by Lucy Monroe
She had to give him credit. Rand didn't even crack a smile at her aunt's old-fashioned terminology. He simply inclined his head, his expression grave. "No, ma'am. She's special."
Phoebe's heart contracted at the words, but she didn't read too much into them. Rand was trying to smooth the way with her aunt for her, and she appreciated it. He could have just blabbed out their deal and shocked Aunt Emmaline into heart failure.
He walked her to the hotel foyer.
"Aunt Emmaline took that better than I expected."
"We've been friends for years. I don't think the deepening of that friendship comes as a total shock."
It certainly wouldn't for her aunt, who knew Phoebe's feelings for Rand.
She nodded and turned to leave, but he stayed her with a hand on her wrist. "It's just sex. You know that? I'm not taking you to bed just to get the deed to the island. I want you, but it's physical. I don't have anything left to give when it comes to love and happily ever after. Got it?"
Just knowing it wasn't all part of a business deal was a huge relief. She hadn't expected him to admit undying love. "I've got it."
He leaned over and kissed her. "Good. I'll see you in a while."
"Yes."
His lips claimed hers again, hard and brief. "Until then."
Her hand came up to cover her mouth, as if she could hold the kiss to her lips with the press of her fingers. What did a woman pack for a week with Rand Alexander?
Chapter Five
Rand waited outside the hotel with all the impatience of a horny teen. He wanted sex with Phoebe until he was aching with it. He'd spent the last couple of years sublimating his desire for her. Now that he'd allowed it to surface completely, it had become a force of hurricane proportions. He couldn't believe he'd agreed to a one-week affair. Could seven days and nights be enough to sate the hunger she generated in him?
He doubted it, but the risk of letting the relationship go longer than that was too great to even contemplate.
Not making love with her was no longer an option he could live with. He wanted her too much, and he'd be dead and in the ground before he let his half brother have another chance at hurting Phoebe.
Which said what for the emotional detachment so necessary to his own peace of mind?
Rand was glaring and looked about as approachable as a grizzly bear woken from his nap when Phoebe pulled his Jaguar next to the curb in front of the hotel. She clicked the unlock button and was mildly surprised when he slid into the passenger seat without protest.
"Have you got everything?"
"Yes." She'd even stopped at the twenty-four-hour drugstore and bought a box of condoms. It was a big box, and remembering how he had felt against her earlier, she'd also bought the larger size.
"Then let's go."
He sounded more like they were headed to another committee meeting than back to his apartment to make love for the first time. Maybe it was that unmomentous to him.
It wasn't to her, and she grimaced as she ground the gears, pulling away from the curb. Maybe she should have asked him to drive. Her palms were sticky, and her heart was beating so fast, she was feeling a little dizzy.
But he didn't say anything about the ground gears, and she made it to his apartment building without further incident.
When she parked, he got out, came around and opened her door before opening the trunk and pulling out her luggage. He carried it all to the elevator, and she followed, finding it impossible to break the deafening silence that had fallen between them.
By the time they reached his apartment, she was more nervous than she'd ever been in her life.
He went straight back to his bedroom, and she followed, feeling more like she was walking to her doom than approaching her first experience with true and fulfilling passion.
The midnight blue and cream of the room was softened slightly by the recessed lighting, but she still felt the powerful impact of the masculinity of the furnishings. The dark wood and stark colors made her feel as though she'd entered an alien world.
Rand dropped her cases on a padded bench at the foot of his oversized king bed and turned to face her. "You changed your clothes." He made it sound like an accusation.
"It's more comfortable." She'd taken off her formal gown and put on a long denim skirt and lightweight tan sweater set.
"Did you change what's underneath?"
The way he was looking at her made her feel as if he could already see for himself. It certainly felt like his eyes were burning through her clothes. "No."
"Let me see."
"You want me to take my clothes off?" she squeaked.
"Yes."
"Right now?"
"It would make what we're going to do a lot easier," he said dryly. Unemotionally.
And she just couldn't do it. "No."
His brows rose at that. "You want me to have sex with you with your clothes on? I didn't expect a virgin to have any fetishes."
This was not going to work. She wanted him, but his mockery and lack of any discernable emotion made it clear that making love to her meant nothing to him. She could accept that it was just sex, but not that it was negligible sex. "You're doing it on purpose, aren't you?" she demanded, the tether on her emotions frayed and breaking. "You don't want to make love anymore, and you're making fun of me so I'll leave. Well, it worked. I don't want you touching me."
And she didn't, not when it meant humiliating herself in the process. She'd had enough of that tonight to last a lifetime.
She was halfway out the bedroom door when two strong hands grabbed her from behind and spun her to face him. "I'm not making fun of you, Phoebe." He touched her face, his expression without humor and almost scary. "I want you too much to be charm personified right now. I'm dying for another glimpse of you in your sexy lingerie, and maybe it's made me a little crazy."
"It has?"
"Yeah."
Crazy she understood because she'd been acting insane since he caught her spouting off to her aunt earlier that evening.
"I brought a nightgown," she blurted out.
