Beach House No. 9 (16 page)

At that, the heat in his gaze evaporated her thoughts. It seemed to evaporate the air too, because she went breathless as desire surged, then raced pell-mell through her bloodstream, flushing her skin like a fever. Ian Stone was cleared from her mind, his past betrayal suddenly wiped away by the big, tempting display of muscled male looming so close she could feel his sexual intent radiating outward to press against her skin.

She’d wanted to work off her temper, but now she couldn’t remember what she’d been so mad about.

Other than Griffin.

Clearly, she was mad for him, she admitted to herself, because when he’d ordered her to be his party date, there’d been no other reason to agree. Oh, she’d told herself she’d gone along to support his interest in mingling with other writer types. That she wanted to witness him making professional progress. But that had been as good an excuse as any. Fact: she found him fascinating. Fact: despite all the reasons why she shouldn’t be alone in a hotel room with him, she was. Fact: he’d been cold-hot-cold when it came to her, and it seemed as if he was running hot again.

Why not take advantage of that? She had those kinks she claimed she wanted to work out.

There was no need to get all uptight about their bubbling chemistry. It was merely the biological imperative to have sex, she told herself. Those irresistible feelings of desire that were near impossible to overcome or explain—so why overanalyze? She’d done research for an author once and learned why historically there were so many rules governing marriage—they were developed to constrain these primitive urges that all men and women experience from time to time.

But there were her own rules, Jane reminded herself. Griffin was her client, and Ian had been her client too, remember? That should prove why she shouldn’t cross the line again.

But the devil on her shoulder whispered she’d learned her lesson about love. And Griffin wasn’t Ian. Griffin wouldn’t pretend pretty feelings he didn’t have, and Griffin was so, so attractive, with his straight nose, his perfect high cheekbones, those eyes a fiery aqua-blue beneath the dark stripes of his brows.

She wanted him. Yes, she did. And sometimes even the librarian had to talk aloud among the stacks of books. Sometimes the governess had to break the rules, didn’t she? She had to go after what she yearned for, or else there would never be any Gothic fiction.

And if Jane didn’t think of herself first, no one else was going to.

* * *

T
HE
GOVERNESS
SHOULD
really get moving, Griffin thought. He wasn’t kidding about what he wanted.

And what he didn’t want.

He couldn’t listen to her for another moment. It got to him, the way that Ian Stone had disappointed her. And it hit just a little too close to home too. Not that he’d ever been a two-timer—banging a woman when seeing another was not his style—but he’d not always come clean about his feelings. Or lack thereof. Particularly the lack thereof. More often he’d kept silent, telling himself he didn’t want to let down a lady, when the bald truth was that keeping his own counsel was for his own convenience.

“Five seconds,” he warned Jane.

She slowly rose to her feet.

He didn’t call the sensation sluicing through him disappointment. He’d made the offer—ultimatum, whatever—and was happy to abide by her decision. Hell, he’d
counted
on her stalking off. It was just as effective a way to prevent her Jane-tentacles from attaching to him as a tumble in his bed. See, every word that came out of her lush mouth made him almost want to care—and, hell, he knew he was incapable of doing more than a shallow imitation of that. Focusing on her body in bed would keep her out of his head.

Having her go to her own bed would work almost as well.

She had to brush by him to get to her room. As she moved, her sweet scent stroked him first. He cleared his throat. “Good ni—”

Her lips muffled the rest of what he’d meant to say.

Surprise slammed his heart against his ribs throughout the kiss. It kept him frozen too, until she stepped back and looked up at him. Her mouth opened.

He braced for whatever was going to come out of it.

“Have you ever been to a nudist colony?”

His jaw dropped. He shook his head. “Where the hell did that come from? Are you working on a Wikipedia article now?”

“You brought it up. It made me curious.”

This was what was wrong with her. This was what made her dangerous. She unbalanced him. When he tried to scare her off or push her away, she stood her ground. And then she demanded disturbing things—
I had to help him include the emotion,
she’d said.
You’ll have to do that too
—or asked odd, irrelevant questions like this one. He barely restrained himself from wringing her neck. “No, Jane, I’ve never been to a nudist colony.”

