L.A. Caveman (21 page)

He swelled to an even greater size and
felt a very masculine pride. He knew he was well endowed, but
knowing wasn't the same as seeing the awe on Stanna's
face.

"Nothing you haven't seen before,
darlin'." He drawled out the endearment slowly, watching her face
with pleasure.

"That was different. It was darker in
the cabin. And we were more…" She smiled, from her expression
obviously savoring the memory. “Busy.” This soft, sensual woman
bore little resemblance to the office-Stanna. She shook her head,
searching for better words. "We were mindless. At least, I was.
Plus I've never had quite this kind of view before."

Before with him, or before ever? he
wondered. But her kneeling proximity to him suddenly struck him as
intensely erotic. He throbbed with impatience, but didn’t dare move
otherwise. He didn't care who she'd been with, she was his now,
only his. The possessive feeling he had added to the
eroticism.

He breathed deeply, imposing an
inhuman patience on himself. Something about the combination of
lust and this new feeling of… liking, he'll call it… for Stanna did
strange things to his mind. One moment his dirty mind conjured up
images of using her hard, pushing past her lips into her warm
mouth. The next moment, guilt plagued him, as if the action somehow
degraded her. Degraded! What the hell put that thought in his head?
She was voluntarily on her knees, wasn't she?

He wouldn’t move. Couldn’t if he
wanted to.

With her contradictory ways, her
spirit and sensuality, she inspired him to stillness. Happy,
expectant, and having a hard time holding himself still, he waited
in confused anticipation of whatever Stanna chose to do next. After
all, it was her game.

He kept his face impassive as he
looked down at her. He gave her a kind smile, just a little
superior, just a little daring… if he read her correctly, Stanna
wouldn't be able to resist a dare…

Then, to punctuate, he raised a
supercilious eyebrow in question.

Again, she managed to shock him: With
a grin, she stuck her tongue out at him. Then she leaned forward
until he felt her breath against him. Her warm hands lifted to cup
where he was soft. Her tongue ran the length of his hardness, and
his knees nearly buckled.

"Stanna," he gasped.

She paused. "Yes?" her innocent voice
replied.

"You are wicked."

"Mmmmm," she said.

It was intolerable. It was wonderful.
Jake trembled, stilled, and trembled again, straining to keep his
senses from feeling too much. An impossible task.

Suddenly, he felt cool air where it
was so warm and moist. Her hand grasped him, tugged gently, making
him see fireworks of light from sensation. She stood, her smooth
round rear presenting an irresistible picture as she led him to the
bed. He was more than willing to be led.

The fading afternoon light was giving
way to the streetlamps outside, and the faint glow from the closed
blinds gave just enough illumination to his bedroom. She let go of
him to crawl onto his bed.

Her heels still on
. The
contradiction of her feminine and tomboy side and this… this vixen!
It hit just the right combination with him. There must be something
to the old cliché, the one about men wanting the virgin and whore
in one, he thought. No, that wasn't quite it in this case. And not
that anyone could consider Stanna a whore or dare call her one… but
the innocent/seductress image was there, and potent. He felt desire
bordering on pain.

"Jake," she sing-songed as she turned
over to lie on her side on the bed, a provocative position. The
mischievous glint in her gray eyes showed him she knew exactly what
she was doing to him.

He had to touch her.

The next moment he lay atop her,
devouring her mouth and allowing his hands to finally roam over her
body. Mine, he thought with ferocity completely at odds with the
tight rein he held on himself. He would pleasure this woman like
she'd never been pleasured before.

With an artist's touch, he nibbled on
her ears while simultaneously caressing her nipples with skillful
thumbs. Listening to her soft moans and sighs, he found her
erogenous spots one by one and exploited them in a knowledgeable
and merciless attack. She writhed beneath him, trying to position
herself for relief, but he wanted to inflame her to the same state
he was in, and that was nothing short of desperate. He bit gently
at the small of her back. He raked his teeth over her nipples. He
breathed on her inner thighs and licked upwards. Her plump little
mound delighted him because of the soft gasps and pleadings he
could wring from her.

But when he brought his thick fingers
into play she broke down and begged with a ragged edge in her
voice.

Always the gentleman, Jake thought as
he entered her partially. Then all thought fled along with his
intention to tease her further. He sank into her to the hilt. Hot
liquid silk tightened around him and pulsed. He was dimly aware of
her loud cries of pleasure as he seemed to rise out of his body.
Looking down at her face, distorted with her own release, he
slammed back in with a shout as he thrust into her hard, quickly –
but not quickly enough to abbreviate the orgasm which went on and
on until he nearly passed out.

He found himself lying next to Stanna
whispering endearments in her ear and savoring her satisfied smile.
He felt an emotion just as painfully pleasurable as the desire and
its release had been.

"My lover. My sweet, wonderful angel,
do you know what you did to me? Do you? You are so beautiful, so
damn beautiful, and I'm not just talking about your body though
that's beautiful beyond compare…" Jake realized he was babbling. He
felt something strangely like gratitude for her condescending to
lie with him. He was going to press her dork-alert buttons if he
kept this up, and why, for goodness sake, was he still hard as a
rock? He should be sexually worthless for the next week at least,
with an orgasm like that. But all it took was a quick glance at her
and he was ready for more.

She made a purring contented sound,
nuzzling her head against the sensitive skin of his neck. Her warm
nose burrowed against his neck gently and her happy sound resonated
as a vibrating tickle. The tremendous surge of affection he felt in
response stunned him.