The corner of his lips tilted. "You won't need it."
"But I…" She'd thought if she could change in the bathroom or something, she could make the transition to bed without giving in to her nerves and running for the hills.
His finger pressed against her lips. "Shh. It's going to be all right."
Then he kissed her, and it wasn't like the kisses before. As much as he said he wanted her, his lips were gentle and coaxing, drawing forth her inexperienced passion when she thought those feelings had been frozen by his seeming indifference.
He tasted her, almost tenderly running his tongue over her lips, sensitizing them.
Her eyes slid shut, and she parted her mouth, sneaking a taste of him with the tip of her own tongue. His big body shuddered, and he swept her into his arms.
She expected to be laid on his bed, was in fact looking forward to it, but he stood her on her feet again.
She looked down and saw that he'd placed her on a footstool. Her gaze flew up to his, but he wasn't looking at her face. His attention was fixed on her breasts where hard nipples were outlined by the thin fabric of her sweater set.
He brushed them with the backs of his hands, and they tightened to a point between pain and pleasure.
"You're sensitive there."
"Y-yes…"
"I like that." His voice caressed nerve endings not exposed to his touch. "And I like touching you."
She cried out as he caught her nipples between two fingers and squeezed.
"I want to taste you, too. You are going to love having my mouth on you." His smile was all predatory male. "But first we've got to get your clothes off."
At least this time it was we, not take your clothes off.
He reached around her, and she felt the button and zipper on her skirt give. He tugged at it, and the denim slid down her thighs, exposing her stockings and the bottom half of her corselette. She gasped as it fell t
o the floor, making a pool of fabric around the feet of the small footstool.
Then his hands went to the hem of her top, and she grabbed his wrists.
He looked at her then, his eyes hotter than molten metal. "Let me."
"You're still dressed."
"You aren't ready to see me naked yet."
It sounded like a threat, and she swallowed. "Are you very big?"
"We'll fit, that's all that matters."
"How can you be so sure?"
"You're going to have to trust me on this."
She nodded, but trepidation was sliding down her spine like a wet icicle on a glacier. She shivered.
"Kiss me, Phoebe."
"You want me to kiss you?"
He leaned down until his lips were almost touching hers. "Yes." Warm air from his mouth brushed over hers.
Suddenly kissing him seemed like the only thing she wanted from life, and she pressed her mouth to his. She felt the contact all the way to the core of her. She let go of his wrists to tunnel her fingers into his hair. She latched on to the glossy black strands and moved her mouth over his with more enthusiasm than expertise.
He didn't seem to mind her lack of technique. His lips parted, and his tongue teased her. She let him into her mouth, and he drew her into a mating dance with their tongues that had her losing all sense of reality.
He pulled his mouth away, and she whimpered. He unhooked her hands from his hair in order to pull off her sweater. Then he stepped back and just looked at her. She was standing only about six inches above the floor, but she felt more as though she was on a six-foot-tall pedestal. As if she'd been put on display for his express pleasure, which in fact, she had. Rather than being bothered by that, she found it extremely arousing to think that just looking at her gave him pleasure.
His expression mesmerized her into immobility, and she allowed him to look his fill.
She didn't even try to cover her breasts when he reached out and slid the cups of her corselette down to expose them completely. He'd had her like this before, and there was something about the way he looked at her that made her feel both proud and excited.
His fingertip teased her right nipple, the sensation a thousand times more impacting without the layers of her clothes between them.
She groaned.
"Do you like that, baby?"
"Yes."
His left hand joined his right, and both her nipples were subjected to the same sensual torture. She felt wetness and heat between her legs. She pressed her thighs together, but the relief was very short lived. Within seconds, it just seemed to make it worse.
"Rand."
"What's the matter?" His voice wasn't his usual smooth drawl, but had a guttural quality that said he was affected, too.
"I need…" She didn't know how to say what she needed.
"What do you need? Tell me."
She had never indulged in sex talk before and wasn't sure she was ready for her first try at it. "I can't."
"You can." His fingers stopped moving, and she wanted to scream with frustration.
"You said you wanted to taste them!"
"Do you want me to?"
"Yes."
His mouth lowered until his lips were barely touching the turgid peaks.
"Please, Rand."
His tongue flicked out and licked her like an ice-cream cone.
A long, low moan snaked out of her throat.
He did it again, treating her oversensitized flesh like the cherry on top of a sundae. He even nipped it, making her scream and arch toward the heat of his mouth. He sucked her into scorching wetness, making an animalistic sound of satisfaction.
It was too much, but she would die if he stopped. She wanted more, needed more and said so in a voice that echoed off the ceiling.
He released her nipple with an audible pop and nipped it once more before raising his head to kiss her again, this time with a carnality that could not be mistaken for anything but a prelude to her complete and total surrender.
His left hand was still playing with her now aching nipple, but his right hand slid down her back until his fingertip was pressing between her tightly clenched buttocks. He pressed inward, caressing her in a shockingly intimate way. His finger moved inexorably toward the heart of her. Making no allowance for the tight clasp of her flesh, it forged a secret path.
