Hurts So Good (16 page)

She obeyed his arousing command and might have forgone the tequila if he hadn't lifted her head by tugging on her ponytail.

He pressed the edge of the glass against her bottom lip, and she drank the liquid fire until it burned her throat and warmed her stomach. Tears stung her eyes as her teeth clamped down on the lime, and he fed her the fruit from his mouth.

He discarded the peel. He kissed her again, longer, deeper, a kiss that burned hotter than the liquor. His leg wasn't nice, not nice at all in the way it pressed harder against her, making her feel a keen discomfort there.

Again they traded necks. Again they took turns at the glass. A small trickle escaped to dribble down her chin. He sucked it into his mouth, and she threw down the jigger as well as the lime.

"I've had enough," she said breathlessly. "If you want another, you'll have to drink from the bottle and forget the lime. My hands belong elsewhere."

"The only thing I want is you." His finger hooked into the band cinching her ponytail. And then her hair was falling to her shoulders, and his fingers were thrusting between the strands. "I want you naked. I want your body loose and ready to take mine. And I want you to remember every word and stroke, every second of what we share. I want you to remember it for the rest of your life."

"That could be a lot to remember, Neil."

"Count on it. But don't worry... I'll make sure I give you a night you won't ever be able to forget."

Chapter 12

Neil knew one thing and one thing only. He needed to slip into her skin, listen to her heart, and climb into her head. All the way. He was taking this all the way, and he had to do it before the mist swallowed him, and he lost sight of what might be home.

He gripped her halter, his fists twisting into the fabric he wanted to rip off with the same urgency that had his stomach knotting and his arousal straining to get free.

"Slow and easy." He could only hope that by saying it, he could make himself obey.

"Yes. Slow and easy. I need that from you. And
this.
Making love here when I know it's hard for you. I wish I knew why, but I don't. Tell me when you're ready, and I'll be there to listen. To care. And I'll touch you as slow and easy as you're touching me now."

Her whisper commanded him. He pulled the halter over her head with a gentleness worthy of the trust she gave him.

This was heaven. It was hell. Wanting her with a fury, with the poisonous anger she diluted and slowly rid him of until he believed if he could spill what was left inside her, he'd be washed clean. Here.

In this room that took him back, back to the past he shunned.

He closed his eyes against it, and her fingertips traced his lashes.

"Neil? What's wrong?"

"Something's right for a change, that's what. I'm not numb. Kept myself that way for years, with booze, sex, music. Anything to ignore the stink of all the garbage I've got piled up in me. This room brings it all back and—and damn if I'm not selfish as ever. Listen to me laying this on you when I should be making you forget any man ever put a hand on you, except for me."

"I'd rather forget together. Maybe the best way for us to make bad memories go away is to share them. I shared mine with you. I wish you'd do the same."

"They're not romantic, and this is a night for romance."

"Now you're being selfish. And stubborn."

One thing about Andrea, he could always count on her to say it straight and, as with castor oil, make him thankful she had, once he had taken the dreaded swallow. He took a deep breath and... swallowed.

"Okay, you asked for it. See, Andrea. I grew up and saw my mama die in a place like this, and once she died, I lived with worse. A lot worse. I lost my virginity at twelve with a whore my old man brought home and was done with. Wasn't that thoughtful of him? A real father-and-son activity. I threw up afterward and never touched another prostitute since."

Even in the dark he could see her blanch. Would she find him disgusting now? Had he blown his chance in his rush to grab it and run? He felt as if he were tied to a whipping post, and she could either free him or lash him to the ground.

"How horrible for you, Neil." She pressed a deep kiss into his palm, then laid her cheek there. So smooth, so wet with the fall of her tears. "I hurt for that little boy. What happened to him after that?"

"He ran away, the way his mama should have but didn't. I take that back. She did, only she didn't take me with her." He wiped Andrea's tears, each drop seeming to wash away another layer of accumulated rot. Lord, but he was starting to feel clean. He loved her for this, for accepting him, purging him in a way no amount of money or prestige ever could.

"It wasn't ever good," he rushed on, eager to spill the poison from his system. "Not with my old man's gambling and drinking and slapping us around from time to time. But Mama kinda kept it together. She was a homebody. Always cooking, cleaning, trying to take lemons and make lemonade. He didn't go completely sour till she was gone. Guess you could say I went sour too. Learned to pickpocket better than I could play the sax. Got in lots of fights, and it's a miracle I didn't get my teeth busted out. That would've put the skids on my career faster than I did. Lucky for me that Lou took me in. I owe him a lot, and my success is just a smidgen of it."

Andrea opened her mouth, then shut it. He had the feeling she wanted to ask him about his career but thought better of it. That meant a lot to him; for once a woman cared about him, the man, not the man behind the music and the perks he could provide. It made him trust her that much more. He could tell Andrea anything, and she'd keep his secrets safe.

And because of that he'd tell her someday about his time on the road. He could entertain her for hours on end with the workings of the star-maker machine that had drained dry the creative urge and fattened his pockets. A story full of tragedies and triumphs that had twisted him till he resented his music—hated it.

