by Dawn Atkins
He entered the lobby, then pushed into Bedroom Eyes.
“Hi,” she said shyly, her heart in her throat.
For the briefest of seconds, his eyes sparkled with pleasure and a smile bloomed, but abruptly, as if he’d called his features to attention, his reactions went flat and dead, and he said, “Hello,” in the neutral, polite tone of a stranger.
Just like that, she realized, everything had changed.
“Are you okay?” she asked, completely disappointed.
“I’m fine. Just tired. Maybe we overdid it yesterday.” He gave her a half smile, then moved behind the counter to rummage around on the shelves.
“Overdid it? You think we overdid it?” After the glory of yesterday, the disappointment was like a punch in the stomach. But she wasn’t going to let on. No way. Maybe Rick had a fear of intimacy as Mark had said. Maybe he just needed room to breathe. That didn’t make it any less irritating. “What are you looking for?” she snapped at him.
“The ledger,” he said, lifting it onto the counter.
“What for?”
“To look things over. Check for mistakes.”
“Lester doesn’t make mistakes.”
“How would you know?” He shot her a look. “You don’t ever check.” She didn’t like the judgmental tone in his voice. This wasn’t the first time he’d made a critical crack about her business practices. He was basically a suspicious guy. “I look things over. Darien trusts Lester with far more money than I’ll ever have, so what’s the big deal?”
He shook his head as if she were being foolish.
“And furthermore, I don’t appreciate how you grilled the poor man when he was here, either.”
“You’re too trusting, Samantha.”
“I have good instincts about people.”
“You can be wrong.” He looked almost angry.
“Oh, yeah? I hired you, didn’t I?” she snapped.
“Yeah, you did,” he said, looking so hurt, she almost apologized. “Look, I need to check with the workers upstairs. After that I want to touch base with Val and Blythe and Mona. You okay for a while on your own?”
“Of course I’m okay. I was okay before you got here and I’ll be okay when you’re gone.” She was royally pissed now. How dare he make her sound helpless? Why did the man have to make everything so complicated?
“I know that, Samantha. I do.” He didn’t even have the decency to snap back at her. He sounded almost melancholy. What the hell was going on with him? Just when she thought she’d figured him out, he went all mysterious on her. Maybe she should just give up.
AT MIDNIGHT, SAMANTHA unlocked the front door to Mirror, Mirror and stepped into the lobby, the security lights bright enough that she didn’t need the penlight on her key chain to see what she was doing. The velvet dress she’d borrowed from the costume room before leaving work swished against her knees, as soft on the inside as it was plush on the outside. She loved this dress.
She was giving them one more chance. Rick was sleeping in the studio, she knew, since she’d spotted his Jeep parked a block away. Why not in the lot, since his secret was out? One more Rick mystery. But tonight she was sleuthing out only one riddle: Would he come out and play with her?
Her heart pinched with hope.
Rick had spent the day roving the center, pretending to check on everything but her. When they had crossed paths, their eyes had never quite met. If it weren’t for that darling hickey peeking above his collar, she’d have had no clue they even liked each other, let alone had made wild love at Oak Creek.
Tonight she would either fix what was between them or end it altogether. Oak Creek had been fabulous enough for any woman, of course, but if there was a chance to enjoy more fantasies with this incredible man, she owed it to herself to try.
Right before she’d left the studio, she’d arranged studio two for her ravishment fantasy, setting up the black filigreed arch, laying out the velvet sash and arranging clumps of red, black and gold candles here and there.
In the lobby, she glided to Bedroom Eyes, unlocked the door and eased in, her heart racing.
She stilled and listened. Nothing. Rick was probably asleep. She would wake him with a kiss and bring him into her fantasy in the neighboring studio. She scooped off her slip-ons and tiptoed barefoot down the hall, her heart thudding so loudly it seemed to reverberate against the walls.
At the door to studio one, she peeked in and saw him in the bed. Under the satin spread, his big body rose and fell with the slow breaths of sleep. She tiptoed closer.