Down it went, until the outer lips of her feminine center were parted and his fingertip had slipped just inside her, giving her her very first taste of a man's possession. He pushed her forward, into him, until the front of her mound nestled intimately against his rock-hard sex while he continued his exploration from the back with that insidious finger.
Rand wanted to strip off his clothes, tear Phoebe's sexy lace panties from her body and bury himself inside her so deep, she'd think he was a part of her. She was soaking wet, and the hot flesh surrounding his finger was as slick and swollen as any man could want before getting inside his woman.
And, damn, did he want to do that.
He penetrated her with his finger a little deeper, sinking into the clasping flesh of her sex up to his first knuckle. She tried to arch forward, away from his finger, while a small sound of distress went from her mouth to his.
He rubbed his cock against her mound, reveling in the way her entire body went stiff at the contact. But far from straining away, she pushed herself more firmly against him. Her mouth tore away from his, and she panted, her entire upper body flushed with desire. She was so sexy, more sensual than any woman he'd ever bedded, and he hadn't done half of what he planned to do to her.
His finger pressed more firmly into her until he hit a barrier he knew had to be crossed that night before she could truly become his.
Temporarily.
He couldn't forget that. This was a one-week gig. No white roses. No forever promises. Just sex. Sex that was likely to take the top of his head off, but it wasn't love. It couldn't be. He didn't have that left to give anymore.
Her head came up. "It hurts, Rand."
"I'm sorry." He stopped moving his finger, but he knew to take her where he was going to take her tonight, he would have to hurt her a little.
She squirmed against him. "It's not that bad."
"I don't want it to hurt at all, baby, but I don't know any other way."
Her eyes misted over with tears, and she smiled. "I like it when you call me baby."
"I'm glad." He rubbed himself against her, and she began to shiver uncontrollably. She was close. He knew she was close, and he was going to tip her right over.
He moved his finger in and out, tortured by the feel of her wet, velvety skin clasping him so tight.
He slowly withdrew his finger, and she moaned.
"It's okay. Trust me. I want to make you feel good."
"That did feel good."
"This will feel better." He pressed his thumb inside her swollen, humid flesh and slid his index finger forward until he brushed her small, inflamed clitoris.
Her shivering intensified. A few more strokes and she cried out, her body arching in one long spasm of pleasure. Her inner flesh contracted around his thumb, and it was all he could do not to complete the possession of her body with his throbbing sex buried deep inside her. All at once, she collapsed against him. He held her, caressing her through the aftershocks, but careful not to send her over the edge again.
He wanted to be inside her the next time, and his cock was straining for release. When he knew she'd come down enough to stand on her own, he pulled away from her, not letting her step off the stool.
She stared at him, her eyes unfocused, her beautiful lips swollen from his kisses.
"Stay there." He wanted to look at her while he took his clothes off.
Her brows came together. "Why?"
He almost laughed at the naive question, but he hurt too much to laugh. "I want to see you."
She was still wearing her shoes, a pretty tame pair of pumps, but very sexy with the stockings, corselette and lace panties
. Her gorgeous little breasts were still fully exposed above the satin he'd pushed down, the cups making a shelf that lifted the creamy white skin in a very tantalizing way.
She opened her mouth to say something, maybe to argue, but he took off his jacket and then his shirt in short order. She stood there, her lips slightly parted, her attention completely focused on his body as he removed his clothes.
When he peeled away the silk boxers, she gasped and shook her head. "It's not going to work. That's a lot bigger than your finger."
This time he did laugh, a short, pain-filled chuckle. "You're just going to have to trust my experience on this one."
Her head averted, her gaze shifting away from him. "You've been with a lot of women. I must seem pretty gauche in comparison."
Was she crazy? "You're so damn sexy, I'm one stroke away from premature ejaculation."
Her arms wrapped around her middle. "You don't have to say that."
He rolled his eyes. Women! They had the strangest ideas, and he just did not have the tact to deal nicely with her bout of insecurity right now. He wanted her too much. "Get on the bed."
That brought her eyes back into contact with his.
He didn't wait for her shock to subside so she could do as he'd said, but stepped forward and swung her up in his arms. "I want you, and I can't wait anymore."
She buried her face in his neck and pressed a small kiss there. "Okay," she whispered.
He could hear the fear in her voice, but the anticipation, too.
He would show her she had nothing to fear from him and everything to look forward to.
Chapter Six
Phoebe clung to Rand as he went to lay her on the bed, the feel of his naked skin against hers the most amazing sensation she'd ever had in her life.
Maybe her lack of practical application in this area was to blame, but every sensory receptor in her body seemed to be on overload from the experience. Full body contact was so intimate, just the thought of him fitting inside her was enough to make her shudder.
It would be supremely intimate.
She couldn't help worrying it would be slightly uncomfortable as well. She'd felt really full with just his finger. Maybe she was too tight, and her body wasn't as resilient and stretchable as it would have been if she weren't a virgin. He'd told her to trust him, and she was trying, but it was hard.