A Crazy Kind of Love (15 page)

Her skin shone like fine porcelain in the glow of the moon—except for the smattering of tiny scars stretching across her belly like a gossamer spiderweb.

Her breath shuddered from her lungs and she smiled lazily, satisfaction glittering in her eyes as she watched him.

Lucas reached out and gently ran his fingertips across the fine, fragile-looking scars. Hunger reared back as an unexpected sense of tenderness caught him by the throat and squeezed.

“Hey,” she said quietly, “I know they’re ugly, but fascinating?”

“Not ugly,” he said, meeting her gaze. “What happened?”

Mike sucked in air, then stretched languidly, despite the sudden pounding in her head. Briefly, she wished they could have avoided this, but only a blind man could miss the tangle of fading, silvery scars that stretched across her skin. Reaching down, she caught his hand in hers and spread his palm flat against her belly.

“Don’t look so serious,” she said, regretting again that she had to have this talk. Anytime she got close with a man, she was forced to relive a memory she preferred to keep buried. Normally, she gave a guy a song and dance story that wouldn’t have the power to touch her. Because anything else would just bring back a night she’d rather forget.

God knows she hated reliving the past, hated remembering that a stupid decision made by a foolish teenage girl had so affected her future. Most times, she was able to put it out of her mind, tell herself it didn’t matter.

But it did, of course it did.

Hell, it was the reason she avoided landing herself in a serious relationship. It was the reason she kept away from anything that went deeper than lust and dated only guys who were looking for the “right now” instead of “forever.” The reason she couldn’t have the complete Fairy Tale. The reason that a marriage and kids would never be a part of her life.

Lucas was still watching her, waiting. And for some reason she really didn’t want to explore at the moment, she heard herself tell him the truth. If an abbreviated version.

“It happened a long time ago. A car I was riding in crashed. I got hurt.”

He pulled his hand free of hers and once again lightly traced the pattern of scars with the tips of his fingers. “Pretty bad, was it?”

Oh God, yes, she almost said, but pushed that response away in favor of a smile. She wasn’t here to share her feelings and learn and grow. And she was
pretty sure Lucas wasn’t interested in hearing the sad story of her misspent youth.

So instead, she said, “Yeah, it was. And the scars will always be there—hence the whole piercing-my-belly-button. I know it’s like planting roses in the middle of a parking lot—but hey. Who doesn’t love gold and diamonds?”

“The scars aren’t ugly, Mike,” he said, his voice a low rumble of compassion. Tenderness. She felt the sting of unwanted tears behind her eyes and determinedly kept them at bay with sheer force of will.

“Right. But they play hell with a tan, let me tell you.”

He wasn’t listening.

He bent his head and slowly, carefully, gingerly, kissed her scars, tracing the frail outlines with his tongue until she felt herself melting into the mattress.

Oh God, no one had ever done that.

Most guys, once they’d remarked on the scars, would ignore them or try not to look at them. Mike knew all too well just how ugly they were. And it was always a difficult moment when a man first saw them.

Wouldn’t you know Lucas would be different about this, too?

He kissed her again and she felt his breath against those scars that had been a part of her for so many years. And an aching sweetness built up within her.

No one had ever touched her so deeply with such a feather-light caress.

“You don’t have to—”

“What?” he murmured. “I don’t have to admire your badge of courage?”

“Stupidity, more like,” she said and looked wildly around the room. She hadn’t counted on this. Hadn’t counted on him being so . . .
nice
.

He lifted his head to look at her. “You survived. Isn’t that what counts?”

“I guess,” she said, tearing her gaze from his. There were too many emotions in his dark eyes. Too many things she didn’t want to face. Didn’t want to think about, much less talk about. “But look,” she said and winced at the overly cheerful note in her voice. “There’s an upside to carrying those scars.”

He leaned on one elbow and propped his head on his hand. “What’s that?”

She blew out a breath and once again shifted her gaze to the ceiling, away from his. Her fingers plucked at the lacy spread beneath her and a part of her brain thought that maybe, hey, they should pull the duvet back before they ruined it, but then she was just stalling. She caught her runaway train of a brain, took a deep breath, and said, “Um, I don’t know if you’re carrying condoms on you . . .”

