Guilty Pleasures (32 page)

“Oh,
I
do love her, too. I’ve already told her that.”

A cotton T-shirt felt so nice layered on Xavier Ferrito. “You’ve got such a body,” she told him, and rolled her eyes in the darkness.

“You’ve got such a body, too,” he said promptly. “See, I told you I wasn’t going to get that sleep, didn’t I?”

“You’re presumptuous.”

“How can I be. You just told me you love me.”

“I did not.”

“You can’t back off now. You wanted me to tell you I love you, too, and I did.”

“I—” Somehow none of this was funny. “This is very serious stuff.”

He nuzzled his nose and mouth into her shoulder, just above the saggy neck of her T-shirt. “Very serious. I’m going to have to get my act together.”

Polly breathed through her open mouth. “What does that mean?”

“No more drifting. I’m going to have to grow up and decide
what will be best for my family. Have you ever thought you’d like to live on a ranch?”

He was going too fast. Or deliberately trying to confuse her. “You’ve got a dive shop.”

“Dusty’s got it. I’ve got a financial stake, and
I
fool around. Suddenly I’ve got ambition.”

“You’ve killed people.”

He grew still. Then he slipped an arm beneath her and gathered her up until she lay half on top of him again. “
I
was a soldier. Can you think of it that way? A soldier following orders. That’s the only way it works. If you’re a soldier and you don’t follow orders, you can bring down the people on your side.”

The full-up feeling swelled again. Full-up and ready to overflow into tears. “I hate violence. And there’s Bobby. I worry—”

“Bobby will be himself. He’s going to make you a proud mother. He’ll probably drive you nuts first—the way he’s supposed to—but what I have, or haven’t been, won't change him. Although he'll know the man his mother loves is honorable and expects honor in others.”

“Politics,” Polly said.

“Huh?”

“Go into politics. You are so sincere. You could be handing out drugs yourself, and the pope would believe it was for the good of mankind.”

“I’m telling the truth, my love.”

Much more of this and she’d forget all of her reasons for not wanting to love him. “You’re exciting. I’m dull.”

His lips parted on her neck, and remained parted.

“A man like you would get so sick of a scare
d little rabbit of a woman who”
—she steeled herself—“who can’t swim because she’s afraid of the water. It’s because there are things down there.”

“We’re going to take these points one-by-one. But we’re going to have to take them quickly.”

Polly blushed—again. “Of course. I’m keeping you up.” His chest vibrated—again.
“What?”

“You are unbelievable—but you do have a way of getting right to the point. You are not dull. You’re a gifted—an incredibly talented singer. And a personality. I guess that’s what you’d call it. The lingo’s pretty foreign to me, but the woman who loves me will help put that right.”

He was steadily turning her resolve, what resolve she’d ever had, to mush. “We shouldn’t have shoes on. We’ll ruin the quilt.”

“We already did that one. You are so lovable on that screen. No wonder you amaze so many people. They can’t believe someone wholesome can compete with what kids are
supposed
to prefer. Crap.”

“I’m hot.”

“Me, too, sweets. Oh, me, too.’’

He was playing with her. “No, I’m not.
I
was just saying that to change the subject.”

“That is the subject, sweetcakes.”

She didn’t know whether to laugh or punch him. “Don’t ever call me that again. Not if you want to live.”

“And
I
thought I was the horrible killer here. What things down there?”

Things. “Oh, down there. In the water. There are things down there. I could always feel them sneaking around lying in wait. Slimy things.”

“Like me?”

“You’re not slimy. You’re lovely.”

“Thanks. So are you. Swimming pools aren’t usually stocked with
things.”

“We didn’t have any swimming pools around when I was growing up.” She’d prefer not to pursue the subject of her lean childhood.

“Fair enough. I’ll help you get over it. You must be able to swim.”

“I
must
not. And I’m not going to. End of topic.”

“For now. Tell me you love me.”

She was hot—hot enough to melt. “Shoes shouldn’t—”

“Forget the shoes,” he said, stroking her face again. “Men don’t expect women to call them beautiful. Or lovely.”

“Any woman who saw you—”
Learn to think first, speak
after thinking.

Xavier followed his finger
s with his mouth, followed down
her neck, beneath the T-shir
t to her shoulder. “Any woman
who saw me, what?”

She was only a mortal woman with mortal reactions. Wanting a man this much came fr
om just being human. “Naked,”
she told him, and tried to bow her head.

“Oh, you do know how to co
ol a situation down. And I
thought you hadn’t noticed.”

“You didn’t have any clot
hes on.” The squeakiness of her
voice made her feel foolish. “I
didn’t know what to do. Stay,
or go.”

“You stayed.”

She didn’t have to see his face to know he was silently laughing at her. “You’d have stayed, too.”

“You really looked then, you wicked woman you. I’m glad Seven covered all the naughty bits.”

Polly clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle laughter. Keeping his face buried in her shoulder, he found a way under the T-shirt to smooth her back.

“Naughty bits?” Polly managed to say. “She didn’t cover anything quickly enough.”

“No wonder you could hardly wait to get your hands on me the next time. Pretty impressive, huh?”

A quiet wrapped her, wrapped her inside. Quiet need quiet certainty—quiet, demanding, gathering desire. “Did you mean it? What you said?”

“That I love you, and that I’m going to stick
to you from here on? I meant it.
Did you?”

