by Dawn Atkins
Rick blinked, then stilled, caught and waiting for her reaction.
“I figure he must think I have…expectations. He doesn’t realize that all I want is a chance to explore our attraction, to enjoy each other physically. That’s all I want.”
Rick’s face had gone rigid, his breathing raspy, and his body vibrated with the effort it took to hold back, but he didn’t speak, didn’t make a move. Why wasn’t he giving in?
She would just have to keep coaxing him. “He doesn’t realize that I have these…fantasies that he would be perfect for.”
“Fantasies?” he said faintly.
“Yes. For example, here’s one of my favorites.” She rolled onto her back onto the soft pillows. The other side of her cape fell to the floor, leaving her body fully exposed on the chaise. She was going for broke here. “Here I am, dozing, and my man finds me. Because he thinks I’m asleep, he dares to touch my body.”
She waited for a second, eyes closed, hoping Rick would put his hand on her. But he only released a ragged breath.
She opened her eyes and met his gaze. He was staring at her, wanting her, but fighting himself, too.
“Go ahead, Rick,” she whispered. “Do what you want to do.”
When he didn’t move, she took his hand and guided it over her stomach, letting his fingers barely skim her flesh. “He’s so afraid to wake me, he barely brushes my skin. Like this.”
Rick shifted closer to her and she moved his hand in a wider circle, so his fingertips brushed the underside of her breasts through her bra, then the top of her skirt, making her stomach twitch and jump.
This was the sexiest thing she’d ever done in her life, but he had to take over soon or she’d start to feel foolish.
“Then what?” he said hoarsely, hunger in his eyes.
“Then he wants to kiss me.”
“Samantha—”
“And that’s what I want,” she rushed to say. “I want you to kiss me, Rick. Make love to me.” She released his hand and slid her fingers into his short hair and waited and watched.
She saw the moment he gave in. His green eyes flashed like heat lightning and his hands seemed to convulse around her face. He held her cheeks between his broad palms. Then he kissed her, shaking hard, as if he were doing something terribly wrong.
Samantha kissed him back, showing him with everything in her he was doing something absolutely right.
8
SAMANTHA WAS RELIEVED when Rick deepened the kiss, easing his tongue into her mouth as if it belonged there, and she opened wide, giving him room to move and explore and take all he wanted.
Still holding her face, he broke off the kiss and looked into her eyes. “This is what you want?” he said fiercely, his entire body shaking. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” But the word came out in a gasp because he’d slid his hand between her legs. She spread her thighs, welcoming his touch, and he brushed her crotch with his fingers, while she quivered and panted.
“I can’t leave you alone,” he said. “I can’t stop wanting you.” He ran his finger deliberately across her with the exact right pressure.
“Good. That’s good.” She fought to hold a thought while fireworks shot off everywhere inside her. An entire Fourth of July under her skin. She gasped for air, knowing this was happening too fast. She’d been too abruptly excited. She needed to slow down a bit.
As if he’d read her mind, Rick removed his finger, easing the too-swift tightness there. He lowered his mouth to hers. “No hurry,” he murmured, telling her he understood. When he kissed her, his tongue was easy, coaxing her to gradual heat with slow, sure pressure, and she felt the delicious building tension that would lead to a sure climax.
If only they were naked. If only clothes could whip away. She had condoms in her purse—cherry-flavored novelty ones from Val’s shop—but her bag was across the room and she hardly had the strength to speak, let alone move.
She wanted to reach for his shirt buttons, but he undid the front clasp of her top and she couldn’t do anything but enjoy the pleasure of his eyes on her bare breasts.
“Beautiful,” he said, leaning down to suck one nipple deep into his mouth, sending a ribbon of desire to her sex, twisting it exquisitely tight. At the same time, he returned his fingers to the place between her thighs, setting off vibrations like guitar strings continually brushed as he stroked and stroked.
