Broddock-Black 05 - Force of Nature (6 page)

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D
o you mind walking?” Flynn asked. They’d come out onto Stewart’s porch, the buzz of gossip that had erupted at their exit still echoing in their ears. “Or I could carry you if you like,” he said with a smile. “This is an abduction, is it not?”

“If it makes you feel better,” she replied, lightly. “Personally, I don’t care what any of them think. Sex is sex—that’s all. Plain and simple.”

“Or not plain and simple.”

She grinned. “Better yet. And you have to carry me, darling Flynn.”

His brows rose. “Have to?”

“Have to.” Her smile was lush with promise. “And if you do, I’ll do something for you.”

“You already have.” His gaze flicked downward to the bulge in his trousers.

“How nice. You’re interested.”

“You might say that,” he replied, mildly, swinging her up into his arms. It was a vast understatement for a man who had never considered carrying a woman anywhere, who was not given to romantic gestures. “In fact, I’m thinking about keeping you.”

“Of course you will.”

His stride didn’t alter at her words, although in the past, such language would have guaranteed a woman instant dismissal. But nothing was the same tonight. “You let me know when you have to go home.”

“I don’t really have a home.”

“We’ll have to talk about that,” he said, dipping his head to kiss her lightly. “I have an empty apartment in Helena.”

“Can’t I see your ranch?”

“Maybe someday.”

“That’s not very nice.” She wanted to live in his pocket; she wanted him to carry her always. It was astonishing, like discovering fire.

“It’s too dangerous.”

“You have men. Trey told me.”

“Not enough sometimes. When it’s safer, you may come.”

“Stay here, then.” Not yet completely lost to all reason, she stopped herself from saying, forever.

He laughed. “I will as long as I can.”

“I know how to keep you here,” she purred, stretching up to kiss his smiling mouth.

“I’m glad to hear it. Then I won’t be wasting my time tonight.”

“Or I, mine,” she replied with a playful grin.

“True,” he said, modestly, this man who was known as the Mighty Flynn by all his grateful bed partners.

“We could experiment to make sure you wouldn’t be wasting your time. I’ve read any number of pillow books. They were all the rage in Florence.”

His brows rose faintly, not that Jo Attenborough didn’t appear to be a thoroughly liberated woman. “You’ll have to let me know what you think about Roc Soaring over Dark Sea,” he whispered, bending to kiss her again.

And the couple they passed reported the next morning that Flynn Ito had kissed Hazard’s daughter so ardently they had to hurry away before they became unwitting voyeurs to something scandalous.

“I hope you can deal with the gossip,” Flynn murmured, looking up at the fleeing couple, wondering if he dared threaten Fred Baxter and his wife.

“I can. I’m not so sure about my father and Blaze.” Jo made a small moue. “They’ve been very kind. I wouldn’t want to embarrass them.”

“We’ll talk to your father in the morning.” Flynn resumed his pace.

“I don’t think that’s necessary.” She smiled. “Not really.”

“Out of courtesy then. He’s not a man you want to cross.”

“You didn’t mind a few minutes ago.”

He shrugged. “And I don’t mind now either. But we’ll talk to him anyway.”

“Ummm ... I adore that delicious authority in your voice.” His gaze snapped down and he was reminded of how little he knew her.

“Don’t be alarmed,” she said, a teasing note in her voice. “I don’t like whips and chains.”

One brow arched upward. “I’m relieved, since I have neither in my repertoire.”

“I’m sure whatever you have in your repertoire will be entirely satisfying.” Tightening her arms around his neck, she licked a warm path up his throat.

“Such acquiescence,” he murmured, his smile wicked. “And I thought you were going to be giving orders.”

“I’m trying to lure you into a sense of security before I pounce.”

“Since I outweigh you by at least a hundred pounds, pounce away.”

She took a small breath at the delicious thought of his large, powerful body in close proximity to hers. “Are we almost there?”

“Two more houses to go and then I’ll ravish you to your heart’s content.”

“What makes you think I like to be ravished.”

His dark eyes were very close and heated. “Let’s just say I have a feeling . . .”

His home was a beautiful limestone town house, much like those she’d seen in London, pale and precise, not colorful and weathered like those in Florence. Every window glowed with light.

“You have company?”

“I’d better not.”

“Servants?”

“Nope.”

“Because you planned on being alone tonight.”

“Not precisely alone,” he said with a grin.

“And I’m the lucky woman.”

“You could say that.”

“Arrogant man.”

“You’re not exactly unassuming yourself. You knew every man at Stewart’s wanted you.”

“But I wanted you.”

“And you wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

She smiled. “You obviously didn’t mean no.”

He had no answer; she was right—unnerving thought. Setting her on her feet at the door, he unlocked it, lifted her up into his arms again, carried her inside and kicked the door shut.

Her heart was beating furiously. “Why did you do that?” “Do what?”

“Carry me inside.”

“I felt like it.”

“No other reason?”

He didn’t know, and if he had he wouldn’t tell her anyway. It was too bizarre. “You talk too much.”

“Tell me.”

“Nothing to tell. Now hush,” he said, taking the stairs two at a time. “I’m going to make you climax a thousand times.” The shimmering heat of his words flared through her senses and she shut her eyes briefly against the sudden rush of pleasure. She wasn’t a novice at making love, but she wasn’t unduly experienced either and the degree of sensation elicited by his words alone presaged an extremely satisfying night. “Thank you,” she murmured, in blanket gratitude for the bliss inundating her soul. “Thank you very, very much.”

“I should thank you for coming to Stewart’s tonight,” he whispered, reaching his bedroom at the top of the stairs, shoving the door open with his foot.

