Aphrodite's Kiss (28 page)

Oh, dear
. Maybe Hale was right. Maybe she was in over her head. Maybe she really couldn’t handle all these wild, wanton, spinning, singing, zinging, and zipping feelings storming around inside her. She should just let this man walk away. Concentrate on passing her tests and working up the courage to tell her mother. Forget she was ever even remotely attracted to a mortal.

She tossed the idea around in her head, trying to decide if she was keen on the walk-away plan.

Um .. . nope.

So much for reason over emotion.

The sound of toenails clickety-clacking on tile echoed from across the room, and she saw Elmer’s furry little face poke out from her bathroom. No question about it— that was a scolding expression on his tiny rat face.

She ignored him. Best not to let one’s life be ruled by ferrets, after all. Especially not meddling, chaperoning ferrets dumped in her apartment by her overbearing, well-meaning big brother.

Switching her gaze back to Taylor—who apparently hadn’t heard the telltale toenail tapping—she sucked in a deep breath and tried to summon some chutzpah. “Look,” she said in her best negotiating-with-eight-year-olds voice, “nobody’s here. And chances are nobody followed us, right?”

His nod was grudging, but affirmative.

“Which means that you’re safe here for now. And so am I.”

He smiled, intense and provocative. “So we have a wild night, I leave in the morning, and don’t come calling, lest I lead the bad guys to your doorstep?”

“Well, yeah.” She frowned, realizing that it sounded like all she wanted was a wild night of passion to get the man out of her system. Which was absolutely true— really it was—but that didn’t change the fact that it sounded awful to put it so bluntly. She tried to soften her tone. “What do
you
want?”

His examination started at her toes, and by the time it reached her eyes, she was on fire.
Hera’s hatpins
. This man did things to her. Marvelous, erotic, wonderful, terrifying things.

“What do I want?” he repeated. “Let me tell you exactly what I want.” He leaned forward until his mouth was just a breath away from her ear. “I want to throw you to the floor and make love to you until you beg for more.” The words were low, dangerous, and a shudder ripped through her soul.

“Oh.”

With a look that told her he knew exactly the effect he was having on her, he moved in front of her. The heat from his body warmed her, pooling somewhere in her middle. He put his hands on her hips and pulled her closer and closer until she could tell just how much he’d meant his words.

“Oh,” she repeated stupidly.

“What do you want?” He whispered the words, his breath hot against her ear, wicked and tempting.

She tried to answer, but her mouth had gone dry. She swallowed and tried again. “I... uh ... want you to throw me to the floor and make love to me until I beg for more.”

“Well, there you go. Looks like we’re on the same wavele—Aieeee!” He ended with a howl, jerking away from her and hopping around on one foot while he held on to his other ankle. Below him, Elmer dodged, trying to escape being squashed by Taylor, the human pogo stick.

For such a tiny little ferret, he’d managed to put a pretty big damper on the moment. What had been shaping up like a really sweet Taster’s Choice commercial was rapidly degenerating into a bad Fox Network special—
When Good Ferrets Go Bad
.

She glared at Elmer as he backed away, his head tilted up, abject innocence plastered all over his furry little face. “Oh, no, you don’t. Hale’s gonna hear about this.”

“The little devil bit me.”

“It was a love bite,” she lied. “He’s fond of you. Just a little overzealous.”

“I’ll say.” Taylor rubbed his ankle.

Elmer hopped back and forth, his fur spiky, very clearly trying to communicate that
fond
and
Taylor
did not belong together.

“You just behave,” Zoë said, scooping him up. “I have no idea what you’re saying,” she added in a low whisper, “but when Hale gets here, I’m gonna make sure he gives you a good talking-to.”

She flashed her best hostess smile at Taylor, then shoved Elmer into the spare bedroom and closed the door. She went back into the kitchen wondering if she could salvage the moment.

“Look, Zoë. I’m incredibly attracted to you: I’m not about to deny it. But—”

There it was—the one little word that screamed
no salvage potential
.

“—considering, well,
everything
, maybe I should leave.”