“Oh, that’s so good. It’s so…so…” She couldn’t get out the words. She was flying away, skimming through the air as he stroked and sucked her. She dug her fingers into his hair to hold on to her sanity and moaned helplessly.
After lovely moments, Rick shifted his kisses downward to the underside of her breast.
Don’t go, she wanted to say, but then he ran his tongue down the middle of her torso and kissed her stomach, his hands sliding down her body, moving down and down.
“What are you…?” Doing, she wanted to say, but couldn’t…quite…get it…out.
“I’m tasting you,” he said, tugging her gold-trimmed skirt down, too, then all the way off. She was all but naked now. Her bra hung by its straps on her arms, her breasts bared, the air teasing her nipples, wet from Rick’s mouth, and now her sex was open to Rick’s gaze.
And his kiss. Oh, his kiss. Holy Hannah in July, Rick was going down on her. That was such a personal, intense thing to do.
He softly brushed his lips along the top edge of her hair, melting her. Her stomach jumped under his mouth, tickled and thrilled by the intimate touch.
He slid his hands down to hold her bottom in place, as he teased her through her hair, close, but not quite there, warming her up, getting her ready for the experience.
He angled her sex toward his mouth, looking at that secret part of her as if he’d craved a taste all his life.
“Yeah,” he said in satisfaction and lowered his mouth to barely brush her mound. His breath rushed between her folds until she seemed to liquefy like chocolate in a fist. If he kept this up, she might dissolve altogether.
Then Rick slid his tongue into her space and the sensation was a hot arrow piercing the neediest part of her. She tensed and cried out. Too loudly, but she couldn’t help it. How else could she tell him how wonderful this was?
Prince Charming was waking her with a kiss. Rather, he was sending her into a spasm of luscious pleasure. She could hardly believe this was happening. Could hardly believe she’d made it happen. Rick had given her the courage, in the way he looked at her, wanted her, even as he held himself back.
For the first time, she knew clearly what her painful yearning had been all about. It was no longer just a mental picture, a longed-for fantasy. Rick made it real. She knew what she wanted—Rick. She was safe with him. That fact was as vibrant and true as the sensations coursing through her body.
He thickened his tongue, cupped it around her clit and pressed on both sides of the sensitive flesh.
Her cries lapsed into unintelligible syllables and she gasped for air while Rick moved his lips and tongue slowly, then faster, at exactly the pace she needed.
She pivoted her hips, spread her legs, baring herself to him, wanting more and more. Do me. Keep doing me. Don’t ever stop doing me.
Then he sucked her tight and closed his teeth in a sweet pinch so abrupt and delicious that she rocketed off, exploding wildly, crying out, almost screaming.
Rick managed to stay with her, gripping her hips, fingers digging into her bottom, his warm breath on her, his tongue cupping her, while her climax went on and on, and she floated on clouds of ebbing pleasure that slowly faded away.
Rick pressed his lips to the inside of first one thigh, then the other, then kissed his way slowly up her body, while she shook and struggled for deep breaths.
“Omigod,” she said, lifting her head to look into his face. “That was amazing.” Better than her imagination for sure.
“Yeah,” he said, kissing her mouth. “It was.”
Her light musk on his lips reminded her how intimate this had been
. He had pressed his tongue to her deepest need. She felt surprisingly close to him, connected, as if they’d been lovers for years, not just a few hot minutes.
She wanted to thank him. She wanted to cry. Which was silly, considering this had just been sex.
Besides, there was so much more to do. She had to touch Rick, taste him, too. “Now it’s your turn,” she said and reached for him through his pants.
He was thick behind his zipper under her fingers. His eyes flared with a fierce desire until he closed them, frowning, mouth taut, as if he were engaged in some intense internal battle.
She started on his belt, but he stopped her hand and opened his eyes. She saw that he’d dredged up some reserve of self-control. He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. He tried to smile, but his jaw quivered with the effort. “That was great,” he said tightly.
“We’re not stopping now,” she said. “You haven’t even—” Climaxed. Or been inside her. They’d barely started.