At least he’d opted for a real bed instead of that rock-hard futon in Mona’s shop. The guy was seriously into self-denial. Maybe they could try out a mild domination game. But only after she was certain Rick didn’t consider more sex a betrayal of his higher purpose. Lord.
She thumbed on her penlight, shining it away from him so she could better see his face on the pillow, strong and square, his jaw a clean line below shadowed cheeks. He was naked to the waist. Oh, my.
For a second, she considered curling into his arms, cozy and content, to match his slow, deep breaths and drift to sleep tucked against his protective body, surrounded by his warm smell, heated by his skin. In the morning they would wake, make love, share coffee and the paper and whatever the day brought.
But that was way too domestic for Samantha. That was something Mona would cook up. Samantha had hotter adventures in mind. She let her eyes trace Rick’s sleeping form and imagined him waking, reaching out to her with strong arms and skilled fingers.
The image made her desire for him rise swiftly, lifting her into deep water, where she’d never feel the bottom or ever want to. She wanted to wake him with a kiss—Sleeping Beauty in reverse—and begin the adventure, but first she had to light the candles in studio two and make sure everything was perfect.
RICK JERKED AWAKE. What was that? A noise. What? And where? Had another shipment come? He should have stayed on Mona’s awful couch to better track any action out back, but he’d been so tired and his back hurt like hell.
He rolled out of bed, grabbed his gun and moved to the door. The noise wasn’t coming from out back. It was down the hall. In studio two? He heard the swish of fabric, the click-click of a lighter. Was it Samantha?
Seemed unlikely. They’d hardly spoken all day and he could tell he’d hurt her feelings without saying a word. If she’d overcome her anger and come to him, she sure as hell wouldn’t be rummaging around in another studio. She was a woman who went for what she wanted. If she wanted him, she’d go for him. And, dammit, the idea sounded good.
So who was in the studio? He held his breath, extended his gun in ready position, lunged into the open door and aimed at a bent figure.
Samantha, he realized immediately, and she was lighting candles. Huh? Already a dozen gold flames licked at the dark, wet pools of wax under each one.
He released the trigger, but before he could shove his gun into the back of the jersey shorts he wore for sleep, Samantha turned and looked up at him, hair flying away from her face. “Rick! What are you…? Was that a gun?”
She didn’t look nearly scared enough.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, though the sexy black dress hanging off one shoulder made it obvious, not to mention all the candles. “I could have shot you dead.” His head pounded from leftover adrenaline.
“That’s very sexy,” she said in a sultry voice, swaying closer on bare feet. “It makes you seem so…dangerous.” Her eyes gleamed and she licked her lips.
“What have you got in mind, Samantha?” he said. One of those fantasies she’d tried to explain up at the creek, no doubt. She was inches away now, her breasts swelling upward, her locket shining in the candlelight.
“I’ll tell you,” she breathed. “Today did not go well, I know. We argued. We avoided each other. The creek was intense and you needed some space. I get that. Now, it’s time to just enjoy each other, don’t you think?”
“Samantha, I—�
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“Can you do that, Rick? Forget your rules and just be with me? Nights can be ours. Like this. We need this.”
She searched his face, her eyes shining up at him in the candlelight, wicked and hopeful, sweet and demanding, and it was all he wanted in the world.
God help him, he was powerless to deny her.
He took her trembling body into his arms and kissed her, long and deep, holding tightly, sinking into her taste, the smell of her, the taut strength of her small body.
“Yes,” she breathed into his mouth, then she dragged herself away, holding up one finger. “Stay right there.”
He obeyed. He stood riveted to the floor, knowing he’d do anything she wanted—bark like a dog, dance naked on the roof, anything. With Samantha, the rules meant nothing anymore.
She grabbed a strip of cloth off a shelf—a sash of some kind—then braced herself against the intricately worked metal arch, black and shiny in the red-gold light of all those candles.
