by Gemma Bruce
He began to push rhythmically into her, while her nails scored his back. She screamed when she came. The sound echoed through the hills as her climax pulsed around him.
He followed a second later, pumping into her as if he was giving her his very life. Then he collapsed to the side, holding on to her hip so that they were still connected.
———
Andy peeked at Dillon through half-closed lids. His eyes were closed. He looked asleep, but she knew he wasn’t, because he was playing with the end of her braid.
The hills were alive with the sound of her orgasm, but Dillon hadn’t made any noise at all. Just cut back each breath as he pumped into her. He’d done that the night in the shower. She’d thought it was because he didn’t want them to get caught. But maybe he just didn’t want to give too much of himself away. Which was sad. He had so much to give.
She wouldn’t think about what that might mean. It was enough to just lie there, sandwiched between the hard rock and Dillon’s hard body. It was everything that her fantasy had promised—and more.
He’d set off a desire in her that she didn’t think could ever be sated. It was frightening, as well as exhilarating. Who needed an eternal orgasm when she had this.
Which was not a good way to think. It would end and she’d go on to the next movie, and he would go on to the next whatever. No sense in getting attached. Someone would be yelling, “Cut!” soon enough.
Chapter 12
They lay stretched out on the blanket, Andy curled into Dillon’s side, his thigh draped over her hip. He wound a strand of her hair around his finger, unwound it, curled it up again. She ran the tips of her fingers over his skin, making him shiver.
But when her fingers traveled down his back and touched the rough texture of his scar, she felt him tense.
“Where did you get this?” she asked lazily.
He didn’t answer. She played along the ridge of roughened flesh until he finally mumbled into her mouth, “Fell off my bike.” He kissed her, kissed her jaw, then the soft skin beneath her chin.
You didn’t get that riding a bike, she thought, though why she was thinking about bikes when his lips were doing what they were doing was beyond her. “I have one, too.”
He stopped kissing her. “What?”
“A scar.” She took his hand and ran it along the crease in her thigh, where a sliver of glass had slipped beneath her harness as she flew through a plate-glass window. It had barely missed an artery. “Fell out of my Barbie mobile.”
She felt his breath on her chest and wondered if that was a laugh. He didn’t laugh much. Well, she didn’t either. Not lately. “This was a good idea,” he said, his words muffled by the breast he was teasing.
“Comparing scars?”
He looked up at her. “Coming to the lake for a picnic.” He sat up. “Shit. You must be starving. I forgot about lunch. I made sandwiches.”
She was starving. For him. For love. For walking off into the sunset and living happily ever after. “A sandwich would be nice.”
He reached over her and snagged the handle of the lunch bag. Unzipped it and pulled out a sandwich wrapped in plastic wrap. He dropped it on her stomach. Reached in again and grabbed another for himself.
Next came two apples and a bunch of bananas, then two bottles of beer. He twisted off the top of one and handed it to her.
“Deluxe,” she said and sat up cross-legged on the blanket.
He opened the second beer. “It’s okay?”
“Good,” she said around a mouthful of turkey, cheese, and lettuce. “And very thoughtful.”
Dillon shrugged.
Not comfortable with compliments, she thought.
He took a bite of his own sandwich, followed it with a swig of beer. They ate without speaking for a few minutes.
This would be a good time to tell him the truth, thought Andy. No bad guy could make love like that. And he certainly wouldn’t make her sandwiches. She had to take the chance. She wasn’t any nearer to finding Mac than she had been the day she arrived at Terra Bliss. Maybe he could help her. “Dillon.”
“Ariadne,” he said at the same time. “Sorry.”
“You go first,” Andy said quickly.
“You’re really athletic.”
Not that line of questioning again. Not now. She sighed. “Like I said—”
“You have to be in your business.”
Preemptive strike time. “So are you.”
