight, uneven inhalation of breath. "You won't do anything wrong, as long as you obey me. And I command you to stop thinking of anything other than pleasing me. If you think of anything else, I will make you sleep…naked, here on the cold tiles, until all you can think of is how warm my bed would be. How warm my body would be, wrapped around yours. Close your eyes and face me."

  * * * * *

  He could not know how it felt to stand there and watch him, his head hanging low in despondency. His back expanded with short breaths, his fists clenched to fight demons that she well knew couldn't be fought with fists, even those as capable and strong as his were.

  She didn't understand what was compelling her at the moment. Seeing him fight with himself against the power of an invisible chain made her hot, aroused, and perversely overwhelmed with tenderness for him. Maybe it was the sense that he desperately needed someone to take the reins and make him face the pain that Marcus had merely hinted was haunting him. Or maybe this was revenge on Jonathan, pushing Josh to the breaking point, to bring out the emotion and vulnerability she could never summon from Jonathan.

  No. No. Double no and hell no. She did not want to punish Josh. She would not allow Jonathan to turn her into Prometheus, manacled to a rock where uncertainty would eternally tear at her vitals, such that every man she met would be pushed to breaking to prove something to her that could never be proved. It felt good to be doing this. It felt right.

  It always feels that way at first. The internal voice had poison in its nasty tone, and it had a quick effect. Her shoulders dropped, and she bit back a sigh. "Josh, you don't—" she began in a near whisper.

  He turned to face her, his eyes closed as she had instructed. The rest of her words died as his hand reached straight out and caught her fingers, forming a link that prevented either of them from tumbling off a cliff of destructive memories.

  "Good," she managed, re-centering herself. She cleared her throat. "Lift me," she said, "and carry me to the tub. I'll tell you when you're there."

  "I don't want to trip and hurt you."

  Lauren reached up with her free hand, drew her finger along his lined forehead, tracing her nail over each closed eyelid. "You won't."

  She stepped closer, just a space away from having her bare breasts pressed against his slightly damp chest, and slid her arm up to his neck.

  Josh bent, put his arm beneath her legs. His palm crooked beneath the bend of knee, his fingertips curved up just beneath the line of bone that marked her kneecap over the resilient yet sensitive cartilage that joined knee to muscle. He slid the other palm along her back, moving across the soft skin below her shoulder blades, trailing fingertips across the ridge of spine between. Her body swayed with an overload of sensory reaction to his touch and then she drew in a breath as he lifted her in that easy way that left her stomach pleasantly behind. It bounced back into place as if on a spring, with the same jolt of impact one had upon reaching the bottom of the hill on a roller coaster, resettling with a spasm of exhilaration.

  For the second time in a day, she was naked, all naked this time, aware of the stroke of steam from the tub caressing her flanks, and moistening areas already wet. As if that part of her were a separate being, an aroused feline in truth, it was sharply aware of the proximity of his arm, pressed against the back of her thighs, the imprint of each finger along her knee cap, and what each of those fingers would feel like, imprinted on her slick crevices. The thought shivered through her body and he frowned, his eyes still closed.

  “The water will be good and warm,” he promised.

  She smiled. “I’m not cold. Walk toward the tub.”

  She nearly moaned as his first step moved his skin against her bare breast. With impish intent, she shifted in his embrace, dragging the already aroused nipple across his pectoral as she settled. His lips twisted in a wry grimace, his acknowledgement of her torture, and his grip tightened on her, in a way that suggested he would like to hold her so, in a myriad of positions, his hands never full enough of all she could have to offer.

  It was only three steps to the almost full tub, but he stopped after each, asking her if his path was clear to take the next step, to be sure he would in fact safely deliver her to her destination. The clouds of steam were getting thicker, floating up from the fountains, swirling about them from the quiet whirl of the fan vent, and Lauren inhaled it, that dewlike air, coming off rock and earth, as if they were by a hot spring in a mountain cave.

  “We’re here,” she said, and was pleased when he stopped, but did not automatically put her down, awaiting her pleasure on the matter.

  Lauren reached up and traced his jawline with one finger, caressing his nape with the other hand molded to his neck. Her knuckles drifted down his sternum and to the place where her breast and his pectoral met. With one fingernail, she tra
ced the joining path of the two curves, letting him feel the shape of her against him, as if drawing it on the canvas of his own body.

  "Don't open your eyes," she repeated, suspecting the order might need reinforcement. "Remember the punishment if you do."

  "It would be worth it," he muttered, but he did not open them. She smiled, locking both her arms around him to draw herself up for a light brush of lips against the leaping pulse in his throat.

  She gasped against his skin as he crushed her to him, holding her squeezed in his arms as if he could meld their skins together and make one inseparable organism if he held her that way long enough. His jaw pressed against her hair and she knew she did not imagine the tremor she felt run through the muscles there.

  Again the thought ran through her, its passage like the drag of barb wire across her heart. What on earth happened to you, you lovely man?

  She let him hold her that way for a moment more, tightening the grip of her own arms, to give him comfort. The sexual drumbeats receded to jungle sounds, and there was something far more gentle between them, something far more dangerous than the sexual vibrations.

  "You can let my legs down, now," she said at last, breaking the spell. He complied, stooping slightly to release them, his hand following the length of her thigh so that when she stood, his hand trailed up her hip, his long fingers caressing the curve of her bottom.

  “Drop your hands to your sides,” she ordered, and he let out of whuff of frustration that brought back a startling memory. At her giggle, his brow creased.

  “What?”

  She studied his face, touched it to reassure him that she was not making fun of him. It would never occur to her to do so, not to this gift of nature. Her gift, for the time being.

  “Well, I was remembering going to a dog obedience class with one of my friends. They had this exercise; I think they called it Sit-Stay with Stimulus. It was where the dog sat at his master or mistress’s heel while the trainer and her assistants went up and down the line, approaching the dog, and crooning to them. You know ‘you’re such a good dog, look how beautiful you are,’ to see if they would resist their master’s orders and stand up or go toward that stimulus.”