“I know.” But he reattached her bra, focusing in, as if he had to cover her up before he lost all restraint. “I shouldn’t have done that.” He found her skirt and slid it up her legs, watching her body as though he didn’t really want to cover it. “I got carried away.”
Lotta rules of conduct. That’s what his friend Mark had said about him. No hooking up at work for sure. That was probably the problem.
“I know we work together, Rick, but this doesn’t have to change anything,” she said, gripping his upper arms.
“It should,” he said, holding her gaze.
Maybe he thought she wanted more than she did. “I meant what I said. I really want just sex.”
“But I don’t.” He wrapped the cape around her, as though she were a package he was afraid he’d rip wide open. “I want more than that.”
“You’re kidding.” She sat up and looked at him.
“When I said there was someone else, it wasn’t exactly a lie. I haven’t met her yet, but she’s out there.”
“And you’re waiting for her?”
He nodded, his smile self-mocking. “Hard to believe, but, yeah, I want one woman for the rest of my life.”
She felt her jaw drop. Rick had rules, all right. And one of them was that sex mattered. It was sweet, really, and old-fashioned. And the worst thing in the world for her. She’d finally snagged her fantasy man and he wanted true love.
“I’m sorry I let that happen,” he said, the soft green of his eyes going muddy with guilt. “It wasn’t fair to you.”
“Fair? It was heaven. And it was my idea, remember?” There was something more here that bothered him. She didn’t understand it, but it made her feel guilty for dragging him onto her wanton couch—like the wicked, selfish Delilah, seducing the hapless Samson into his downfall.
Rick still wanted her, she could tell by the way a muscle jumped in his cheek and how he kept tightening the cape over her body to keep himself away. She’d bet if she kissed him or touched him, his self-control would snap like a twig.
He brushed her hair away from her face. “I should go. Before I…” Raw longing flooded his features, but he turned away and pushed to his feet. She couldn’t imagine living a life so bound by rules. “Shall I take the film to the lab?” he said, clearly trying to sound normal. He strode deliberately to the Hasselblad.
“Yeah. That would be great,” she said, her voice still shaky.
“There’s another frame here,” he said and looked down into the readout, adjusting the focus. “I still have to take your picture, right?” He smiled.
“I think you got the idea,” she said, confused and a little sad.
“Think back on what happened,” he said, “for just a second.”
She smiled, realizing how much better she felt after those glorious moments. The camera clicked and the flash fired in the middle of her memory.
“Beautiful,” he said with a sigh. “I’ll get this developed and we’ll see if I learned anything from your lesson.” He held her gaze while he rewound the film, a sad wistfulness in his eyes.
“You regret this?” she asked him.
“Not nearly enough,” he said, popping out the film, which he lifted, then turned and left.
Samantha sighed and leaned forward, flexing her bare toes against the cool tile. She felt…good. Calm. Settled into her body, and also sensitized to everything—the air in the studio, the nap of the faux fur beneath her, the silk cloth against her skin. She could still smell Rick, could almost taste him, could feel his tongue right…there. And she wanted more.
Just her luck that she’d finally been bold enough to go for it and she’d chosen a man with the small-town attitudes she’d been eager to escape.
No way could she be with a man who felt guilty about sex. She also wasn’t interested in being a man’s one and only. Not yet. Not until she’d sampled her fill.
At least she’d done it—splashed around a little, made a wave. There’d been that alarming jolt of feeling close to Rick, which made her wonder if maybe sex wasn’t as simple as she wanted it to be, but she’d made progress.
Though she hadn’t come close to drowning.
THE NEXT DAY, Rick skimmed over the dozen proof sheets he’d picked up on the way to the station. He wanted to check in with Mark before he headed to Bedroom Eyes for the day.
While he waited, he flipped through shot after shot of women and couples in skimpy clothes in front of romantic, exotic or outdoor backdrops. Nice. Nice. Excellent. Gorgeous. Samantha was good. Very good.