With her arms behind her, her breasts were half-bared in the black dress. A wave of nearly uncontrollable desire filled him. He wanted to take her, grab her up and thrust into her, make her moan. There were a bunch of buttons down the middle of that dress. How fast could he pry them open?
Still standing against the arch, Samantha lifted one arm over her head and extended the strip of cloth with the other. “Tie me up, Rick,” she said, jutting her chin to make up for the tremor in her voice. “Then tease me. Nice and slow.”
Slow? Was she kidding? He wanted to rip off her clothes and jam into her. Screw this fantasy nonsense.
But he saw how determined she was and he couldn’t disappoint her. If she wanted to play games, he would play games. He put his gun on a shelf, safely out of the way, and went to accept the sash she held out to him.
“You want me to tie you up?” he asked, running it through his fingers.
In answer, she lifted the other arm against the arch and crossed her wrists. “Yes. Then make me beg for more.”
She was pale against the dark metal—pale and vulnerable—waiting for him to restrain her. She trusted him, was giving herself over to him, even though she was a little scared. He knew that because he knew her well—better than she realized. Her bravado moved him. And made him vow to protect her from every imaginable harm.
He wanted to pull her away from that unforgiving metal, take her tender body into his arms, carry her to the bed and make love to her.
How do you see me, Rick? She’d asked him once. In leather? Velvet? Silk? Something see-through?
Right now, he pictured her in simple cotton panties in the middle of a pillow fight—feathers flying, giggling like a girl—and he wanted to nab her and pin her to the sheets with his body and his joy.
What the hell was wrong with him?
Her. Samantha. She was what was wrong with him. He loved the take-no-prisoners temptress and the tentative innocent beneath the bold moves.
The soft velvet of her dress cupped her curves, stroked her skin. She rocked her hips forward and back in a slow grind, a move that was clearly arousing her.
Lust pounded through him, as hard and heavy as a sledgehammer.
Just give the lady what she wants.
Easy enough to take hot, hard pleasure in her, ignore the fact that she made him want so much more.
He stepped closer, his body nearly brushing hers, and her pupils dilated with pleasure. The candles flickered around them, sending up threatening shadows, as if they’d discovered each other in a dangerous place and were only safe in each other’s arms.
“Rick,” she breathed, softening against the arch.
He ran his thumbs across the peaks of her breasts through the velvet. Her nipples were tight beads through the thick cloth. No bra. Just dress. Was it soft for her on the inside, where it touched her skin?
She gasped with pleasure.
He stopped. “You want to be helpless? Is that what you want?” He deliberately spoke roughly, guessing she wanted that.
She nodded happily. “Yes. Absolutely. Make me helpless.”
“Be warned. I won’t stop until I’ve had my fill,” he said, playing her game for her.
“You won’t stop?” she said breathlessly.
“Not until I’m finished with you.”
“How many times will I come?”
“As many times as I make you,” he growled, wrapping the velvet strip around and around her wrists.
“Oh,” she breathed, her eyes wide. “That will be wonderful.”
“No, it won’t. You’ll beg me to stop.” He yanked the tie tight for effect, fighting a smile. “Is that what you want? Say yes or no.”
“Yes.”
“Yes, please,” he added, then surprised her with a finger against her clit through the dress.
“Oh, yes, please, yes.” The way she quivered turned him to steel. He’d just promised her multiple orgasms when all he wanted was to bury himself in her and ride the pleasure of mutual release.
This was what she wanted, though. She stood with her legs slightly apart, her hands tied above her head, swathed in black. She wanted him to be her master. That was a laugh. What man could ever master Samantha?
He ran a finger slowly between her breasts and down her belly through the soft dress.
“Oh, yes.” She closed her eyes, anticipating more, rocking her hips forward, so he stopped. Her eyes flew open. “Don’t stop.”
“But I want to,” he lied. “I want you to ache for me.” He moved so his lips were millimeters from hers.
