by Eden Bradley
He stood against the fireplace mantel, a casual pose except for the betraying set of his shoulders. And he had a drink in his hand now. But she felt too smugly sated to be concerned about the tension held in his stance.
“How are you?” he asked. “Are you warm enough?”
“Yes, I’m fine. Wonderful.”
“Do you have any questions about what happened?”
“I’m sure I will later. But not now. I feel too good.”
“You do look like a cat with a bowl of cream.” He smiled then, and the tension, whatever had been bothering him, seemed to wash away. His smile was as devastating as ever.
“I do have one question. Are you always so distant with your partners after you play with them?”
His dark brows furrowed for a moment, then he was at her side, sinking down onto the cushions beside her.
“Forgive me. I should be more attentive. Are you alright?”
“Yes, I’m fine. Really. I just…”
She shook her head helplessly. She didn’t know how to explain it, this need to have him close to her. Was this simply an effect of what had happened to her? Or was it something else?
She would have to think about it later.
“I should have told you about this. Sometimes the bottom can crash. It’s an emotional reaction to what your body has been through. A release of sorts.”
“Ah, that explains it, then.”
Did it?
He stroked her hair from her face, tucked it behind her ear. Such a tender gesture from him, the man of steel. Perhaps he wasn’t so cool and steely on the inside after all?
But no, he was just being nice to her, doing his job. He was excellent at his job.
“I’m going to take you back to your hotel now. You need to rest, to think about everything that’s happened here today.”
“Okay.”
Why the hell was her throat tightening at the thought of his leaving her alone in her hotel room?
He helped her to her feet, showed her through the house, back into the garage, into the car.
He started the engine, pressed the magic button, and backed out of the garage. They rolled through the iron gates, onto the street. She was surprised to see the sky darkening already. How long had she been in his house? She’d lost all sense of time.
Fog was rolling in as he drove through the streets of the city. It was dark enough now that the colorful lights of neon signs stood out as they passed. She watched idly as storefronts, bars, apartment buildings slipped by outside the window. It all seemed a little less than real. And too cold out there, too unfriendly.
She turned to watch Damien’s profile instead. He was so intent on his driving. But there was a vague softness about his mouth that hadn’t been there before.
“Damien? Are we supposed to talk about this?”
“Yes, of course.” He downshifted as the car climbed a hill. “We’ll talk later. When you’ve had some time to normalize.”
Why wouldn’t he look at her? And why did that make her chest knot up? She wasn’t the type to become emotionally involved. It must be that reaction he’d told her about. Because this loose-limbed woman on the verge of tears was not her.
She wasn’t sure right now that she would ever be her old self again.
They reached the front of the sleek and thoroughly modern W Hotel on Third Street, and the doorman opened her door. Damien got out of the car, handed the man a tip, and told him he’d be only a few minutes. Then he was by her side, his arm slipping around her waist. He felt good. Strong.
“I’m going to see you up to your room. Do you have your key?”
She dug through her purse, handed him the plastic card.
“What room?”
“Fourteen twenty.”
They crossed the slick expanse of black-tiled floor in the lobby, passed the curved check-in counter with its enormous bowls of green apples, and went to the bank of elevators. He kept his hand at her waist. She couldn’t help but think of where else those hands had been today.
They rode up in the elevator quietly. But she didn’t need to talk about anything right now. She was busy enough with the images of the day flashing through her head. Happy enough with his arm around her.
The elevator doors opened and he walked her out, found her room number, opened the door with the key. His hand still on the small of her back, he ushered her into the sparsely elegant room.
She assumed he’d leave right away, but he stood there, his arm still curved around her back. With his other hand he tilted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. His hazel eyes were burning.
“You sure you’re alright?”
“Yes. Are you?”
He didn’t answer her, just stared into her eyes with that intense gaze of his. He still radiated power in the same way he had when she’d first laid eyes on him. But there was more there now. Her body was heating up again, needing him. But he was going to leave her there.
“Magdalena…”
“What is it?”
He gave a small shake of his head, then moved in and kissed her, crushing her lips against his. Bruising, almost, but she wanted it, needed it.
He tasted faintly of the Scotch he’d had to drink. A little sweet, a little sharp. Masculine. He tasted even better when he opened her lips with his tongue, slipping right in, tasting, teasing. She moaned into his mouth, her body lighting up with need.
Just as quickly it was over and he was pulling away from her. His eyes were blazing with a dark golden fire.
“I have to go. You should eat something, maybe have a bath. I’ll check on you later.”
He moved toward the door, opened it, and slipped out so quickly she had to ask herself if she’d imagined that kiss. But the taste of him still sat heavy on her tongue. The heat of him was still on her skin.
She moved to the mirror over the dresser. Her reflection peered back at her. Her lips were full and looked a little swollen. Her eyes were huge, the pupils enormous. Her skin was pale, yet her cheeks were flushed a deep pink.
She looked different, felt different. She wasn’t sure what she thought about it yet. Yes, she needed some time to come back to earth, to dissect what had happened to her, figure out what it all meant.