He slapped his naked hip and felt around as if looking for pockets. Then he grinned. “Not on me, but—”

She laughed. “Right. Right. Well, the thing is, I’ve never really said this to anyone before, but—” She shifted her gaze to his and stared at him. “If you can swear to me that you’re healthy, then we don’t have to worry about condoms.”

“What?”

“Weird conversation, I know, and usually, I’m like the poster girl for condoms and safe sex and, hey, get away from me with that thing if it’s not wearing a
hat—” She took another breath and held up one hand when he started to speak. “Sorry. Babbling. I do that. Anyway, the deal is, with
you
, tonight, I’d like to try it without the condom—I’d like to feel you inside me and—”

“Whoa,” he said, shaking his head.

“See.” She lifted her voice to interrupt and shout him down all at once. “That upside I mentioned?”

“Yeah?”

Upside
.

Pain stabbed at her and Mike winced slightly at the familiarity of it. She had to treat this as an upside. Otherwise, she’d drive herself insane with regrets and misery.

Forcing a smile she didn’t quite feel, she said softly, “I can’t have kids.” A tremor of old pain rocked through her like a lazy tide slapping onto shore. She’d grieved so long ago for the family she’d never have, that the pain now was more of an echo than a sharp jolt. Yet still, it had the power to stun her with sorrow.

She took a breath. “The accident and the surgery and all, and well—you don’t need to hear the details, do you? I mean, who would want to? I sure didn’t—” She took a breath. “Babbling again. Anyway, what I’m trying to say is, I’m totally safe.”

“You’re sure?”

Unfortunately.

“Yep.” She swallowed hard against the personal hurt and disappointment that had been a part of her life since she was sixteen and woke up in a hospital to see a doctor’s long face and empathetic eyes. “My shop’s permanently closed.”

Lucas looked at her for a long minute and Mike held her breath, hoping to hell he didn’t ask any more questions. If he realized that
this
was the reason she’d tried to escape Carla when the woman was so excited about being pregnant, she hoped to God he wouldn’t bring it up. And oh yeah, please, God, don’t let him say he was sorry.

Having some guy look at her like she was a little less than female was always a big turn-on. If Lucas gave her that look, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to stand it.

She stared up at him in the moonlight and watched as he pulled away from her and stood up. Mike braced herself, and tried to read his eyes. But the silvery moonlight filling the room created shadows, not clarity.

He pulled off his glasses, then undid his belt and stepped out of the rest of his clothes. Mike’s stomach jittered and her mouth went dry. His body was long and leanly muscled and more tanned than she would have guessed. Apparently this scientist didn’t spend
all
his time in the lab.

Tossing his shoes and socks, he came back to the bed, kneeled beside her and looked down directly into her eyes.

“Lucas?” She murmured his name and stared up at him.

“Not interested in making babies,” he finally said, that half-smile tugging at his mouth again. “Just in making love.”

She released the pent-up breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. He cupped one of her breasts and
Mike sighed. “You wanna reach down and take my heels off for me?”

He glanced down at the black sandals with the three-inch-high heels. Looking back at her, he winked. “Leave ’em on.”

“Rocket Man, you are full of surprises.”

“You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

She cupped his face in her hands and smoothed her thumbs across his sharp cheekbones. “Then show me what you’ve got.”

Jo stared down at the stupid textbook and wished she were anywhere but where she was.

“It’s your own damn fault,” she muttered with a shake of her head. “If you’d had the guts to stick it out ten years ago, you wouldn’t be in this mess now.”

But she hadn’t been able to stay at school.

Not after . . .

She jumped to her feet and stalked barefoot into her kitchen. She thought about pulling down the dusty bottle of tequila and blending up a batch of margaritas. But instead, she set up the coffeepot. If she started heading for a drink whenever old memories got too bad—then she’d have a whole new set of problems.

“And
that
you
don’t
need.”

The coffeemaker sizzled and popped and the hot water drained through the filter, sending the scent of freshly ground beans through the room. Outside, the night crouched at the windows and the wind slapped at the panes, rattling them in their frames. Rain spit from
the sky in fitful bursts, as if it couldn’t decide whether to become a real storm or not.