“I do, I ache for you.” She leaned forward for a kiss. He allowed the barest contact and then pulled away.
She moaned. “Please…”
Ah, hell. He gave in and kissed her, sliding his tongue inside for a probing taste of her. Her tongue lapped at his, eager, desperate, so he dragged away his mouth and surprised her by popping open the top button of her dress, baring her breasts almost to the nipple.
Samantha’s greedy gasp made her locket quiver in the middle of her chest. He ran his tongue around the medallion, then traced the line where the velvet touched her skin, finally shoving his tongue deep enough under the fabric to reach a nipple.
She writhed and wriggled, then pushed her hips against him.
Fighting his instincts, he shifted his lower body away, so she couldn’t make contact and focused on wetting her breast, pressing his tongue across her nipple, over and over. He lifted his head to check her reaction.
“Oh, more. Please more,” she moaned.
Instead, he thumbed the second button open. Now her breasts were completely exposed—white and fragile, framed by the dark cloth, served up to him in the red-gold light that seemed to threaten and promise at the same time, the golden medallion their only decoration. Her nipples were moist knots that he wanted to take into his mouth.
“Suck them, pleeease.” She held back her shoulders, offering up her nipples for his mouth, urgent, demanding.
“Don’t rush me, lady,” he said, aching to do just what she asked. He took a step away from her.
“Don’t go,” she said, tugging away from the arch.
“I will do what I please to you.”
“Okay,” she said, sagging against the metal that held her, despairing. He knew how she felt. He was as mindless with lust as she was limp with frustration, but her game demanded delay.
Still, there was no point in torturing themselves. He moved close enough to take a nipple into his mouth and suck it deep.
She gasped in surprised gratitude and rubbed against him.
He repeated the act on her other breast, loving the taste of her and the way she rocked so hard against him that the arch jerked. She was close to climax and, hell, she’d earned it, so he shoved his hand under her dress and stroked her clit through her thin panties, loving the soft, swollen secret of her.
She gasped, then wiggled on his finger, jerking once, twice. “Rick, oh, oh, I’m coming….”
He loved the desperate happi
ness in her voice as the waves passed through her for long seconds. Just as she finished, he slid a finger inside, hooking deep to nudge her G-spot so that she shrieked in abrupt delight, “Again. I’m coming again…I can’t…” But she did, moaning and rocking on his finger, shaken by a second orgasm.
When she stopped moving, he stroked her softly, then slowly took away his hand.
“That was so incredible,” she said.
“I’m not finished with you,” he said. Not by a long shot. He was near the breaking point himself, his cock aching behind his zipper. She looked like raw sex to him, the top of her dress open, offering her swollen breasts to him, her nipples shiny with his saliva, her breaths coming ragged and wild.
The animal drive to take her would no longer be denied. He grabbed both sides of the dress and yanked it apart.
She gasped in happy shock.
Under the dress, she wore only a black see-through triangle of cloth over her sex. She was breathtakingly beautiful, standing there helpless, but still in charge, the dark tie against her pale skin, her fair body open to him, waiting for him, for what he would do next. He wanted to take her, make her his, but first he had to taste her again.
He dropped to his knees, and pressed his mouth to her mound. She was warm and quivering and the scent of her sex filled his head. Her sweet tang was heaven to him. The tissue-thin fabric was soaked with her juices and he licked her through the cloth, bracing her firm ass with his hands.
She pushed herself at him and seemed to be trying to jerk her hands free. To dig her fingers into his hair, he’d bet, but the tie held. She was at his mercy.
He vowed to make it worth all the trouble she’d gone to. He nuzzled her with his nose, then decided the panties had to go and yanked them down so he could stroke her with his tongue. He loved the soft, swollen tension of her sex, so hungry for more. He used slow, even strokes and when she sped her movements, so did he.
“Oh, you’re doing it again…. Oh, I’m coming….”
Her release pulsed against him, like the wildest taste of life on his tongue. The heart of her in his mouth. And he was so grateful and so glad.