And there it was—the picture he’d been looking for. The last frame on the last strip. Samantha. Sitting there in her jungle bra, her lips swollen from his assault, but offering up a soft smile, her blue eyes shiny with new bliss and fresh heat. She looked both innocent and carnal—a combination that had turned his self-control into ice on a frying pan.
Look at her. Her tiny photo sent lust pulsing through him and seemed to suck all the air out of the station.
She’d figured out there was no girlfriend. But that wasn’t what had washed away his resistance like so much sand in the surf.
She made him forget himself. Forget all that had happened in the last four years. She turned him into just a man who wanted her with everything in him. When she’d placed his hand on her body, he’d been lost, swept away, aware only of her skin under his fingers, and after that her wet mouth, her sweet tongue and, later, the wet swollen need of her, the taste of her sex, tangy on his tongue, the way her cries declared he was the only one who could touch her this way.
He’d managed to stop short of taking her with his body—as if that were somehow more honorable. But if she’d done one more thing—kissed him, grabbed him, looked at him that way—he’d have caved for good.
He’d been on duty, for chrissake. Samantha was still a suspect, though he was reasonably certain she was oblivious to whatever crime was going on under her nose. Even if Lester Tabor was using her books for illegal purposes, Rick would bet his life Samantha knew nothing about it.
He stared at her photo, feeling the tug of desire all over again. Damn. He prided himself on being able to rationally assess any situation and take the right course, no matter how tough. He was losing it.
“So, what’s cooking at ye olde sex shoppe?” Mark said behind him, looking over his shoulder.
Rick shuffled the pages so Samantha’s picture was hidden.
“Are those sex shots?” Trudeau reached for the proofs. Rick let him take the top few sheets. “Damn. Were you in the room when these were taken?”
“For some.” He shrugged like it was no big deal and put the rest of the pages in the lab envelope.
Mark lifted his gaze. “Hell. At least act interested.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I’m interested.” Yesterday afternoon was terrible proof.
Mark shot him a look. “What’s up? You look sick.”
“It’s the case, I guess. I just wish we’d get a break.”
Mark seemed to figure something out
. “The problem is you feel guilty, West. You’re having too much fun.” Mark slapped him on the back. “Forget it. There isn’t a cop here who works harder and we all know it.” He handed him back the photo proofs.
Rick winced and his gut tightened. Mark thought he was some kind of saint. He had that reputation, irritating his squad mates with his insistence that no stone remain unturned, no regulation not be followed, no report left incomplete. Never a shortcut to good police work.
What the hell had happened to him?
He should be in the lieutenant’s office right now reporting his inappropriate actions. Except that might jeopardize the task force’s work, a lose-lose for everyone.
He looked across the room at his crew, all working hard. Jessie, on the phone, and Rocky, studying a file, had volunteered to pretend to be a couple coming in for photos at Bedroom Eyes if he needed them to.
Craig and Dave, interviewing a suspect by Dave’s desk, had jumped on the tedious chore of running Mona’s client names through records. They’d all pitched in, even when they had other work to handle. They were a team. They trusted him. He couldn’t let them down.
He had stopped things with Samantha, right? No harm done?
“Listen,” Mark said. “You never called me back, but I needed to let you know I ran into Sawyer Friday after you left.”
“You what?”
“She came back for something. I had a flat and we got to talking.”
“You talked to Sawyer and didn’t tell me?”
“I tried, man. It was nothing big. The only thing was that she figured out you didn’t have a girlfriend. She mentioned her and I sort of hesitated.”
“You hesitated?”
“Hell, you didn’t tell me you made up a squeeze. I covered it up—told her you had intimacy issues.”
“Intimacy issues?”
“Hold on. It worked. Also I said you had rules against hooking up at work. She bought that. And she said that understanding you better would help you work better together.”
“Oh, yeah. It did that, all right.” Now he knew how she’d figured it out, why she’d been so bold. Thank you, partner.