Playing Love's Odds (A Classic Sexy Romantic Suspense) (20 page)

Slowly she looked up and in a breathless whisper, asked "About what?"

"You." He stared into her eyes, the kaleidoscopic colors swirling like a hypnotic wheel, pulling him beyond the point of no return. She pressed back into the corner of the couch. He shifted to lean over her, reaching out to finger the gauzy material draped over her toes.

"What about you, Logan? What are you feeling now?"

"Right now?"

"Yeah. Right now."

He ran one finger down her upper arm, the thin material of her nightshirt no barrier to the softness of her skin. He knew she could feel him shaking. "Like if I don't touch you right now, nothing will ever feel right again."

Her fingers clutched the cushion. He pried them loose, lifted her hand and bit at the pad below her thumb, licking at the teeth marks he left. "Like if I don't taste you right now, nothing will ever taste good again."

He placed her hand on the knot of his towel, giving her the choice. Anticipation burned a fire in his groin. "Like if I don't take you right now, I'm going to come further apart than I already am."

An eternity passed before her fingers moved over the knot. An eternity spent holding his breath, never taking his eyes from hers. He had no business wanting her the way he did. Body. Soul. Forever after. Business or not, the want was there. Aching. Building. Keeping him up nights when the nightmares weren't around. Keeping him up days, too.

She smiled, a tiny invitation of a smile, and the towel slid to the floor. He swallowed a groan. The hem of her gown rode mid-thigh. He toyed with the scalloped edge, feeling like a virgin not knowing where to begin. Finding a single loose thread, he wrapped it around his finger and snapped, the sound of finality setting him free.

His eyes burned into hers, his body fire-hot and ready. She trailed one nail down his breastbone to his navel, threading her fingers through the thatch of hair swirling low on his belly. "Tell me what you want, Logan. Tell me what to do."

With a coarse, guttural laugh he caught her exploring hand, holding it still, then led her lower, wrapping her fingers tight around his sex. She squeezed once and stroked, rubbing her thumb over the taut head.

He shuddered, sucking in a sharp breath. Too fast. They were moving way too fast. At this rate he'd be finished before he ever got started, and he'd waited too long for her to take this loving any way but slow. Long and slow and fevered.

Lacing their fingers together, he anchored her hands against the couch arm on either side of her head. She squirmed and he tightened the pressure on her wrists. "Hannah," he growled. "If you don't be still I'm not going to be of any use to you."

She ceased fidgeting. "You mean ..."

"You got it," he answered, shifting to show her exactly.

She rubbed her thigh against him. "You're wrong."

"How so?" he asked, the vampish gleam in her eyes turning him hotter than any mortal fire.

"I don't got it," she teased, wiggling her eyebrows in exaggeration. "At least not yet."

He ran his tongue over her lips, moving just out of range as she lifted up to meet his mouth with her own. "You want it?"

She nodded then cocked her head to one side. "You're taking unfair advantage, you know."

"How's that?"

Her steamy gazed raked over him. "You're naked. I'm not."

"We might can remedy that." He loosened her hands. "As long as you promise not to touch."

"Not anything?" she complained.

"Well, maybe my nose."

"It's a deal," she said with a delicious grin, shimmying out of her gown and tossing it to the floor. Sinuously, she stretched, her back arched in tempting invitation. Then, in a purely wanton gesture, she licked one finger and trailed it down the length of his nose. "Was that permissible?"

"Uh-huh," he moaned, leaning over to taste her. He started with her neck, dampening a path from her chin to her collarbone with the tip of his tongue. Mindful of her bruises, he cupped her breast, unable to wait any longer. She tasted like coconut, like cream, like relief from starvation. He sucked hard on her nipple, loving the throaty purr that rattled deep in her throat.

He moved to her stomach, leaving a trail of hot, wet, open-mouth kisses on the way. His tongue flicked around her navel, his teeth nipped the satin skin of her lower belly. She slid one knee against his ribs, wrapping the other leg around his back to urge him closer. He smelled her desire and quickened.

It was still too fast. He raised up, braced himself against the back of the couch. One hand splayed flat on her stomach, he pressed his feet to the floor, grounding himself in reality.