The loss had been too much. Damn near took his sanity with it, sucking him to the bottom till he'd tried to destroy himself. Nope, hadn't been a cheating gold-digger wife he'd wanted to die for losing. It was the death of his art, the life squeezed from it by the industry's greed and his own blind ambition. He hadn't needed that gun to join his mama. Not really. Neil Grey, without his music, was already dead.

Great copy. An exclusive scoop. One he wouldn't share with anyone but her. And he would when the time was right.

This was
not
the time.

Neil looked around the apartment, then shifted his gaze back to Andrea. He smiled. Without a stitch of effort.

"Told you it wasn't very romantic. Did I kill the mood?"

"No. If anything, you made the night more intimate. You shared yourself with me in a deeper way than just your body."

Her hands gilded sweetly over his chest, then tugged up his top. He got rid of it in a hurry. Threw it on the halter he was confiscating before the next party.

Neil rubbed his chest against hers, watching her nipples peek through his mat of hair, feeling the softness of her breasts create an exquisite friction before he cupped them in his hands and pressed them together.

He buried his face between them, listened to the pounding of her heart that called to his. No deceit there, no betrayal, no lies. The mist lifted, and he thought he saw home.

The sight of Neil's head pressed to her, feeling him nuzzle as he got as close as he could, all but tore her heart out. She held him tight, loving the texture of his hair sifting through her fingers. Hers. He was hers. At last, someone she belonged to belonged to her.

"I need to share my body with you." He kissed her palm, then slid it down his chest, past his navel.

He urged her fingers lower, lower, until she cupped him, her eyes wide. She was aroused as she'd never been before. She was also more intimidated by his abundant virility than she'd been by the horrid thing that had tried to push its way in and the gnarled hands that had groped her before she got free.

This she told Neil, feeling a sense of wonder that she could say to him what she had trouble saying to herself. As he nodded and murmured a soothing reassurance, her words flowed easily.

"Don't you worry,
chere.
Leave everything to me. First off, I think it would be a good idea for you to confront your past enemy and discover a new ally who wants to pleasure you more than himself. Why not get friendly with him? Look. Touch. Shake hands to your heart's content."

"Well... if you're sure you don't mind."

"Believe me, I
don't
mind. Oh, kissing's allowed too."

"And you promise not to do anything until I'm ready?"

"I promise. Trust me like I trust you."

She was thankful Neil was more trustworthy than she'd been initially. The guilt she felt was strong, but it couldn't compete with her anticipation as he led her hands to the snap button of his shorts, and then the zipper she hesitantly drew down. Tanned skin gave way to a dark thatch of hair.

"Where's your underwear?"

"Don't wear any. Ever. Not under my street clothes and not to bed. I like the freedom of movement, nothing binding me. Though I do tend to stay away from wool. Take them off?"

His hand massaging her shoulder, he gently pressed her to the floor until he towered over her. His legs, on either side of her head, were like two great pillars. And then he sprang free and proud, and her mouth opened in an
O
of astonishment.

Neil possessed an instrument more sleek and poetic and earthy than any hands could craft. A thing of beauty that seemed to grow as she, mesmerized, continued to stare.

"So tell me,
chere,
am I to your liking? Or am I your worst nightmare?"

"You are... "Andrea swallowed. Then swallowed again. "You're very much to my liking."

"That pleases me. Greatly. You please me, more than greatly. The only thing that would please me more at the moment would be for you to touch me.
There.
Everywhere. While you're on your knees. On your back. On the floor or in bed, I don't care. Just touch me, kiss me, and don't stop, not ever. I need you. You hear me?
I need you.
More than anything.
See
how much I need you. All you're doing is looking and—"

She gripped him, and he was suddenly silent and still. Then he groaned, and it was all the invitation she needed to indulge.

She kissed him. Her kiss was tentative, curious, then grew bold. His buttocks flexed tight as he moved back and forth, guiding her until, shouting her name, he pushed back her forehead with his palm.

"Get up," he said urgently.

"But I don't want to."

"Get up anyway.
Now."

"But why? You said I could touch you, taste you. And I want more."

"So do I." His biceps bunched as he hauled her, resistant, to her feet.

The face that greeted hers was tortured, struggling for control. It held no humor, no patience or understanding.

"This is not—" He closed his eyes as if even the sight of her was all it would take to push him over the fine line. "This is not on my résumé."

"You mean a woman hasn't—"

"Of course. A thousand times of course, and then some. But you're not them, and I'm not me. I haven't been me since the minute I met you."

"Maybe it's the real you underneath the slick veneer."

"There's no veneer here. You're looking at a man who's wishing for once that he hadn't brought some condoms along. I want to say the hell with it, we'll take our chances and worry later. Which is why I'm seeing to this right now."

He quickly reached into his shorts pocket, popped open a blue capsule, and rolled a sheath down his length. As she watched his undisguised actions, she realized she'd let an old man's lust rob her of more than desire. She'd held on to a feeling of shame, a sensation that sex was something dirty. This wasn't dirty. It was natural. Clean. Healthy. A thing of beauty between a man and a woman.

"You're very efficient at doing that," she said, testing this new attitude and quite pleased with the ease she felt.