Lead Me On (8 page)

"Please tell me you're not a virgin," he said between clenched teeth.

"No."

"Thank God." He moved a hand to her thigh, adjusting one of her legs higher on his hip. "Hang on." He drove himself to the hilt with one hard thrust. She gasped in shock and wonder at the feel of having their bodies joined. He kissed her mouth, her face, her neck, waiting for her to adjust to him.

When she did, he moved over her, inside her.

She held him tight as the world fell away and words tumbled from her lips.
Yes, please yes, now, right there. Oh. Yes. Right. There.
She arched again, as sensations crashed through her, more shattering and glorious than before. She felt him stiffen against her, heard his strangled cry of pleasure, and then she melted with a sigh into the mattress. She didn't even care when he collapsed on top of her, as boneless as a hot, heavy blanket.

For the first time in years, she didn't feel damaged inside. She felt ... womanly, powerful, and free. Hugging him to her, she smiled.

Alli stirred at the sound of running water and wondered why Adrian was using her shower instead of his. Moaning, she rolled over in hopes of a few more minutes of sleep. Then morning sunlight landed on her face and she bolted upright thinking she'd overslept. She tossed the covers aside, felt a blast of cool air against her naked breasts, and jerked the covers back.

Her surroundings registered quickly: pale green and white wallpaper, elegant gold draperies, soft light seeping through sheer curtains. Memory returned, heating her cheeks. She glanced sideways to find Scott had already left the bed, which explained the shower noises coming from the bathroom.

Dropping back to the mattress, she clutched the sheet to her chest while she tried to decide if she was relieved or disappointed that he wasn't there. Relieved. Being alone gave her a minute to adjust to the reality of waking up naked in a hotel room with a man in the shower.

How did a woman behave the morning after? Did she act as if nothing unusual had happened? Or did she compliment the man on being a fabulous lover? Which Scott certainly was. Even with her limited experience, she knew he was good. Very, very good.

She closed her eyes to savor the memories. She'd assumed their first time would be it, but twice more during the night he'd pulled her to him and brought her nearly to the point of screaming and begging. Okay, so she had begged all three times, but she'd only screamed once. He'd seemed to enjoy every sound she made, so it hadn't embarrassed her at the time. But that was in the dark during the throes of passion. Remembering all the intimate details in the light of day was a bit ... disturbing.

And titillating.

A little smile tugged at her lips as heat flickered to life in her belly. Daylight or not, she wouldn't mind having him bring her to flash point a few more times before they checked out of the room.

Which proved how wrong people were about her. She could have recreational sex without falling in love and getting hurt. Once she left this room, that would be it, no expectations from either one of them that the affair would continue.

She waited for relief to follow. But the only thing she felt was a vague discomfort. And a little hollow inside. Okay, so maybe sex without emotions took a little getting used to. But if she had to pick between her previous experience with Peter and last night with Scott, sex with Scott would win hands down for a lot of reasons. His honesty being high up on the list. Along with his skillful hands and the way his kisses made her head spin.

Smiling, she sat up ... and saw that he'd draped one of the white hotel robes across the foot of the bed. And he'd laid a flower on it

The sweetness of the gesture made her smile fade.
Why does he do things like that?
she wondered as she stared at the flower. It didn't make sense. The world-weary cynic who could be generous in bed, that she understood, because he benefited from his own generosity. But the thoughtful romantic? No, that didn't fit. Nor did she want it to. She liked it better when he was arrogant and rude.

Nudging the flower away with the tip of her finger, she donned the robe and went to the window to look outside. The hotel offered a perfect view of Seawall Boulevard and the beach beyond. A few joggers and bicyclists moved along the wide sidewalk at the top of the seawall—a massive concrete retaining wall that had been built after the nineteen hundred hurricane. When the wall had been completed, dirt had been pumped in, raising the level of the island's east end several feet. Confidence in the fortifications was so high that the Hotel Galvez had been built to replace the Grand Hotel, and when another hurricane swept over the island a few years later, the cream of Galveston society had gathered in the ballroom to dance in defiance of the storm.

Allison had always liked that image, of women in lavish gowns, men in black formal dress, dancing beneath crystal chandeliers while a dangerous storm raged around them. It made her feel safe to know that even after the heartbreaking devastation of the Great Storm, life could go on within the safety of strong walls. How appropriate that she had come to that same hotel to resume her own life, to dance in defiance of the previous pain she had suffered.

Behind her, the shower turned off, and a few minutes later, Scott stepped out of the bathroom wearing another of the hotel's robes.

"You're up," he said.

"Yes." She turned with a smile, determined to act sophisticated. Then her gaze dropped to the deep V of exposed chest and her cheeks heated.

"I hope I didn't wake you," he said.

"No, I'm used to getting up much earlier than this." Although she wasn't used to losing so much sleep during the night to make love. She glanced back out the window as her stomach fluttered.

"Hungry?" he asked as he went to the nightstand and retrieved his wristwatch.

"I suppose."

"Me too." He gave her a lopsided grin. "We never did get around to eating last night."

Her cheeks grew hotter. "No, we didn't"

"Why don't I order room service while you shower?"

Nodding, she headed for the sanctuary of the bathroom.