The one thing she knew was that Damien Knight had touched a place in her no one else had ever reached before. In one afternoon, he had opened up a part of her she had kept tightly closed for years, had made her really let go. He’d made her feel the purest pleasure she had ever known, just as he had promised. What else would he do to her? Too deliciously frightening to think about.
But she wouldn’t stop thinking about him. Oh, no, he had burned an indelible place in her mind already. And like a smitten schoolgirl, she found herself wondering if he felt the same way.
Silly of her, very much unlike her. But for tonight, she would indulge herself.
What was the calm and cool Damien Knight thinking? Because he certainly hadn’t been calm and cool when he’d left her hotel room. Was it possible she had managed to shake up the one man who was, finally, stronger than she was?
CHAPTER SIX
DAMIEN SPED THROUGH THE CITY STREETS. WHAT the hell was wrong with him? His heart was hammering in his chest as though he’d just avoided a car wreck.
He’d certainly avoided what could have been a tragic mistake if he hadn’t left her hotel room when he did.
Maggie. Magdalena.
He loved that she didn’t like it when he called her by her full name. Even now it made him smile. God, he really was a sadist. But right now he was the one being tortured. By images of her long, sleek body, her polished skin, those enormous gray eyes that looked as though they were carved out of crystal. The woman was so incredibly responsive. The way she came into his hand, over and over…
His groin tightened, his thickened cock pressing against the fabric of his slacks.
She would be easy, physically. It was her mind he’d have to work with. She’d given in a bit too effortlessly today
. By tomorrow her mind would be full of questions. Doubt. He would deal with it then.
Meanwhile, he had to put her out of his mind, somehow. He hadn’t been so obsessed with a woman in a very long time. Not since his early days with Julia.
Stupid of him, to even think about Julia now. It wasn’t as if he were going to marry Maggie. No, he’d never make that mistake again.
Why the hell was he even thinking about such a thing?
Maybe because she made his heart beat and his palms sweat as though he were twenty-one again, as he had been when he’d met his ex-wife. What a disaster that had turned out to be, and all of it his fault.
He revved the engine at a red light, tapped on the steering wheel with impatient fingers. He wanted to get home, have a drink. He wanted to drink too much, really. Take a shower so he could get the smell of her off his skin before it drove him completely insane.
He was being ridiculous. He wasn’t twenty-one again. A man of his age, his experience, shouldn’t feel like this, like he would come apart if he didn’t see her again. Ridiculous.
But as absurd at it was, he knew when he got home he’d find some excuse to call her the moment he walked in the door.
Maggie closed her eyes and leaned her head onto the rolled-up towel behind her. A glass of Cabernet was perched on the marble edge of the bathtub. She took a deep breath, the quiet scent of her favorite vanilla and amber bubble bath filling her lungs.
Her body was pleasantly sore all over, a sensation she reveled in, as silly as it seemed. What had that man done to her head? She was thinking, feeling things, which were entirely new to her.
Had she really submitted to Damien Knight today? Had she allowed him to bend her over, to slip her panties off, to make her come for him while she stood there, helpless?
But she hadn’t really been helpless, had she? She had done those things willingly. Hell, eagerly! And she wanted to do them again. For him.
She slid a soapy hand down her body, over her breasts, her nipples going hard instantly. Lord, he was more beautiful than any man had a right to be…
The phone on the wall above the bath rang, startling her.
Damien.
She picked up the receiver. “Hello?”
“There you are, darling. I’m checking up on you.”
“Jet, hi.”
“So, how was it? Tell me everything.”
“Um…it was interesting. No, more than that. It was wonderful. Exhilarating.”
“Did he hurt you?”
“Only a little.”
“And did you like it?”
She was quiet a moment. Could she admit it out loud? But this was her best friend.
“Yes.”
“That’s it? Just ‘yes’? No details?”
“I don’t know what to say about it just yet. I’m still a little…floaty.”
“I can’t quite believe you did this, Maggie. Not even you, the infamous Citi sex columnist. I don’t mean that as an insult, darling, but you’re pretty much a control freak.”
“It’s okay. I know it. How can I not be?”
“Honey, the rest of the world is not your mother.”
“I know. But she was so totally out of control. I feel safer if I know I’m in charge of my world.”
“Maybe that’s what this is all about for you. Letting it go for once.”
“That’s what Damien says.”
“Oh, lord, you’re not going to turn into one of those women who go around constantly quoting their boyfriends, are you?”
“Hardly. This is me you’re talking to, Jet. Oh, hold on, the other line is beeping. In fact, let me call you back. It must be him.”
“Whatever you say, darling.”
She hit the flash button and switched lines, her pulse racing.
“Hello.”
“Magdalena.”
“Yes.” A speedy flutter of her heart at the sound of his voice.
“I hope I’m not disturbing you. Are you resting?”
“I’m in the bath.”
“Right now?”
“Yes.”