“You really want to leave?” Any minute, the world was going to crash down around her ears. She was sure of it. For the first time in her life, she’d met a man with whom she’d decided she could let go, could risk her heart and soul—and he was going to leave.

Well, that only proved Hale’s point: Don’t get involved with mortals; they just can’t handle the lifestyle.

Except she hadn’t intended to get
involved
. Didn’t intend to. She needed to keep reminding herself of that. She was in this for the sex, pure and simple. Yup, there it was. Right there out in the open. She wanted sex with this man. One night of passion that would put her senses through the wringer and leave her breathless and sated.
Sure. That’s all. Nothing permanent
.

They were lies, of course, but she tried to make herself believe them. After all, he’d never be able to handle a relationship, and she wouldn’t have time for one anyway. Once the council finally processed her application, she’d have obligations, commitments. If she wanted to experience passion—and oh, yes, she knew now that she wanted to experience it—then it was now or never. After tonight she could walk away. Needed to walk away, actually, if she wanted to make sure Taylor stayed out of harm’s way.

But for tonight, she wanted him in her bed.

“—so I don’t
want
to,” he was saying when she tuned back in. “God, Zoë, look at you. What I
want
is to run my hands all over your body and make you scream.” He ran his hand through his hair instead of all over her body, then took a shaky breath. “But maybe it’s best if I go.”

“No!”

Maybe it wasn’t the sophisticated thing to do—and she certainly wasn’t playing it cool—but she flung herself at him. He caught her, lost his balance, and they both tumbled to the floor. She straddled him, her thighs pressed against his waist, her knees on the floor. Her face was right above his, her lips so close....

“This isn’t a good idea,” he said, but the tone of his voice disagreed.

She brushed her lips over his mouth, slowly, experimentally, relishing the delicious sensation that whipped through her like hot chocolate for her soul, rich and enticing. “On the contrary,” she whispered, “I think it’s the best idea I’ve had in a long time.”

“Zoë ...” With one hand, he stroked her face, then tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

She took off her glasses, tossing them onto the coffee table, then scooted aside to look at him, awed by the raw strength of his mortal body. She ran her hand down his leg as she peeked through his clothing, stopping at the scar on his thigh, just one imperfection among infinite perfection. She kept her eyes away from
there
, somehow sure that looking now would be cheating. And she didn’t want to cheat. Not with him, not ever.

He pulled her closer and she groaned, the pleasure of his touch nearly driving her mad. “Taylor, please.”

“I guess I win,” he said. His voice was still soft, but it was laced with humor, and she opened her eyes in question.

“What?”

His smile broadened. “We’re on the floor. And you’re begging.”

She couldn’t help it. She laughed, then tried to swat at his chest as she chastised him with a hearty, “You bum!” It was the swat that made her lose her control, and he flipped her over so that suddenly she was under him, with two hundred and ten pounds of pure, delectable male balanced right on top of her.

“Well, now you’ve gone and done it,” he said.

“Done what?”

“Convinced me to stay.”

“Is that bad?”

He lowered himself over her, his lips brushing against hers with the most infinitesimal of caresses—the tiniest of touches, yet enough to set off a chain reaction of pyrotechnic sensations that exploded through her body with the power of ten thousand bottle rockets. “You tell me,” he whispered. “Is that bad?”

She couldn’t talk, couldn’t think. She could only shake her head and silently beg for his touch, wanting to lose herself in his heat, to be baptized in the living flame of his touch. Her skin tingled, the tiny hairs on her arms humming with electricity, her pulse throbbing against her skin.

“You’re so beautiful.” He was murmuring soft words as his hands skimmed over her body, her skin sizzling in his wake as he skillfully removed her from the clothing she no longer wanted, no longer needed. First his jacket, then—
please, soon
—the rest.

What was the point of clothing, anyway, if all it did was keep her body away from his? His finger grazed down the side of her neck, dancing over the curve of her collarbone, and she was burning up—sweltering in the thin summer dress. Her skin was flushed—as red as her dress. She felt so hot, so alive, she wasn’t sure she could stand the sweet torment.

He leaned closer, his scent—earthy and primitive— assaulting her, sending her head reeling, urging her to let go and fly, to burn up in some sort of celestial flame.