He glanced down at the scar on his knee. “Used to be at any rate.” Andy had to stifle a sigh of relief. She’d sidetracked him. “Find yourself having to break into many buildings?” Jesus, the man was tenacious. Overdeveloped curiosity? Or was there another reason? The sandwich was suddenly very hard to swallow. Please don’t let him be pumping me for information. Please don’t let him be one of the bad guys. If there were even bad guys and this wasn’t some fabrication by her overimaginative family.
“Not often, but it happens.”
“Hmmm. What did you expect to find?”
“I told you. I want a story.”
“The kind of story you couldn’t write by just asking questions.”
“Right.”
“And did you find anything?” She widened her eyes at him. “I’m a reporter. I’ll never tell.”
She saw his eyes harden. “Well, if you must know. No, I didn’t find anything.” He took another drink of beer. “What did you expect to find?”
“Jeez, Dillon. I don’t know. Dirt. Gossip. Something that would help—” She shut her mouth. Don’t get exasperated. She’d almost slipped up. She crushed the plastic wrap into a ball and tossed it into the lunch bag. He’d brought her here to pump her for information. She should have guessed.
“We’d better get back.” She started to stand up. He pulled her back down. “Would help what?” He hadn’t let go of her arm. She tried to pull away, but his fingers were like a vise, not tight, just immovable. Her adrenaline kicked in, because she was suddenly afraid.
He was strong. If she told him the truth, he might inform on her. Hell, he might inform on her anyway. If he was one of them, he might even do something terrible to her. Like make her disappear like Mac.
She studied his face while he studied her. Two immovable forces. Which was the stronger? Could she take him if he tried to kill her?
Kill her? She was getting as bad as her whacky family. He was her slave. A paid boy toy.
Yeah and look what happened to O. J. when the pool boy testified. But O.J. got off. She could end up at the bottom of this beautiful lake. Maybe she should call a halt to this fling now. Before it went any farther.
———
Dillon watched Ariadne’s face shut down. Did she know that her expressions changed with every feeling? It must be difficult being an investigative reporter if she couldn’t mask what she was thinking. And he knew what she was thinking. She wanted him, but she didn’t want to talk about her work.
He needed to know if she was being straight with him. If she was basing her story on the Southwaite woman, she might stumble onto the murder conspiracy—and he was pretty sure there was one—and she could be in danger.
And her questions about the Houston woman. Was she trying to make some connection between them or was she just poking around to see if anything came to light?
“Ariadne.”
She jumped. “What?”
She looked so apprehensive that Dillon could almost believe she was afraid of him. How could she change so quickly from lover to this wary stranger. Did she have something to hide?
And it hit Dillon that he was sick of mistrusting people. Maybe that was why he’d succumbed to Isabelle’s seduction. He wanted to believe that somebody loved him, for himself. And that had gotten him into a lot of trouble. His brother’s sporting goods store was looking better and better.
But first he had to finish this assignment, even if he had to hurt Ariadne to do it.
“I guess we’d better be getting back,” she said, so sad
ly that he looked up.
The apples he’d packed were lying on the blanket in front of her. She was holding a banana in her hand, her fingers curled lightly around it.
He felt the immediate response in his groin. “We haven’t finished lunch.”
She smiled, but there was hurt in her eyes. Then she saw him looking at the banana, and the smile changed. “Do you know what the retreat uses these for?”
“I’ve heard. Don’t worry. These are virgin bananas.”
Her smile was genuine now, and Dillon couldn’t believe the way it made him feel.
“Shall we initiate it into the ways of the world?”
He watched, mesmerized, as she slid her hand down the curving fruit. Turned it in her palm and slowly pulled back the peel. She put it to her lips, and Dillon saw a pink flash of tongue before she sucked in the tip.
There was no hiding his reaction to that deliberately seductive movement. They were both still naked, and his erection lengthened and hardened as she pulled the banana out of her mouth.
She was playing with him. Whether to distract him or because she couldn’t get enough of him, he wasn’t sure. And at the moment he didn’t care.