There was a long silence. Then, “We need to make a time to meet tomorrow. I can pick you up at noon. We’ll have lunch, talk.”
“And then?” Was that her own voice, so breathless?
“And then, if you are still agreeable, we will come back to my house and explore some new territory.”
“Oh.” Her mouth was suddenly too dry to speak. And she was acutely aware of her naked flesh beneath the warm, scented water.
“Tonight I want you to rest, to eat a light meal. Sleep in tomorrow if you can. You’ll need your strength.”
That sounded more like a promise than a threat to her. And her body was responding once more to the command in his voice, her sex filling with need, her breasts aching. She didn’t know what to say.
“Are you there, Magdalena? Are you listening?”
“Yes. I’m here.” She smoothed her fingers over her breast, gave her nipple a small pinch.
Yes.
“I’ll see you at noon. Meet me in the lobby.”
“I’ll be there.” She would do whatever he wanted her to do, frankly.
There was a soft click, then a dial tone. She hung the phone up, sank further under the scented water. She slid her hands over her body: her breasts, her stomach, down between her thighs. Her sex clenched. She moved in, using her fingers to tease at the swollen, pouty lips. Her hips surged, her thighs tensed. God, just the sound of his voice had done this to her! But she needed this, needed some release. Yes, just a fast orgasm, to take the edge off.
She moved the fingers of one hand, slipped two inside her, let out a soft moan. With the other hand, she used her fingers to roll her clit, to tug on it, to pinch. Her breath came in short pants and her whole body was sizzling with need. Her hips tilted, and she drove her fingers deeper inside, angled to hit her g-spot.
She pictured his face, his large, strong hands. He had the long and dexterous fingers of a surgeon, a musician. But no, he used them for more decadent tasks. He’d used them on her.
Yes!
She rubbed her clit and moved her fingers a little faster, imagined it was his hands on her again, and came, hard. His face was in her mind as her body convulsed in pleasure. As her sex clenched around her plunging fingers.
Yes!
When it was over, she was left shaking and weak. Weak with desire for him.
Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.
Five minutes to twelve found her in the lobby of the W Hotel. She wore a simple black pencil skirt, a body-hugging black V-neck sweater, and tall black boots that hugged her calves in a simple silhouette. She often wore black in New York. Why did it seem to mean something else today?
She paced the gleaming black and white floor, checking the front door every few minutes. Then, not wanting to appear overanxious, she settled into one of the black, leather chairs.
She was trying very hard not to examine the thoughts whirling through her mind, trying not to think too much until she saw him, had a chance to talk this out with him, because the confusion she was feeling this morning was very disturbing, her thoughts convoluted. She didn’t know what was normal under these circumstances, wasn’t sure what she was supposed to be feeling.
“Ah, there you are.”
“Damien, hi.” Her pulse throbbed and she went hot all over the moment she saw him, heard his voice.
“No smile this morning. It seems we have things to talk about. Come.”
He held out a hand to help her from her chair, those old-world manners again. Despite herself, she melted a little at his touch.
“There’s an excellent place to eat right here in the hotel. It’s called XYZ. Have you tried it yet?”
“No. This is the first time I’ve been in San Francisco in years.”
“Really?” He placed a hand at her waist as he had the night before and steered her toward the restaurant. “Why is that? I imagine a journalist would have plenty of oppo
rtunity to come here. From one cosmopolitan city to another. Particularly in your area of…expertise. San Francisco is a city known for its sexual debauchery. A true city of sin.”
“I suppose. I…I’ve avoided coming here, if you want to know the truth.”
God, why had she admitted that to him?
“Let’s get a table and then you can tell me why.”
They moved toward the doorway of the restaurant. Inside, they were seated immediately at one of the black leather booths. The curtains around the booth, the low curved ceiling, gave a sense of privacy. The place had that hushed air about it very elegant restaurants often had. The diffused light coming through the fogged-glass windows added to the ambience. The waitstaff moved in graceful silence over the glossy wood floors, serving small works of art to the patrons.
A waiter came to their table and handed them suedebound menus. Damien ordered San Pellegrino for them both, waved the waiter off, and settled into the soft booth in his usual casual pose.
“Now tell me, why have you stayed away from San Francisco?”
“You get right to the point, don’t you?”
“Yes. Tell me.”
“This city holds…bad memories for me.”
“A man? What did he do to you?”
“Why would you assume it was a man who drove me from here?”
“Because it usually is.”
“True.”
Their drinks arrived. The waiter placed their glasses and the remaining bottle on the table and asked for their order.
Damien spoke before she’d had a chance to make a decision. “I’ll have the asparagus salad with quail egg and prosciutto. The same for my companion.”
He raised a brow at her; she nodded her head. The waiter scurried off. Once more she had noted how the waiter deferred to Damien in a way which was slightly more subservient than was usual.
“Are you going to wait until our food has arrived before you tell me this story?”
“Are you going to give up if I make you wait longer than that?”
He sat back, took a sip of his sparkling water. A small smile quirked the corner of his mouth. “Of course not.”