She nodded. “Because you’d think they’d use sunscreen instead of coconut oil.”

Now it was his turn to stare. “Your brain is too damn busy.”

“I’ve heard that before,” she said, looking down. Then she peeped up at him through the screen of her lashes. “Want to try quieting my wild mind?”

As if he was his sister’s
OM
chewing gum. Jesus! This wasn’t turning out how he’d expected. Which should be exactly as he expected when it came to Jane. Still, he couldn’t move.

“First, I want to make clear this has nothing to do with our working relationship. Instead, let’s think of it like this,” she said. “Right now, we’re in a place out of time.”

“Out of time,” he echoed.

“This isn’t the real world.” She gestured with one arcing arm.

He followed the movement and found himself looking out the window at the lights of Los Angeles. He was a native. Jane was also a Los Angeleno. This
was
their real world.

“We’ve escaped, just for the night. A single night.”

Escaped Crescent Cove. Beach House No. 9. The place that had
been
his escape.

That is, until Jane arrived, with her talk, her hair, her pretty eyes and even prettier mouth. Her crazy-making stubbornness.

“So what happens here—”

“—stays here,” he finished for her, surrendering to the inevitable. And then he pounced.

With an arm at her back, he dragged her onto her tiptoes, melding their bodies together as he took her mouth. This time, he fell back into the aggressor role, and Jane fell into that only-when-he-was-kissing-her pliancy. Her head dropped back, and he caught it in one hand, his fingers twisting in her glorious, sun-brightened hair as his tongue went to work.

A tremor wiggled up her spine, snaking from the small of her back, and he felt it against the forearm he had pressed against the bare skin of her shoulder blades.

Which reminded him… He tugged on one end of that maddening bow at the back of her neck. The bodice of her dress fell to her waist.

Her arm came up to cover her bared body, but he grabbed both wrists and held them at her sides as he stepped back. Breath soughed in and out of his lungs as if he’d been sprinting as he stared at her naked torso.

His eyes closed for a moment as he imprinted the sight on his memory. Small, high breasts. Pale pink nipples. The thin skin at her throat thrumming with the same rapid beat he felt beneath his fingers.

He needed more nakedness.

Transferring both wrists to one of his hands, he reached around to the small of her back and sought the tab of a zipper. Jane made a helpless little noise as his fingers met her flesh, and then she went still as the metallic teeth parted with a hiss of sound.

The dress dropped from her hips and pooled at her bare feet.

Need surged to his groin, and he staggered back, still holding on to her arms. His cock went fully hard as his gaze took in the scrap of sheer undergarment wrapped low at her hips. “Good God,” he murmured. Two halves of delicate violet fabric covered her there, laced together at the center with a narrow satin ribbon of a darker amethyst shade that was fashioned into a bow three inches below her shallow belly button.

Swallowing hard, he stepped forward again and deliberately placed her left wrist at her left side, then he did the same with the other wrist. “Don’t move,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Don’t move a single inch.”

Her breasts were trembling. He could see the sweet little nipples tightening as he focused on them. The panties were going to have to wait a minute until he could get his spiking lust under control. With one hand on her shoulder, he flattened his other palm against her ribs, then slid it up to cradle the underside of her breast.

She made to break, he sensed it, and he shot his gaze to hers. “Not a single inch, Jane.”

His head bent. He rubbed his cheek against the tip of her nipple, knowing his evening stubble would lightly abrade the sensitive point. Her heartbeat sounded loud in his ear. Her hand touched his hair, and he stepped back again. “Not an inch, Jane,” he reminded her.

She’d tortured him for days. Now it was his turn.

Her hand dropped, and he rewarded her with a tiny kiss to her nipple. She made another of those yearning noises, and he obliged her by pressing another one on the other bud. When the yearning turned into a low growl of sound, he grinned against her soft flesh and then relented, drawing the jutting nub into the heat of his mouth.

She bowed into the sensation, and he saw her fingers curl into fists. It was so damn gratifying to have her at his mercy. Her body, he quickly amended. He had her body, which was all that he wanted of her.

