by Anne Stuart
He was naked in the bed; he had the sheet pulled up to his waist, but she knew he was wearing nothing underneath. If he would just reach out his hand, pull her onto the bed, cover her mouth with his, then she wouldn’t have to say anything at all.
But he didn’t move. His hair was loose around his elegant, beautiful face, his skin was like molten gold, and she realized she’d never touched him, never put her mouth on him. And she was afraid.
“You have to tell me,” he said, his voice soft and enticing, so deep it reached into her body and pooled between her legs. “I can’t give you what you want if you don’t tell me.”
She could turn and leave. Walk out of the room, away from him, and tomorrow someone would put her on a jet back to the U.S. It was the easy way, the safe way, and he wouldn’t stop her.
“What do you want, Summer?” His eyes were dark, clear, steady in the flickering light.
“I want you.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, in what almost seemed like relief. But he still wasn’t done. “What do you want me to do to you? Do you want me to hold you while you sleep? Do you want me to make you come while you pretend I don’t even exist? Do you want to get in my bed and let me show you things you haven’t even dreamed of?”
“Yes. No…”
“Which is it? Be brave. Just tell me. I’ll do what you want.”
No, he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. He couldn’t love her, give her the kind of crazy happy ever after she didn’t even believe in.
But he could give her the night. An endless night, blind and forbidden. All she had to do was ask.
She held out her hand. It was trembling, and there was no way she could disguise the fact. “Maybe I’m not so brave, after all,” she said in a shaky voice.
“Bravery is being afraid and then doing it anyway.” He took her hand and his warmth flowed into her. “Tell me.”
The bed was big and high. She climbed up onto it, letting the silk kimono settle around her as she knelt. He didn’t move to make room, just watched her, waiting.
Pulling her hand free, she reached down and untied the sash of the robe, letting it fall open. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, and she was vulnerable, totally open to him.
“I want to put my mouth on you,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper. “Everywhere. I want to touch you, learn your body, find out what you like, what you need. I want to make you as crazy with wanting as I am. I want you, everything you can give me, everything I can give you, and I want the night to last forever. Can you give me that?”
“Yes,” he said. He reached up and pushed the robe from her shoulders so that she was naked. “As for what I want, what I need, it’s very simple. It’s you.”
She wanted to cry, but she didn’t. “Then let me learn you,” she said. She put her hands on his chest and found his skin smooth, hot to the touch. She ran her fingers over his body, over his flat, dark nipples, the bone and muscle and sinew of him, and he tilted his head back, closing his eyes, letting her.
He had scars. Some of them barely healed, some of them old and faded. He was deceptively lean—she knew how strong he really was. But she didn’t know what he tasted like.
She leaned down, her long hair brushing his face, and put her mouth against the side of his neck, letting her teeth rest against the fierce pulse that beat there. It was his life vibrating against her mouth, and she wanted more.
The base of his throat was soft, vulnerable, and she ran her tongue across it, then felt the shiver that ran through his body. She moved down, over the elegantly defined muscle, to one dark nipple, and without thinking she drew it in, sucking it.
He made a muffled sound, and the nub hardened against her tongue, but he didn’t touch her. He lay back on the bed, arms at his sides, letting her discover him.
His skin was alive beneath her mouth. He had no hair on his chest, but was sleek, and so exquisitely beautiful she wondered what she was doing in bed with him. Because she was. In bed with him. By her own choice.
Summer nudged the sheet out of the way. A thin line of dark hair dusted his flat belly, arrowing down, and she tasted that, too, letting her tongue play with the silken curls.
His hands were clenched now, she realized with distant satisfaction. He was burning, he was hard, and she pulled the rest of the sheet off him.
He was bigger than she expected, and she felt a moment’s doubt, one she ignored. She already knew the parts fit. Now was her time to experiment.
She touched him, her hand cool on his heated cock, and he seemed to grow harder, bigger beneath her delicate grasp. Such a pretty thing, she thought, wondering what she had ever been afraid of. It was for her, the blood pulsing through the thick shaft, the heat and size and power of him. It was for her, and she took it, her tongue tracing the marbled veins, dancing on his skin, touching, tasting, until she wanted more, and she closed her lips over the head of his cock, drawing it into her mouth.
His entire body arched off the bed, and she could feel the sheet beneath her being torn away in his fists.
She should have taken pity on him, but this was too wonderful, the fierce power of having him a slave to her hungry mouth. She wanted more. She could taste the sweetness against her tongue, and she tried to take more of him into her mouth, needing everything he was willing to give her.
And then he let go of the bed, his hands cradling her head, his fingers threading through her hair, and a spasm of delight hit her, strong enough to startle her.
Before she realized what he was doing he’d pulled her away, flipping her over so that she was on her back, a frenzied protest on her lips, a protest he silenced with his mouth, his tongue where his cock had been, and she took the substitute with heady delight.
He was leaning over her, breathing deeply, his eyes hooded. “You’re a fast learner, but you’re not quite ready for that.”