He moved toward her. She tossed the banana away and they tumbled back onto the blanket. He gazed down at her. Her eyes were smoky with desire, and for the moment nothing mattered in the world but her. Long tresses of dark auburn hair spilled across the blanket, creating a flaming aureole around her face. She was a sea creature, a mermaid, a silkie, mysterious and seductive. And he wanted her.
He slid down her body leaving a wet trail with his tongue. He wanted to taste her, now, before he had to return to rational thought. She might be a reporter; she might be something else altogether. But whatever she was, he wanted her.
He lifted her knees, pushed her ankles apart, opening her thighs. He looked his fill before he touched, before he tasted, before he satisfied them both.
He lowered his head, licked at the crease between her legs, parting the folds of her already wet body with his tongue. Her hips lifted into his exploration. She was ready, swollen and musky. He sucked her and she gasped, speared her fingers through his hair. He circled his tongue around her, sucked again, felt her whole body grow tense.
“Too soon,” she rasped. She pushed his head away.
He rolled to his back. There was something hard under his shoulder. He shifted to the side and one of the apples rolled away.
She laughed. A throaty sound that drew him inexorably to her. She traced her fingers lightly down his chest. He broke out in gooseflesh.
“Cold?” she whispered, as her fingers tickled his chest, his nipples, his abdomen.
He shook his head. It was all he could manage. She leaned over and kissed his navel, followed the kiss with a thrust of her tongue.
He lifted his pelvis, needing the touch of her on his dick, but she curved away with a smile. “Not yet.” Her fingers tickled his sides, his butt, his thighs. Her hair spread across his stomach, so the flick of her tongue along the slit of his cock came without warning. He nearly bucked her off.
“Hmmm,” she murmured and swiped at him again.
If she kept that up, he’d come before she got her mouth fully around him. She brushed a length of hair out of her face and glanced up at him. She licked her lips, slowly like a cat. Her lips parted, and she sucked the head of his penis into her mouth. He lay mesmerized by the movements of her head as her tongue caressed him and her lips created an almost unbearable suction around him. He let his knees rotate outward, giving her more space.
She pulled off him. He barely had time to feel disappointment, before her tongue rasped over his balls. He reared up, the sensitivity there almost painful. She pushed his knees farther apart until he was spread-eagle below her. She nibbled his scrotum, then lapped up the ridge of his erection, while her fingers played with his balls.
He bit his bottom lip and let her have her way until he knew he would come if she didn’t stop. He pushed her away. She sat back on her knees.
“Come here,” he said hoarsely. “I need to be inside you now. I can’t wait.” He stretched out his hand.
She shook her head. “We need to slow down. Make it last.” She cupped her hand over her crotch and squeezed her thighs together as if she could curb her excitement.
He gritted his teeth and looked out to the trees, trying to slow his own reaction.
“Okay, time’s up.” She crawled toward him. Lay down between his legs. The blanket was warm beneath him, heated by the sun. Ariadne lay warm on top of him, heated by their desire.
She lifted her butt, while he opened the second condom and fitted himself to her. He surged upward, and she sank down onto him. They both groaned, but neither moved, held for the moment as if in eternity. Then he began to thrust inside her.
It wasn’t slow. It was fast, almost brutal. He tried to slow the pace, but she squeezed her thighs together, tightening her hold on his dick.
“Oh, God,” he moaned and raced to the finish, holding on to her sweet ass as she matched his thrusts with her own. She shattered first, and he stilled inside her, reveling in the constriction of her muscles around him. When they began to subside, he thrust again and kept thrusting until she clenched again. This time when she came, he followed her over.
They lay there for a long time, Ariadne asleep, her head lying on his shoulder. His cheek resting on her hair. He thought he could stay there forever, but the sun was setting behind the mountains, and Ariadne shivered against him.
He yanked at the corner of the blanket and wrapped it over her as far as it would reach. He glanced at his watch, which he still seemed to be wearing.