Her nipple hardened against his tongue. Lust tightened his muscles, and his cock twitched against the constraints of his clothes. He sucked on her, a sweet little tug, and then he thought of those decadent panties and his mouth tightened, his tongue pushing that bud against the roof of his mouth.

Jane’s flower scent imbued the air. She was heating up, her skin burning everywhere he touched her. He switched to her other breast, and his fingers toyed with the one already wet. His tongue circled her areola, then lapped at the nipple, teasing her with the lightest of caresses. He sensed the growing rigidity of her muscles, and just when he gave her the smallest bite, she cracked.

One hand jerked to his head, holding him against her; the other reached for the fastening of his pants. Griffin pulled away, leaving her chest heaving and her eyes flashing silver fire. “No,” she said, sounding gratifyingly desperate.

Little darling. With a smile, he wagged a finger at her. “Jane,” he said, mock-stern. “I call the shots. I’m doing this just for you, you know.”

Framed by curling tendrils of hair, her cheeks were flushed. “If you want to do something for me, take off your clothes.”

Keeping his clothes on was keeping this business somewhat sane. The minute they were naked-to-naked the pace would pick up, and it would be a race to the finish. He wanted to savor the foreplay, enjoy their place out of time. As if she read his imminent refusal on his face, she spoke up again. “Just the shirt. Start with the shirt.”

Yeah, that desperation was a definitely sweet payback. Taking pity on her, he brought his fingers to his shirt buttons. With her gaze glued to his moving hand, her own touched the center of her body, right between her breasts. As he unfastened his shirt, her thumb drew down her own skin, reflecting his movement. Touching on herself the same inches of skin he bared.

Jesus. It was the most unconsciously erotic sight in his memory. Her skin reacted to her own caress, goose bumps rising on her flesh in the wake of that trailing thumb. When he reached the last button, her hand had fallen to the band of those scandalous panties, and her fingers toyed with the ribbon.

“Don’t you dare,” he said, shrugging off his shirt.

“Dare what?” Her eyes didn’t leave his chest.

“Those are
my
panties.”

Frowning, her gaze lifted. “I’m not giving up a second pair.”

We’ll see about that.
Instead of answering, he crooked a finger at her. Apparently forgetting her underwear alarm, she flew into his arms. The silken skin of her breasts met his chest.

Oh, hell.
His
alarms went off. The time for slow was over.

His mouth fastened on hers, his tongue thrust, his palms slid under fabric to cup the curves of her ass. She tilted her hips, her body rubbing against the urgent rigidity of his cock. He groaned, kneading the flesh in his palms as she pressed harder, clearly pleasuring herself.

When it was his job to pleasure her. Damn it! Why wouldn’t she wait for him to provide that? Didn’t she trust him to take her all the way?

But the questions put her in his head again. He couldn’t have that. Bodies were what this was about. Bodies were the matter of the moment.

She was sucking on his tongue, her hips making tight little circles. He felt the tension in her bones and the burn of her skin. He knew the infuriating woman was close. Too damn close.

Breaking their kiss, Griffin slid his hands to her waist and lifted her away from his body. As he swung her into his arms, her mouth, swollen and red from his, turned sulky. “No!”

Ignoring her protest, he strode for the closest bedroom. A lamp was on low, the covers were turned back. He tossed her onto the mattress, then followed her down, their bare torsos meeting again. Immediately, she tried wiggling underneath him, but he knew her game.

She was trying, once more, to get herself off.

He threw one leg over the top of her thighs to keep her still and bent his head to her breasts. Jane moaned as he took her into his mouth. When he sucked at her nipple, she bucked against the weight of the thigh he had over hers but he held firm. “You’ll take what I give you,” he said on the way to her other breast. “You won’t give yourself any more.”

Her nipples had gone to a dark, fevered pink. He was fascinated by them and used his tongue to bathe them until they glistened in the lamplight. Jane had her hands in his hair, and her touch mimicked his. When his tongue caressed, she caressed. When he bit down, teasing her with the edge of his teeth, her fingernails sank into his scalp.