Riptide (16 page)

Her pulse accelerated, and her mouth went dry. Worse, all her girl parts responded to even the
memory
of his sex appeal, and suddenly craved things she’d never been that excited about wanting before.

Stop it!

Her silent reprimand didn’t help.

He’d changed out of the swim trunks that bared every delectable inch of him earlier. Still barefoot, he was now wearing soft, worn jeans and a white cotton V-necked sweater with the sleeves shoved up his tanned forearms. Effortlessly sexy. He stuck his fingers casually in his front pockets and leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb between the office and bedroom.

“Ready for dinner?” he asked pleasantly, looking at her with those shockingly blue eyes that made the hair on her body stand to attention and instantly tightened her nipples.

And ruined her resolve.

With nothing else to do, she’d showered earlier and had made do with air-drying her hair, which was now a dark, glossy, completely out of control cloud around her shoulders. She’d had plenty of time to play with her makeup, and she’d gone whole hog. Smoky eyes, vibrant red lips, a spritz of her travel perfume.

She’d chosen a short, turquoise, strapless bandage dress that was a little snug, but worth asphyxiating for when Nick’s gaze lingered on the swell of her breasts. She imagined she saw his pupils dilate. And if they didn’t, he’d slipped into an open-eyed coma. She felt some of the power between them shift back into her court.

Bria had weapons he hadn’t even
seen
yet. Uncurling her legs from under her, she slid off the bed. Slowly. “Ready and willing.” She smoothed her hand down the curve of her hip. “In fact, I’m
starving
.”

Basim had brought a rolling rack of freshly laundered clothes with a lovely lunch of chicken and fresh fruit at noon. Clearly a lot of women had come through the revolving doors of the
Scorpion
. Khoi had delivered a wicked and decadent wedge of chocolate cake and a diet soda at three.

But it wasn’t
food
she wanted a bite of.

Bria needed to be back in control. Needed it. She wanted Nick’s head on a platter, with a rosy apple in his mouth.
After
he’d written her a very large check.

She’d decided in the last few hours that if Nick
wanted
to, he
could
absolutely return Marrezo’s money. Clearly his company was fiscally sound. There were other investors. There must be money available for emergencies. This was an emergency.

He had Draven’s money.
Marrezo’s
money.

She urgently wanted it back.

She was going to get it back if it killed her. Okay, wait, someone had already tried that. She rephrased. She’d get the money back by hook or by crook.

Then she’d leave before she was burned to a crisp by blazing hot ice.

She was not running, she’d assured herself repeatedly all afternoon. Not necessarily running, but certainly at a brisk walk. Metaphorically, since they were in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.

Five minutes before he opened the door, this had seemed like a good plan. Now she could clearly see the holes. Her version of control was superficial at best. His was bred to the bone.

“You’ve been busy,” he observed, his voice Sahara dry as his eyes flickered over the room.

Bria had chosen to convert some of the vibrantly colored clothes into luxurious pillow and lampshade covers. The glaringly, mind-numbingly boring white bedroom had been transformed with pops of color and texture. She’d done it to annoy him, but she liked the end result.

She bent from the waist to pick up her red-soled sandals, then, hooking the sling-backs over one finger, sauntered over to him. He turned to stone as she came close enough to see that telltale little nerve twitching at the corner of his mouth.

Control. She had it.

But for how long?

She put her splayed fingers on his chest for balance, feeling the steady drum of his heartbeat beneath her palm. Taking her time, she lifted a bare foot and slipped on one sandal. “I hope you don’t mind. I did a little decorating while I…” Fumed? No, too confrontational. “Waited,” she finished mildly.

She shifted to put on her other shoe, which brought her closer to his chest, and almost eye level.

He didn’t move. His chest was rock solid under her touch. If it weren’t for the hard throb of his heart beneath her hand, he could have been a statue.

“It’s certainly … interesting,” he said, his voice quiet. Leashed down. He was staring into her eyes, not at the bright splashes of color behind her.

“Isn’t it?” She smiled up at him happily. “Amazing what a few cut-up designer dresses, a stapler, and some Scotch tape can do.” His eyes flickered. “Khoi wouldn’t give me more than that, so I used my nail scissors,” she continued, gamine bright. “What did he think I’d do with a real pair? Cut my way out of here?”