"What's wrong?"

Eyes closed he shook his head, the silliest pictures popping into his head. "Have you ever wanted a monstrous hot fudge sundae? And you eat it so fast it's gone before you've really begun to enjoy it?" He budged his hip further back on the couch, only to find Hannah's legs suddenly wrapped around his waist like a sticky spider's web. "This is going way too fast."

In a swift-as-lightning move, she straddled his lap, pushing his shoulders into the back of the couch. He settled his hands at her waist, making only a half-hearted effort at keeping her still. He wanted her so bad. She seemed to have an equal need.

Balanced on her knees she took him in her hand, measuring him, learning him, adjusting their bodies in that perfect man-to-woman alignment. "You can always come back for seconds, Logan," she muttered, an instant before her mouth covered his, the same instant her body opened and took him inside.

He'd died and gone to heaven. Or as close as he deserved. Lost in the sensation her body roused in his, he squeezed his eyes shut. She rode him to incredible, impossible heights. He kneaded her bottom, guiding her strokes, urging her to take all of him.

He pushed her away. She lifted. He pulled her back. She came, drawing away in sweet enticement before he tugged her down harder, again, the rhythm increasing, the repetitive friction stoking the coals in his belly.

Her breath came in pants, hot and wet against his neck. She whimpered and he swallowed the needy sound, eating at her mouth in a wild, frenzied kiss. He'd never dreamed, never imagined. How could something he had no right to be what he craved the most? How long would the memory of this night last once he'd sent her away?

He could never have her again. Knowing that fact increased the emotional risk he was taking. He was feeling, breaking that taboo. He had to prolong the pleasure, draw it out. The way she moved against him made holding back damned near impossible.

"Hannah, stop," he growled, wrapping one arm tightly around her waist, keeping her immobile. He throbbed to life inside her, the pleasure a fierce pain as she ground against him.

"Stop. Hannah, baby. Please stop or I'll—"

"—shoot?" she whispered against his ear, her teeth nipping soundly at his lobe, then his neck, her tongue bathing him in wicked strokes.

"Something like that," he muttered, his face buried in her hair. "I don't want to give you something you may not want."

She raised back to look askance at him. "Like a disease?"

He scowled. "No. A baby was more what I had in mind."

"Isn't it a little late to be worrying about either one?"

His face colored. "I'm trying my damnedest to be noble here. I'm not exactly thinking with my head at the moment."

"So I can tell." She squeezed herself around his engorged length.

He drew a whistling breath in through his teeth. "Don't. Please."

"Which is it?" She ran her tongue across his lips. "Don't? Or please?"

"What about a baby?"

"I've got that covered. How 'bout you?"

"What?"

"Are you going to give me anything else I don't want?"

"I certainly don't plan on it."

"Good," she said all too knowingly, circling his navel with the tip of her nail. "I can feel you throbbing." She placed her palms flat against him. "I don't know which is stronger. Your heart pounding in your chest or you pulsing inside of me."

He gazed into her eyes, that full-of-feminine-power look tripling his pounding and pulsing. And like a streak of white-hot light jagged through his gut, he suddenly understood the power she held over him.

It was the way she teased, the way she cared, the way she gave without demanding he do the same. Most of all it was the way she let him be himself without passing judgment or wanting him to change. She wanted him. Logan.

And he wanted to give her what she wanted. He held her fast and hard, her breasts crushed against his chest, and pulled her mouth to his. He tasted her want, her need, the sweetness of her offering. Mingled with his own, the flavor was heady, intoxicating, driving him crazier than he already was.

Their position was awkward. He couldn't get deep enough. He couldn't climb far enough inside her to lose himself the way he wanted. Totally. Completely. To the point where he didn't have to think of why he would hate himself come morning. Because he would. For taking her trust and violating it so cruelly.

With a groan he raised his hips, twisted to the side and lowered her to the cushions, sinking as deep as he could inside the giving warmth of her body. He buried his face in her neck; the feminine slope of her jaw cradled his head. The rhythm of their loving increased. The age old position of man to woman demanded it. Harder, he thrust. Faster. He panted. She groaned, and tightened her legs around his back to arch upward.