Part of her wanted to run away, to get free, to calm down before she lost all control. Another part of her wanted to lose control. To lose it with this man. To believe—if only for a moment—-that he could know all her secrets and still want her.

“I’m so hot,” she whispered as her blood boiled.

His hand trailed lower still, stopping to cup her breast through the dress. “Do you want me to stop?”

She gasped. “Yes ... no ... never stop.”

Sweet torment, yes, but somehow she knew that Taylor was the cure. That she would come near to incinerating before she’d be released from his spell. And—
oh, Hera—
how she wanted to burn.

An arctic cold rippled against her skin, the sensation surprising her in the wake of such perfect heat. She shivered and realized he’d managed—she had no clue how— to get her wholly out of her dress. Now she lay before him in nothing except her bikini briefs. He had pulled away, taking his heat with him, and now he was kneeling over her, gazing down with something akin to wonder in his eyes.

Suddenly shy, she crossed her arms over chest, wishing she’d had the time to buy that Wonderbra after all.

“Don’t you dare,” he whispered, gently moving her arms to her sides. “I want to look at you. You’re beautiful,” he said. “You’re a goddess.”

“That’s not important to me.” She needed him to understand, but his hands were on her again, blazing paths down her sides, over her hips, making it difficult to think.

“What’s not?”

“The goddess thing. I just want to be me.”

“Who are you?” he whispered with a smile, surely not understanding what she meant.

She shrugged, trying to focus on his words despite the riptide building in her soul, urging her to break free and drift away. “I don’t know.” It was a lie. She knew perfectly well. She was somebody he could never have, would never really want.

“I do,” he said. He leaned closer, his legs pressing against her hips. His hands grazed over her naked flesh, testing and teasing, drawing circles on her stomach until she wanted to cry out in frustration and demand that he touch her elsewhere ... everywhere. “I know exactly who you are.”

Those miraculous hands were on her breasts now, stroking and kneading, and through the rough material of his slacks she could feel the hard length of him press against her. A rainbow of colors shot through her—blue mating with yellow, red having its way with green— copulating colors, dancing and spinning like so many fairies, and oh, how she envied each and every one of them.

“Shall I tell you?” he asked, his mouth near her nipple, the caress of his breath softer than an infant’s hair.

She nodded, mute, then gasped, her back arching of its own accord when he closed his mouth over her nipple, his tongue dancing on the sensitive skin. Rockets ignited in her soul—
T minus ten and counting. Oh, Hera
. She longed for liftoff.

He pulled away, but his hands continued to work miracles on her body. “You’re sweet, and generous, and one of the most amazing women I’ve ever met.”

She smiled at his words. But in the long run he didn’t know her. And when he did—when he learned her secret,
if he
learned her secret—he’d run far and fast. But for now ... for now she wanted to lose herself to him. Tomorrow she’d be alone again. After Tuesday he’d be out of her life. For now she wanted to belong to him.

Blinking back tears, she arched her back, raising her lips to meet his. “Kiss me. Make love to me. Make a memory with me that I can hold on to forever, no matter what happens tomorrow.”

His arm swept behind her, pulling her closer. He pressed against her, his chest against hers, their hips rocking together, their lips joined as they shared breath and soul. When he laid her back against the carpet, tucking a throw pillow under her head, she moaned. His fingers played cruel, delightful games, dipping under the band of her panties, the sensation pooling between her thighs, warm and liquid and needy. She squirmed, trying to urge his fingers lower, needing to feel him inside her, on her, everywhere.

He moved to stand up, and she whimpered.

“What do you want?” he asked as he let his slacks and briefs drop to the ground.

She stared up at him. He was stunning. And he wanted her. That was certainly obvious. She fought a little smile, pleased that she hadn’t peeked earlier, hadn’t spoiled this moment. “I want you,” she said, unable to remember ever speaking truer words.

The corner of his mouth lifted into the slightest of smiles as he lowered himself over her. “Good answer.”

His fingers danced intimately along her skin, teasing her in places she’d only imagined being touched, igniting the fuel of a thousand rockets deep in her soul.