It was almost time to get back, and there was still something he needed to do. He gently eased Ariadne aside, covered her more completely with the blanket, and pulled on his damp shorts. Then he reached into the thermal bag, unzipped an inner compartment, and pulled out his cell phone.
They were supposed to have set up a relay by now. Hopefully he’d be able to get a message through. Keeping the phone hidden in his palm, he glanced over at Ariadne, then walked into the trees.
There was a signal. He quickly texted a message and flipped the phone shut.
Ariadne was still sleeping when he returned. He replaced the phone inside the zippered pocket and knelt beside her.
He leaned over. Kissed her lightly, quickly. “I’m sorry,” he said, then gently shook her awake.
Chapter 13
Dillon dropped Ariadne off at her cabin and hurried toward the dorm. He was late, he was stunned, he was physically satisfied like he couldn’t remember ever being. And then he saw the group of men gathered just outside the dorm door. Rusty and Demetri stood apart from the others, and even from this distance, Dillon could tell they were arguing. He came back to reality with a thud.
He quickened his pace. Demetri was a typical bully. Lots of muscle and the need to prove it. He was shorter than Rusty, but outweighed him by a good fifty pounds. If there was a fight, there was no question who would win. Especially, since he was certain Demetri wouldn’t fight fair.
He was fifty feet away, when Demetri shouted, “You little stool pigeon. I’ll teach you not to mess with me.” He punched Rusty in the stomach. Rusty doubled over, and Demetri’s fist caught him in the nose. Rusty’s head snapped back. Blood spurted into the air and Rusty fell to his knees.
“Hey, cut it out,” yelled Dillon, breaking into a run.
Demetri grabbed Rusty by the shirt and hauled him to his feet. He managed to get another punch off before Dillon reached them. Rusty crumpled to the ground and stayed there.
Dillon grabbed Demetri by the shoulder. “I said—”
Demetri rounded on him, swinging. Dillon ducked. The momentum of the punch carried Demetri forward, and Dillon helped him along with a well-placed push.
Demetri staggered, fell to one knee, then hauled himself up. He turned to face Dillon, his fists clenched, his neck bulging with anger. He lunged.
&nbs
p; Dillon hopped out of the way and Demetri fell to his face. A cheer rose from the group.
Demetri pushed to his hands and knees. Shook his head, then lurched to his feet.
“Don’t do it,” said Dillon, his voice calm.
This time Demetri was more cautious, circling him like a drunken prizefighter.
Out of the corner of his eye, Dillon saw JoJo running across the lawn. Now there’d be hell to pay. So much for keeping a low profile.
“Watch out,” cried someone in the group, just as Demetri growled and threw himself at Dillon.
Dillon had no time to dodge. He brought up his forearm to block the attack. It caught Demetri under the chin. Dillon automatically followed it with a back fist to the eye. Demetri staggered back and sat down on the grass, just as JoJo arrived.
“Stop. Both of you. You know the rules about fighting.”
Dillon knew them. Immediate dismissal. He was fucked.
“It’s not Dillon’s fault,” slurred Rusty. He was being held up by two of the men. The front of his T-shirt was covered with blood. It trickled down his lip and chin and dropped on the ground at his feet.
JoJo’s head snapped toward him. He winced. “Good God. Somebody take him inside and get some ice on his face.” He turned back to Dillon. “What the hell’s going on?”
Everyone started talking at once. JoJo threw up his hands. “I’m asking Dillon. I’ll hear from the rest of you later. Go inside. Now.”
Demetri got to his feet. He was looking murderous in spite of the hand cradling his jaw where Dillon had clipped him, and the rapidly reddening area around his eye.
JoJo heaved a disgusted sigh. “It’s strike three for you, Demetri. You might as well start packing.”
Demetri snorted. “You can’t fire me. Only Katherine Dane can. And she won’t.”
“We’ll see about that,” said JoJo. “Now, go get cleaned up for dinner.”
Demetri started toward the door, deliberately knocking into Dillon’s shoulder as he passed by. “You’re dead, asshole.”