He felt his arm hairs standing up,
hypersensitive to the fear he suddenly felt. He wanted to hold this
woman in his arms all night. He wanted to make her breakfast. Hell,
the domestic fantasies didn't stop there. His heart seemed to stop
beating for a moment as he realized he'd like nothing more than to
wake up to her every day for the rest of his life.

Whoa,
he thought. Bigtime
Hold-The-Presses. Jolene had bewitched him into just those exact
thoughts. Was it something innate in him, to relax and trust a
woman just because they slept together? Better to be on guard.
Better to take it as a nice gift from a sexy woman, this seduction,
and not read a lifetime into it.

Stanna stirred against him, becoming
aware of his stillness. She rubbed her palm over his chest
inquisitively. "Something wrong?"

He turned his head and kissed her
hair, slowly. His eyes remained open as he thought of how to answer
that.

"No," he said. And truthfully, nothing
was. He wanted nothing to change, no more unwieldy emotions
creeping in and spoiling his high. And Stanna did make him feel
good.

Too good.

He stirred uncomfortably. Maybe he'd
feel better if she left. That should restore his perspective. But
she felt so warm and nice lying by his side.

"What are you thinking?" she asked.
Her hand made smooth little circles on his chest, but her eyes were
narrowed slightly and her nostrils the tiniest bit flared. The look
of blissful contentment was gone.

What is it about women, anyway, Jake
grumped to himself even as he squirmed uncomfortably. It's like
they had some kind of radar for stuff. He just wanted distance. To
think about things. Was that too much to ask?

He realized he couldn't say that,
though. What could he say that would buy him some time to figure
things out?

"I have some stuff to do this
evening."

Her look of surprise and
disappointment transitioned immediately to anger.

"A
lot
of stuff," he revised
hopefully, tightening his left arm around her. A sick feeling in
the pit of his stomach made him apprehensive.

She masked her anger with a neutral
look, but he'd seen the anger and knew the mask for what it was.
"Stanna…" he began. She waited. He continued carefully. "I want to
thank you--"

An exasperated whoosh of air
accompanied Stanna rising, reaching for her clothes. He touched her
but she shook him off.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything. I
just--"

"You just wanted to thank me for the
sex. You're welcome." She stared at him coldly, then continued to
dress.

"I was
not
going to thank you
for the sex," Jake replied with some exasperation of his own. He
took a deep breath. "I… care for you a great deal." Very still, he
waited for her reaction.

"It's good to
care
for the
person you sleep with," she said, her voice heavy and
low.

All his alerts flashed to life, his
innate defenses against getting too deeply involved kicking in with
a vengeance. "What did you expect!" he asked angrily. Against his
will, he hoped she would see through his anger to the core inside
him that she'd managed to touch. That part of him wasn't angry,
could never be angry at her, and was making him feel sicker and
sicker to his stomach at the immediate turn of events.

In fact, he was going to apologize and
admit his bullheaded demeanor was the product of some alien
possessing his body. He felt the wry curve of his lips as he opened
his mouth to talk. But she beat him to it, and how.

"I expected
better
," she said,
her delivery cool. Brutally cool.

Her words knocked the wind out of him.
Better? That one drew blood. Better? She'd screamed underneath him
in her pleasure, and she expected better? But maybe she had faked
it? He felt cold.

His voice reflected his internal
thermostat. "Well, you want better, you go get it,
love."

She flinched. But, "Not a problem,"
she replied. A flash of worry arrowed through him. Stanna, with
someone else? Impossible. But he wouldn't say a word. She wanted
better
.

Without another glance at him, she
finished dressing and headed out of the bedroom. Scrambling to pull
on his own clothes, he heard her calling a cab.

He emerged as she hung up the phone
and stalked past him. Out the door. He heard her heels clicking on
the paving stones outside before she flipped the door shut behind
her.

"Damn it!" he raged, resisting the
urge to slam his fist against the door. She couldn't walk around by
herself to wherever it was she told the cab to meet her. Not in
those heels, not in Los Angeles! And especially not after sleeping
with him.

But she wanted
better…

He compromised, opening the door
stealthily and slipping out to follow her. She was just turning the
corner. He kept low and to the side of the street. He needn't have
worried. She never even looked back.

He watched over her as she waited at
the local 7-11. Her shoulders were back and her head high. He felt
inexplicably sad when the cab arrived and she folded herself into
it, safe and graceful and remote. He felt his lips press together
firmly. Anger battled with the sadness, neither winning.

He shook his head and turned for
home.

The following morning Stanna stood
nervously outside Jake's door and smoothed her pretty green jacket.
It shouldn't be so nerve-wracking to humble yourself and apologize
to someone you cared about, Stanna grumbled to herself.

But she shouldn't have said it. She’d
known better. All men had egos as fragile and delicate as
porcelain, and she'd gone and busted his all to pieces because of
her damn expectations.

"’What did you expect?’" he'd shouted.
Well, she couldn't very well have
told
him what she'd
expected: his profession of love. But the way he'd looked at her
yesterday, and his loving endearments after they’d made love made
her nearly sure of it.

He did love her. The big oaf just
didn't realize it yet.

She knocked.

No answer. She waited. After a minute,
she followed the scent of coffee to the kitchen. She breathed a
sigh of relief that her coworkers weren't in there; it was just too
unpleasant dealing with their coolness towards her.

Armed with coffee, she made it back to
her seat in time to answer the phone.

"Stanna, my dear," Ian's voice
crooned.

"Hi Ian. No, I haven't called the
media with a statement. Did you call Jake like I suggested?" Why
was Ian being so persistent about having her make a statement? Did
Men's Weekly
mean that much to him, or did he have an
ulterior motive?