“Yes, I am,” she said, trying to push him back. “I want to. I want…”
“What do you want, Su-chan?” Now it was his turn to touch her, taste her. Another small climax shook her body when he closed his mouth over her nipple, and with each deep, sucking pull of his lips the fluttering contractions grew stronger.
“I want you,” she said. “I want you inside me. I want to feel you…”
“Say it. You want to feel me come inside you again. That’s what you want, isn’t it? You want my cock?”
“Yes,” she gasped.
He smiled down at her. “Good girl,” he said. “But not yet.”
Her cry of protest was swallowed in a great gasp of breath as he slid down her body, pushed her trembling legs apart and put his mouth against her.
She lifted her hands to try to shove him away, then dropped them onto the torn-up sheet, arching her body, lifting her hips so he could use his wicked, wicked tongue on her, sliding his fingers inside her as she trembled, touching her, teasing her, pushing her deeper into a strange dark place filled with stars.
She knew he moved away, but her body kept convulsing, over and over, an endless wave of climaxes that left her limp, weak and breathless. He wiped his mouth on the sheet and then rolled onto his side, pulling her to face him, lifting one of her legs over his. She could feel the head of his cock against her, just touching her, and she went wild with need.
“Please,” she said.
He pushed into her, and she could feel her body clenching, trying to draw him in deeper, but he was maddeningly distant.
“More?” he asked, his voice low and hypnotic.
“More,” she said. He pushed in just a little more, pulling out again, a gentle, shallow rhythm that was worse than no penetration at all.
“More,” she said breathlessly, clutching his narrow hips, trying to rush him. But he was stronger than she was, and he only gave her a little bit more.
She wanted to scream, to beat at his chest. “More,” she repeated, and he pushed in farther, half of him sheathed inside her.
And out again, almost completely, and she moaned
in despair. “More,” she said. “Please, God, more. More. More.”
With each cry he pushed in farther, until he filled her, thrusting deep, and she was clinging to him, her fingers digging into his arms as she sobbed in relief and need. It felt as if she’d been empty all her life, and now she was filled, complete, and she wanted it to last forever. She needed to get closer still, to sink into his very bones. She could feel the power building, taking over her body, and she tried to fight it, tried to make it last. He suddenly turned her under him, slamming deeper still inside her, deeper than she thought possible, and then everything was gone, just his sweat slick body in her arms, his cock filling her, spilling into her as she shattered, broken, lost.
And found, as she sobbed against his pounding heart, his arms around her, his hands stroking her, his lips against her tear-streaked face, while he whispered to her in the language she trusted, soft, loving, praise-filled words.
She was almost asleep when she said it, every single defense and inhibition stripped from her. She didn’t know what words he was whispering as he held her, but she answered the only way she could.
“I love you,” she said, as she drifted into a deep, sex-drugged sleep. For a moment she thought she felt his body tense, and then everything vanished, and she was asleep.
23
Taka was gone when she finally woke, and Summer was almost glad. She wasn’t quite sure how she could face him after the endless night they’d spent.
She woke, instinctively wary, with the real fear that something was wrong. Had she been stupid enough to tell him she loved him? Had she felt him freeze in sudden rejection?
No, she had to have dreamed it. Because he’d woken her again and again, taking her to dark, unexpected places where nothing was forbidden, until her entire body ached, her flesh shivered and either she’d slept or passed out, she wasn’t sure.
But now she was alone, trying to pull some kind of calm back around her in the bright light of day. There were no defenses left—he’d stripped every one away, and she wouldn’t have called them back even if she could.
But neither could she spend the day in bed, waiting for his return.
He was gone, and the urn was missing as well. She wondered where he’d taken it if he’d be back. Of course, he would. And she’d be there, waiting for him.
Even Reno’s shower was a bit scary, she thought as she stood under the hot streams of water coming at her from the oddest directions. With his fascination for new technology, he’d done away with a bathtub altogether, a real shame, since right then there was nothing Summer needed more than a long, soothing soak. She ached all over. She could tell herself it was from the long plane ride, but knew perfectly well that had very little to do with it, unless she counted the time spent in the bathroom. She was achy and sore in unexpected places, aware of muscles in her hips and thighs she didn’t think she’d ever used, and all she wanted was to luxuriate in hot water for an hour, then start using them again.
Taka would be back, probably with Reno, who’d only get in the way. Despite the endless hours in the darkened bedroom, Taka would likely try to talk her into staying while he went off into the mountains after the Shirosama. But he should know by now that she wasn’t going to listen. She was coming with him; she’d gone through too much just to sit behind and wait for news from the front line.
He was perfectly capable of tying her up and locking her in a closet—all for her own good, he’d say. She wouldn’t mind being locked in, if he was in the closet with her. She stepped out of the shower, glancing at her reflection in the mirror, and for a moment she was shocked by what she saw.
She looked different. Healthy and glowing, despite the trauma of the last few days. She looked like someone who’d found what she’d been missing all her life.
Okay, so she’d been stupid enough to fall in love with someone who used sex as a weapon. Fallen in love with a man who’d saved her life countless times, protected her, infuriated her, lied to her, seduced her and given her the best sex she’d ever had.