Scott let out a sigh of relief when the door closed behind her. He always dreaded mornings after sex. If a woman was going to morph into a clinging vine, or turn bitchy with regret, that was when it happened. Allison had seemed ... shy. A little edgy and embarrassed, maybe, but that was all. No morning-after theatrics. Thank God.

Crossing to the phone, he ordered two plates of sausage, bacon, eggs, biscuits, and toast and a pot of coffee. Then he added some yogurt and fruit since women seemed to like that stuff, and remembered orange juice at the last minute. The B and B served fresh-squeezed orange juice every morning, so Allison probably liked it

By the time she emerged from the bathroom, he was arranging the food on the coffee table.

"Ah, perfect timing. I was just—" He glanced up and forgot what he was about to say. She stood in the doorway, looking angelic in the white robe. Her wet hair had been combed back from her face, emphasizing her delicate bones.

"Is breakfast here already?"

"Hmm? Oh yes." He glanced down at the dishes. "I wasn't sure what you'd want."

"Whatever you ordered will be fine." She moved forward and perched on the edge of the sofa, looking for all the world like a lady about to partake of afternoon tea. He watched in fascination as she selected a slice of toast. Rather than leave it dry, like so many stick-figure women who claimed they were fat just so people would tell them they weren't, she slathered it with butter and jam. "I only see one glass of juice, did you want it?"

"No, I ordered it for you."

"Oh. Thank you."

He watched her as he took up one of the plates, trying to connect the prim woman beside him with the abandoned temptress who'd caught fire in his arms several times during the night. She had so many facets, he wondered how long it would take a man to discover them all.

Settling back into the comer of the sofa, he tried to imagine her as a character in one of his books. He toyed with the idea a bit, waiting for a scenario to present itself. Would she be the hero's weakness or his strength? Would she be the fragile beauty who drove him to protect her at all costs? The key to solving a mystery? Or an equal partner on a dangerous mission? He could easily see her as all those things, but what sort of man would he pair her with?

Blank. Dammit. His mind went blank.

He tried again to form some glimmer of a plot, but Allison began to fidget under his focused regard. After a while, she cleared her throat, but didn't look at him. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," he said, distracted by his thoughts.

"Do you always buy flowers for your lovers?"

"Not always," he answered carefully rather than admit almost never. He remembered walking past the gift shop in the lobby after checking in and seeing the vase of fragrant white flowers. Everything about them reminded him of Allison, so he'd bought them on impulse hoping she'd like them. From the way she was frowning at the vase, though, he wondered if he'd made a mistake. "Why do you ask?"

"It just seems odd. Like you're trying to court me."

He set his plate aside, unaccountably stung that she didn't like his gift. "Don't read anything into it, Allison. All it means is I was in the mood to buy a woman flowers. So don't start thinking I'm a nice guy. I'm not. I'm a selfish son of a bitch. And I'm not trying to court you."

"Thank goodness." She visibly relaxed, and gave him

a shy, sideways smile. "You had me worried."

He realized she meant it. She really didn't want anything more from him than sex. The thought should have put him at ease. Instead, he felt oddly perturbed. Taking up his coffee, he studied her over the rim. "Okay, you asked me a question, now it's my turn."

Her smile vanished. "Oh?"

"Last night when you said you were a lot out of practice, what exactly did you mean?"

She looked away. "Just that I haven't ... been with anyone for a while."

"Define 'a while.' "

"A while. A long time."

"I'm looking for a figure here. One year? Two?"

Her chin came up in a regal gesture. "I thought we weren't supposed to ask personal questions."

"So I'm breaking one of the rules. Sue me. But first answer the question."

She gave him a mutinous stare. "How long has it been for you?"

She clearly didn't expect him to answer. Which would let her off the hook. Damn. He took a sip of coffee. "Two years. And before that it was off and on, with increasingly long periods of off."

"Why increasingly long periods?"

He narrowed his eyes, debating whether or not to answer, but the more questions he answered, the more she'd have to. And maybe those answers would help him unravel the mystery of her. "The last woman I dated was a pharmaceutical sales rep from Baton Rouge. Divorced, two kids, constantly on the road. Her career and family came first. Just as my career has always come first for me. However, we both enjoyed movies, live music, and Cajun food, so she'd call me up whenever she was in New Orleans. What we had was friendly and convenient Nothing more."

"So, what happened? Why'd it end?'

"The last time I saw Kelly, all we did was go to dinner where she told me she'd met someone. Even though she'd sworn to me a million times she never wanted to remarry, she had high hopes the relationship would become serious. Personally, I've never understood how people can change their minds about something like that, but I wished her well and haven't heard from her since."

A frown line formed between Allison's brows. "Did it hurt? For her to end things?"

"Not at all," he lied. The truth was, Kelly's decision had cut his ego right to the bone. Not that he blamed her. He couldn't give women the emotional sharing they seemed to want, and he knew it. "I miss her company whenever there's a movie I want to see, but other than that, I really do hope she's happy."

Allison nodded as she digested that.

"Okay, your turn," he said. "How long's it been and who was he?"

She folded her hands in her lap and stared at them for several seconds. "Ten years. And the details are none of your business."

"Ten years?" His mind raced. "How old are you?"

"I told you, it's none of—"

"How old?" he demanded.

That chin of hers went up again. "Twenty-six."

"You haven't had sex since you were sixteen?' He nearly sloshed coffee all over his lap.

"It's none of your business." She started tidying dishes. "And I don't want to talk about it."