“You knew what I was asking you without—”

“Don’t
…
Don’t, Polly. Not anymore. I can’t keep this up.”

“I can’t either.” Pushing herself up, she settled herself on her elbows and rested her forehead on his. “I love you.”

His hand stopped moving on her back.

“
I
never loved a man before. I know because I’ve never felt what I feel now before you.”

“Polly.” He made her name a caress.

“Can you stand it if I say something really sloppy.”

“Please. From you, I’m going to be crazy about sloppy.”

An urge to crawl all the way on top of him shook her. “Okay, here goes. I never loved a man before because I hadn’t met you. So I couldn’t, could I?”

“We understand each other so well. What do you think about ranching?”

She kissed him—hard. And kissed him again—not so hard—opened his mouth easily, explored his tongue with hers—so very easily. Falling. The bonding of their lips drew her into a fall. She collapsed onto his chest and heard a groan deep in the back of his throat.

Gasping, she pulled back again. “Stop trying to force yourself into decisions you don’t have to make in a hurry.”

“Whoa. Such a long sentence. How’d you do that when all you want to do is get inside my clothes.”

“Stop!”

“Sorry. I meant all I want
…
Forget it. No, don’t forget it. I’m prepared.”

She flattened herself on top of him and hugged hard. “You embarrass me.”

“I embarrass me sometimes. But I thought you’d like to know. Ever since I knew you loved me, I’ve been prepared.”

“Don’t say it again,” she told him in a small voice.

“Would you consider having more children?”

Polly closed her eyes, squeezed them tightly shut. “Do you have to deal with the whole thing right now? All of it?”

“You love me?”

“Yes.”

“That’ll do for now.”

“Kiss me.”

He lay absolutely still for a moment. The next moment he lifted her from him and set her on her back and sat up beside her. She saw his white T-shirt shimmy upward over wide bands of muscle. And she saw the shirt fly through the air. She’d grown more accustomed to the darkness. His skin glistened faintly.

“Hot,” he said, turning and bending over her. “That’s a bit better. And I know how you feel about chests.”

“Only your chest,” she told him, aware of a possibly terminal shortage of air.

The touch of his lips on hers was so light it tingled. He held still, his mouth barely meeting hers, while tension built. Polly felt the crushing in of pressure and knew he felt it, too. She rolled her head, carefully, slowly, from side to side under Xavier’s and heard another stifled groan.

At his sides, the skin was smooth. His back rippled beneath her hands. His chest pressed hers. She wanted to be naked— skin against skin with him.

Framing her face, holding her head still, he kissed her with power, and with finesse. He kissed her and murmured formless words that inflamed her—formless words that meant more than any she’d ever heard.

“You’re crying,” he whispered.

“No, I’m not.”

His lips and tongue settled briefly on her left temple. “Yes, sweetheart. I taste your tears.”

“I’m happy. I so happy, I’m scared.”

“It isn’t going to go away.” Again he found her mouth, kissed her deeply, tenderly. “This love won’t stop, Polly. I know it.”

“Because of your famous instinct?”

“Mmm. Yeah.”

“I’m
too warm.”

“What d’you want to do about it?”

“Take off my shirt.”

With his face resting beside hers, he sighed. “If everything stopped right now, it would be fine with me.”

“You don’t want me to take off my shirt?”

She heard laughter in his voice. “I want you to take off everything. And if we never leave this room again, fine. That’s what I meant.”

Xavier took off her shirt. And her bra.

The air was cool but didn’t ease the burning in her breasts. Neither did the big man’s careful, clever fingers, or his mouth on her nipples.

Polly drove her elbows into the soft mattress, let her head fall back—tried to press herself deeper into his mouth.

He did nothing in a hurry.

Almost lazily, he rose and swung a leg over her until he knelt above her. He took her mouth, then kissed each inch of exposed skin, with concentrated care. Spreading his hands over her ribs, he slid gradually upward to span the undersides of her breasts.

“Xavier. I love you.” How easy it wa
s to say it. “You’re going…
No, I can’t think. I love you.”

“You and I are in love. And I never even knew what I was waiting for until there was you.”

She felt her own wetness, and the throbbing ache between her legs—and the searing openness of nerve between breast and deep in her belly.

Xavier pushed her breasts together and buried his face between them. He took first one nipple, then the other, into his mouth and brought her writhing off the mattress again.

A shard of reason tried to insinuate itself, and she turned her face toward the door.

“Locked,” he told her, and returned to driving her mad.

Power must be exerted according to ability. Polly unsnapped the waist of his jeans and drew in an audible breath.

Xavier made a harsh sound. He stopped moving.

“Hard,” Polly muttered. “You give new meaning to the word. This must be painful.”

“Less painful now,” he told her. “This kind of pain I could come to need. All the time.”

“You’d kill us both.” He filled her two hands and she felt the pulsing of blood, the readiness of male seed. “I want you.” He undid her jeans and worked them down her legs, taking her panties with them.

The jeans made it past her knees before she made him help her free him almost as much as she wanted him freed.

Naked would take too long.

He dealt with the condom while she tried not to listen.

They both guided him to her, but then Xavier gently pushed her hands away.

Polly tensed for the stretching, the forcing she’d welcome. Instead, he only nudged himself just into her entrance. And spreading his knees, he held himself there, and kissed her
breasts again, curving over her, taking time she knew cost him
dearly—as dearly as it cost her even as she loved him for it, reveled in it.