The scent of pine struck her nostrils and she surveyed the small room. Flynn’s range clothes were tossed on the chairs: a leather jacket, fringed and embroidered with quills, his chamois trousers and linen shirt. His worn leather boots were half visible under the bed. He’d brought the scent of the north with him.

He’d also brought the most disquieting sexual energy into her life.

She felt rash and reckless, desperate to be ravished; he was right. The word had never entered her consciousness before; her lovers had been tender and yearning and grateful. She’d been intoxicated with the pleasure of sex but never even marginally wild and fevered and necessitous as she was now.

He moved to the large four-poster bed that must have been purchased to harmonize with the house. It was a fine early Chippendale, solid, pure in line, and it dominated the room. The coverlet was a natural Irish linen hemmed with a small border of crocheted lace, the only ornament in the room with the exception of the two splendid lacquered swords hanging from a hook on the wall. And clearly the swords were functioning weapons and not ornaments.

Without speaking, he placed her on the bed and stepped away.

She stared at him. “What are you doing?” He was standing so still, she sat up, his expression grave enough to incite a sudden rising panic.

“I need a second.” He flexed his fingers, blew out his breath in a long, low exhalation.

“Why?” Didn’t he understand she was in the throes of an inexplicable but highly tumultuous sexual need?

“Tell me your name—or something,” he said, taut and low. “Talk to me.”

“You know my name. I don’t feel like talking. What I feel like is—”

“Humor me,” he cut in, “or I might scare the hell out of you.” He backed away another step. “Understand?”

“Giuseppina Adelaide Attenborough. I can’t think of anything else to say, and I’m not sure who might frighten whom the most right now.” She kicked off her slippers. “I hope you understand.”

He watched the arc of her red silk evening pumps as they soared over his bed and landed at his feet. “Nice,” he said, surveying the beaded silk. “Red suits you. Would you like a drink?”

“Everything about you suits me. And no, I most definitely would not like a drink.”

“Well, I would,” he muttered, and turning away, he walked from the room.

Incredulous, she jumped from the bed and ran after him. He was already halfway down the stairs by the time she reached the hall landing.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, without turning around. “Don’t go away.”

“Damn you!” she shouted. “I just might!”

“No, you won’t.” And he turned at the base of the stairs and disappeared from sight.

He sounded unconcerned, damn him, when she was ravenous for sex—an inclination hitherto beyond her wildest imagination. Although, if Flynn’s tone was any indication, he was entirely familiar with females in heat.

She really should go.

It would serve him right.

She should march out of here, go back to the party and tell Trey he was right—Flynn Ito was not her type.

But she sat down on the top step instead, in a pouf of petticoats and ivory silk because much as she’d like to dramatically take her leave, she was breathless with desire and longing. And the very specific object of her desire was the tantalizing Flynn.

Reason had apparently taken a holiday.

A disconcertingly novel state for her; she was never a slave to cravings. And for an afflicted moment, she wondered if she’d inherited her mother’s lamentable infatuation with amour after all.

In the midst of her fretful irresolution, Flynn reappeared, holding two glasses tinkling with ice. “I brought one for you, too.”

“I don’t want any,” she said, testy and resentful. While she was beside herself with longing, he was more interested in quenching his thirst.

“It’s lemonade.” He began mounting the stairs. “You’ll like it. And I promise to make love to you soon.”

“Don’t do me any favors,” she snapped. How dare he sound as though he’d fit her in after his lemonade.

“It’s not an unselfish impulse, darling, believe me,” he said, gently. “Here.” Having reached the top of the stairs, he held out a glass. “It’s good ... an old family recipe of my cook’s.” When she wouldn’t take the glass, his mouth twitched into a faint smile. “Would you like me to feed it to you?”

“What I’d like is you in bed with me, unclothed and not drinking lemonade.”

He grinned. “Don’t be shy.”

“I didn’t think it was a requirement.”

“It’s not.” Sitting down beside her, he drank some lemonade. “And I apologize. I’m not reluctant. On the contrary, I feel like making love to you for the indefinite future.”

“Beginning—when?” Her gaze was arch and challenging.

He set the glasses down on the carpet, turned back to her and took her face between his palms in a not altogether gentle way. “I’m feeling very much out of control. I’m trying to deal with it. It’s not normal.”

“I don’t mind you out of control.”

His hands tightened on her face. “You probably shouldn’t say that.”

“I’m not a schoolgirl.”

“I’m very aware of that,” he said, curt and low. “That’s part of the problem.”

“Do you think I can’t say no if need be?”

“The question is, rather, would I hear you,” he replied, very softly.

Her gaze held his. “You don’t frighten me.”

He took a deep breath. “Good. At least one of us isn’t frightened.”

He was much too close and much too beautiful and the overwhelming power he exuded was so intensely arousing she could no more sustain her anger than she could walk away. “Flynn, please make love to me,” she whispered. “Please . .. I’m desperate for you—an aberration for me like your out-of-control feeling is for you. Do you think I make a habit of propositioning men I barely know? Do you think I make a habit of indiscretion? I’ve never walked from a room like that when everyone was watching, when everyone knew what we were going to do. I never even had the urge to do something so outrageous.” Covering his hands with hers, she leaned forward and brushed her lips over his. “Don’t make me wait,” she breathed. “I want to feel you inside me.”

It was impossible to resist so ardent a plea. Coming to his feet, he helped her up and by sheer will restrained himself from having sex with her right there in the hallway. Taking her hand, he quickly guided her to his bedroom, shut the door, but stopped short of locking it. In his current rapacious mood, it wouldn’t be wise to lock himself in a room with her.

She was trembling with need, and lifting his hands, he cupped her shoulders, intending to calm her. But his overwrought desires weren’t so easily curbed, and her warm flesh under his palms was a violent trigger to his lust. Inexorably, his fingers tightened on her shoulders.