She could find someone else who was as good in bed as he was. Or at least good enough. Someone who’d had enough practice. But the fact of the matter was, Taka’s finesse in the sack wasn’t just technique. Yes, he knew what to touch, how hard, how soft, how to use his mouth, his hands, his hips, his entire body to bring her shattering pleasure. But deep in her heart she suspected that any man could master any of the same moves and the experience would leave her cold and frustrated. Emotion had nothing to do with sex as far as he was concerned.
Emotion was everything with Summer. And she was enmeshed with Taka, body, mind and soul—addicted to him—and had no idea how she’d ever break away.
There was no way she could change things. She was part of his assignment. She wasn’t insecure enough to think he didn’t find the same kind of pleasure in her body, but he could probably turn that on and off for anyone. Including the woman he was supposed to marry.
Summer would have to learn to live without him, and soon. And like all addictions, the first step to letting go was admitting the habit.
The next step was to get over it.
She felt very strange dressing in Reno’s clothes. She’d lost weight during the last few days, and he liked his jeans as baggy as he liked his leather tight, so she had no trouble pulling them up around her ample American butt. She laughed at the underwear Taka had unearthed—Reno had a secret weakness for tiger stripes and pastels. She put her fancy bra on, wincing slightly at the tenderness in her breasts and then dismissing it as she pulled a T-shirt over her head. It was lime-green, blindingly bright, and said On The Verge Of Destruction. Not exactly her color, but the saying was apt and she didn’t fancy pawing through his clothes to find something more suitable.
She even found a pair of orange sneakers—too big on her, of course, but with a couple of pairs of socks and tying the laces tightly, they’d do. She wasn’t going to be heading into the mountains in those high heels, no matter how effective a weapon they could be.
Of course, Taka didn’t think she’d be heading into the mountains at all. He was about to find out otherwise.
She headed into the kitchen, made herself a bowl of instant miso soup and dished up some rice from the rice cooker. The meal probably wasn’t big on nutrition, but at least it was filling.
In a drawer, she found a paring knife. A nasty little thing more suited for street fighting than kitchen work, but it would do very nicely if Taka made the mistake of trying to abandon her. It would cut through rope or duct tape quite handily.
She heard the door open as she was washing the dishes, but she didn’t turn. Reno no longer scared her—he was trying too hard. And if it was Taka, he’d come up behind her, press his body against hers, and she could lean back, sinking into the heat and strength of him, letting go…
It happened so fast she didn’t have time to react. Something was pressed over her mouth and nose, and she breathed in the stink of it before she could react or lash out. The knife, she thought dizzily. She needed to get to the knife.
She felt herself falling, and something was placed over her head, closing out the light, closing out everything, and her last thought was, Wasn’t this how the whole damn thing started?
“What are you going to do about her?” his cousin asked. “Not that it’s any of my business, but your grandfather will want to know.”
“Send her back to America as soon as this is over,” Taka said grimly, putting Hitoshi Komoru’s credit card down on the pile of outdoor clothing he was buying.
“And you’ll be going with her?”
“No. She’ll go back to her own life. I’ll go on to my next assignment.”
“With the Committee? You still think you can save the world, cousin?”
“It’s worth trying,” Taka replied.
“I’m not convinced of that.”
“You’re young,” Taka said. He was in a foul mood. Considering he’d spent the night fucking his brains out, he ought be feeli
ng a little more even tempered, but right now he wanted to hit something, anything. In a pinch, Reno would do.
“Five years younger than you, you old fart. That just makes you stuffier, not smarter.”
Taka stared at Reno haughtily. “And you’re so happy working for your grandfather? Overseeing gambling parlors and the sex trade?”
Reno shrugged. “What are you suggesting—that I join your shadow organization and try to save the world, as well? Not exactly my style. Don’t you have enough heroes?”
“There’s a lot of turnover. It’s a little too easy to get killed in my line of work.”
Reno grinned. “You tempt me, cousin. Almost. But as long as you’re around I’ll just concentrate on sex and gambling. Better to stick to the simpler pleasures in life. Besides, Grandfather wouldn’t be happy if you lured me away.”
“He’d let you go. I asked him.”
Reno pushed his sunglasses up, fixing his cousin with a sharp stare. “You can mind your own fucking business,” he said in a low, dangerous voice. “You’re the one who’s busy screwing up his world by screwing the gaijin.”
“You’re forgetting, I’m half-gaijin myself.”
“I try to overlook that particular failing.”
“And you’re—”
“Don’t even say it,” Reno warned.
Takashi had said enough. The cashier handed him the tray with his credit card and receipt, and he took it, shoving it in his back pocket before turning back to the bristling Reno. “Just think about it,” he said. Madame Lambert would make mincemeat of his little cousin—something he’d pay good money to see. And with Reno complicating his life, he’d have less time to think about mistakes living in L.A.
Reno responded with an epithet vulgar enough to make the cashier blush, and Taka punched him in the arm. “Behave yourself, cousin.”
Reno just snorted, stalking out of the store into the wintry morning air. “I noticed you didn’t get any clothes for your girlfriend.”
“She’s not coming with me.”