Small supernovas flared in the blue of his eyes. “I wouldn’t put it past you.”

“Shows what you know,” she replied, smile widening. His gaze snagged on her mouth. Kiss Me Red.
Would he?
“I don’t take stupid risks, Mr. Spock. I get that there’s a killer out there somewhere.”

Well, she took risks. Just not
stupid
ones. This wasn’t stupid. This was … practical. Necessary. People were depending on her to tamp down her temper and get the job done.

And she could keep telling herself that as she stayed where she was, fingers splayed over his arctic-freeze heart. “I appreciate the sentiment behind you keeping me prisoner in here while you looked for the bad guys. I really do. But,” she poked him in the chest with her finger. “Don’t ever,
ever
lock me
anywhere
again.”

His eyes narrowed. “What did you call me?”

She stayed where she was, breasts so close to his chest she could feel his body heat, face tilted up to his, their mouths only inches apart. She tasted the beer on his breath, smelled ocean salt on his skin, saw a flicker, just a flicker of heat in those cold blue eyes.

Then the heat was gone and she wondered if she’d imagined it.

A really,
really
stupid plan. So sometimes she did take stupid risks. But calculated stupid risks. Okay, sometimes she didn’t think at all when she lost her temper. Bria took a step back, dropping her hand from his chest. A tactical retreat. Because while
he
wasn’t affected by their closeness, she
was
. “Mr. Spock. The impassive Vulcan in
Star Trek
—”

His lips quirked. “Yeah, I know who he is. My brothers call me Spock.”

“Good grief!” She forgot to be sensual. Abandoned it, really, and tossed her hair behind her shoulders to get it out of her face. “You’re like this with your brothers too?”

“I’m like this with everyone, Princess.” And what an apology it
wasn’t
. “It’s who I am,” he added, as if she hadn’t gotten that memo.

Her lips curved. “From when you were a little baby?”

Instead of answering, Nick reached out, sliding one big hand around the back of her neck. No Vulcan mind-meld necessary, he just pulled her inexorably back against him like a magnet drawing metal filings.

She licked her lips, then wished she hadn’t as his eyes ignited with blue flame. Uh-oh! Somehow her arms ended up wound around his neck. Lungs constricted with anticipation, she could barely breathe as her ultrasensitive breasts brushed his chest.

One hand still in his front pocket, he raised the other to her face, brushing his thumb lightly across her chin. “I knew when I first saw this chin that I was going to have problems with you.” Raw desire and dark need flared in his eyes.

His hair was cool and silky beneath her hand, his scalp hot as she combed her fingers through his hair. She loved the heated depth of his smoldering blue gaze. She loved the way her nipples ached and her girl parts did the happy dance to see him.

She rubbed her nose across his tight, slightly bristly jaw. And because she could’ve sworn he shuddered, did it again.

Tilting her face up she said huskily, “
I
like to think I’m determined.”

“You’re determined to play with fire, aren’t you?”

She was. Until just that very second. Only as her knees turned to jello, she forgot that too. “Maybe you’re the one playing with fire.” Damn. That didn’t sound in the least threatening. It sounded husky, and wanton, and needy. She dragged in a shallow, shaky breath.

He smiled. “You look stunning in this dress you’re almost wearing.” The look he gave her almost incinerated the dress right off her body.

Meeting his fathomless gaze she raised her chin. “Do
not
kiss m—”

His mouth slanted on hers. So much for taking control. Okay. Fine. It was just a kiss after all. People kissed every day of the week. It was no big deal. Instead of his lips on hers, she decided to think about the Sapphire Grotto on Marrezo. The startling color of the water on the cave’s walls, the smell of humid—

Bria’s mind went blank. Her imagination fractured into a thousand pieces as his lips moved over hers, and all she could do was stand on her toes, tighten her arms around his neck, and hang on for the ride as her nerve endings flooded with sensation.

His heat was there beneath all that daunting self-control. His fingers skimmed her cheek and tangled in her hair. His other hand was busy too. His cool palm skated up the back of her warm thigh, inching up the fabric of the short dress as his fingers skimmed higher. Bria felt the whisper of his fingertips as they brushed against the edge of her thong. His hand slipped under the sheer ribbon at her hip to glide across the globe of her bottom. A slight bit of pressure, and she was flush against the hard length of his erection.