"Logan!" she cried and shuddered beneath him.

Her uninhibited response fueled his own. "Hannah, baby. Now. Oh, baby. Pull. Now. Unravel me now."

He groaned, then with a final plunge gave her something he knew she wouldn't want.

Every bit of himself.

The water beat down in a steamy torrent, soothing her healing bruises and the numerous aches that really weren't aches at all. Hannah smiled in silent satisfaction and lifted one leg to soap her foot, only to moan as more unused muscles protested the movement.

Unused? Hardly. After last night, after Logan had lifted her from the couch and carried her to his bed, after they'd made a mess of grilled cheese sandwiches and hot fudge sundaes, not a muscle on her skeleton was unused, untested, or unsore.

"Unsore, Hannah?" She spit out a mouthful of hot water. "You'd better watch the company you're keeping. Your grammar's becoming atrocious." She sputtered again and shook her head, plastering her wet hair back with her hands. "Frankly, my dear, do you really care about your grammar? And secondly, why are you carrying on this ridiculous, one-sided conversation?"

Because, you idiot, you're afraid to think about what last night meant. Because you're afraid it meant more to you than it did to Logan. Because you're afraid to face him this morning and hear him tell you to go. Because you've gone and done what you didn't think you could do. You've fallen in love. And you don't know where to go from here.

It had been so long since she'd felt anything besides fleeting, temporary emotions. A quick laugh at a cute joke. A simple smile in response to a friendly greeting. A lone tear shed during a sad movie. Not a single incident since her father's death had caused her to feel anything this scary.

Because this was something that had the ability to expose her vulnerability. She didn't know if she could handle it. If starting here was a new beginning. Or just a temporary detour. If at the first sign of trouble she'd run, afraid of being rejected and relieving the twisting, writhing pain she'd closeted away after her father's death.

What was the test? How could she know if this was the genuine article? She needed a guidebook, a text, something to lay out the rules. Trusting her own intuition was too frightening. Intuition told her to run for the gold. Logic told her she didn't have the experience to finish the race.

She lifted her face to the spray, letting the brisk force of the shower wash away her doubts. It didn't work. The stinging stream brought her nerve endings to life. She shivered and told herself to relax.

Then sensed she wasn't alone.

The stall door squeaked open. She froze, her heart thudding wildly in her chest. The fiberglass floor creaked beneath her feet, adjusting to Logan's added weight. She closed her eyes and swallowed a deep breath along with a mouthful of water.

The already tiny stall took on incredibly intimate proportions. Logan's scent surrounded her. The smell of a man, wet and fresh from loving. Wanting more, she inhaled deeply, catching a whiff of herself on his body, along with the rich fragrance of chocolate.

She leaned her forehead against the wall, letting the water stream down her back, searching for the fortitude to turn around and face him with her newly realized emotions.

He reached around her for the soap, his breathing raspy. She sucked in the aroma as he lathered the bar in his hands. She tensed, breaking a sweat that had nothing to do with the heat of the water and everything to do with the heat of the man behind her.

She wasn't nervous, not physically. Not after all they'd done together, to one another, last night. But still she hesitated turning around and seeing in the light of day what the darkest hours held secret. Logan's honest reaction.

He started at her nape, rubbing his bare soapy hands in circles over her shoulders, down her back, across her ribcage to the base of her spine. She shivered, waiting while he built up another handful of suds, listening as the bar turned in his hand.

This time he started with her breasts. No simple strokes. No gentle forays. A seductive massage meant to arouse. He slicked his palms over her fullness. He tugged hard on the nipples, drawing a tiny cry from the back of her throat, then with one arm across her waist drew her against his body. His soap-slick naked body. She felt him long and hard and ready against her bottom, probing to find what he wanted.

With no further delay, he pressed the heel of his palm between her legs, exploring with his fingers the heat buried deep inside. She cried out and pushed against him. His heart beat a staccato rhythm at her back. The pulsing shower matched the beat, raining down on her front. She rocked against his hand until she felt ready to explode, then wrenched herself free to turn in his arms.