Jo hardly noticed. Arms folded across her chest, she leaned back against the kitchen counter and crossed her feet at the ankles.

The house was too quiet.

For a woman who’d grown up with two sisters and loud parents, silence could be an enemy.

It made you concentrate on the little noises.

The house settling.

The tick of the clock.

The groan of the wind.

When the phone shrieked, Jo shot away from the counter, slapping one hand to her chest as if to hold her heart in place.

Then, laughing at herself, she snatched up the receiver. “Hello?”

“Jo, oh, thank God.”

Instantly alert at the sound of her sister’s frantic voice, Jo’s fingers squeezed the receiver. “Sam, what’s wrong?”

Minutes passed, drifting one into the other as Lucas took Mike on the most amazing ride of her life.

Boy howdy.

Never challenge a scientist.

Although, she thought as he slid his palms along her body with the assurance of a master pianist stroking the keys, maybe a challenge could be a good thing.

She tipped her head back into the mattress and stared
up blindly at the shifting, moonlit shadows on the ceiling. Lucas’s hands were everywhere, his fingertips exploring every curve, every inch of her body.

He touched her and she lit up inside.

He tasted her and the fire within became an inferno. Lips, tongue, and teeth assailed her body and she gave as good as she got.

She scraped her fingernails down his torso, flicking her thumbnail across his flat nipples until he groaned and flipped her over, pulling her body atop his. Then hands at her hips, he slid her up and down his length, meshing their bodies until the friction alone was soulshattering.

She kissed him, taking his tongue into her mouth and delving his with her own, tangling them together in an erotic dance of temptation. Of expectation. Anticipation.

His mouth was fabulous.

And talented.

And . . .

He broke the kiss and trailed his tongue down the length of her throat, sliding his hands between their bodies to tweak her nipples.

“You’ve got some moves on you, Rocket Man.”

“I keep telling you . . .” He grinned up at her.

“But I’ve got a few of my own,” she countered and pushed herself up until she was straddling him.

“Show me what you’ve got,” he murmured, grinning up at her.

Mike laughed, hearing her own words thrown back at her. “Buckle your seat belt, buster, I’m about to give you a ride like you’ve never had.”

She went up on her knees and looked down at him. His brown eyes were glassy, hazy with need, with hunger, and she loved it. Loved seeing his desire for her.

Straddling him, she swayed, as if to music only she could hear, and let the moonlight spotlight her. She ran her hands along her own body, up and over her belly, past the twinkling diamond in her navel and up her rib cage.

He ran his hands over her thighs, all he could touch, and watched her hungrily.

She took that hunger and fed it. Sliding her hands higher, higher, she cupped her own breasts, let her head fall back while she played with her nipples, squeezing, touching, tweaking.

His grip on her thighs tightened reflexively and she felt the imprint of each of his fingers like tiny candle flames pressed to her skin.

Her body quivered, tingled, and hungered.

She kept swaying over him, lowering herself just enough to skim her center over the very tip of his hardened length.

He gasped each time she dusted past him, leaving him wanting more. But still she teased him, pushing him as high as he’d taken her moments before. Her hands on her breasts, her fingers at her nipples, she slowly, slowly, slid her hands higher, up her chest, along her neck and into her hair.

She lifted the curly blond mass off her neck and writhed above him, rocking her hips in silent invitation.

“Damn it, that’s enough,” he growled, and reached for her, slamming his hands onto her waist.

“Not nearly enough, Lucas. Not nearly,” she crooned, tasting each word, caressing each syllable.

“Now, Mike,” he muttered thickly.

One look at his eyes and she knew she’d taken him as far as she could without destroying both of them. The need in her own body quickened.

“Now,” she agreed and slowly, lovingly, lowered herself onto his length. She took him inside, inch by tantalizing inch, drawing out the pleasure for both of them until she felt as though she were about to burst.

He clenched his teeth and dug his fingers into the flesh at her hips, holding her down, pulling her hard against him, pushing himself higher, deeper inside.