Fire wasn’t even the start of the sensations pooling hard in her belly, through her veins. Bria whimpered and melted into him. He tasted so good, and she craved more. Had been craving more since the first kiss. She met the sweep of his tongue with her own. She opened her mouth wider, and his fingers tightened on her butt as he sucked on her tongue.

Shimmering washes of sharp heat swept through her from her head to her toes as Nick made a sound low in his throat when she tangled her fingers in his silky dark hair and kissed him as if she’d be graded later. The sound he made resonated at the juncture of her thighs. Moisture pooled just inches from his exploring fingers.

Somehow he’d turned her so her back was against the doorjamb. He pressed against her, pulling her more tightly against him. Bria was enveloped by him. By his heat, and the heady male scent of his skin. By his arms, his so-sure hands, everything that was Nick Cutter.

The bed, she thought, her brain muzzy and crazy with lust. Only a few steps behind him. If he’d only … Disoriented, she blinked as Nick dragged his mouth from hers. “What?” The word slipped out before she could muzzle herself, sounding so damned needy, she could have kicked herself.

He slid his hand out of her hair, stroked a finger across her damp, swollen mouth. His eyes blazed with molten heat as he said smoothly, “Let’s eat.”

Oh, for God’s sake!

Chapter 9

Bria slid onto a chair, casting an appreciative glance over the small, intimate table. “This is beautiful.” Her voice still carried echoes of husky sensuality.

Nick pushed her chair in, inhaling the succulent ripe peach scent that drifted from her golden skin. His gut clenched, and the throbbing ache in his still-too-damned-aware erection wasn’t subsiding. He walked around to his own seat before he gave in and bent her over the good china.

Her soft mouth, free of lipstick, looked bee-stung from his kiss, and the pulse at the base of her throat pounded hard. If that didn’t indicate her arousal, the hard buds of her nipples, pressed against the thin cloth covering them, did.

She hummed her appreciation of the meal before them. A simple lobster salad, wine, French bread. He hadn’t requested candlelight, but Khoi had provided it. Nick almost blew out the flickering flames, but he liked the silken, impossibly soft, look of her skin as the flames danced in the warm zephyr of the breeze.

No romantic music; his head steward would’ve been keelhauled for that. Just the soft susurrus of the waves against the hull, and a faint, almost imperceptible bass from the movie the guys were watching in the media room behind the sunroom.

“You like lobster?”

Her dancing eyes, long-lashed, melted chocolate, innocent as sin, met his. “On a night like this? What’s not to like?” She made that soft humming sound again. It curled through Nick’s blood like mind-altering smoke. She made no effort to conceal that her nipples were hard beneath the thin horizontal bands of her dress, which was the pale turquoise of the water of his favorite beach back home at Cutter Cay.

He gritted his teeth, grateful that his own arousal was efficiently hidden by the table.

“Glad you approve,” he said, pleased at how calm he sounded, all things considered.

Set for two, the table had been placed on the sundeck near the hot tub, a favorite vantage point of Nick’s. The water shimmered crystalline blue, illuminated by a single underwater light. Strings of small, round, milky-white bulbs, strung on invisible cords, swayed slightly overhead in the breeze. He couldn’t have painted a more romantic picture if he’d orchestrated the setting himself.

He’d merely told Khoi dinner for two on the sundeck. Where it was in no way private to anyone glancing through the picture windows.

What was her game? Did she
have
a game? He considered that as he sipped the wine he didn’t want. Yeah. Everyone had a game.

Some more dangerous than others, he knew.

He didn’t peg her as the easy-come-easy-go type, but twice now she’d taken part in a heated kiss. Heated, hell. Inferno of a kiss. Skin-searing, nerve-peeling, mind-numbing kiss, the kind that made him forget things like “logic” and “rationality” and “common fucking sense.”

But it wasn’t an act. She’d been affected too.

Still, it wasn’t his goal to toss her into his bed. He’d instructed Khoi nothing romantic, but it was hard to beat a warm breeze, the rock of the water, and a waning crescent moon sparkling on the waves for romantic, no matter who was looking at it. He took the cloth-wrapped bottle out of the ice bucket and topped up her glass.