Sin on the Strip (15 page)

“Maggie, honey, you're still shivering. If you're not into a bath, how about a hot shower?”

“Sure.” She wrapped her arms around herself, the aftershocks of a tumultuous day making her body ache. “But first, would you tell me who you were reminded of today?”

“You really want to know?”

She nodded, hoping she hadn't put her faith in a man who wasn't available, or worthy.

“With the exception of two,” he said, “I don't talk to anyone about this. This doesn't get more personal for me.”

“I cried in front of you,” she countered. “I never cry, especially in front of people. People I barely know.” She turned to face him, wanting him to understand her meaning. She'd let her guard down. She wanted to trust him.

He said nothing. And as the long seconds ticked by, she realized this wasn't about another woman in his life. Their eyes locked, and she swore their connection went deeper, into a place only the two of them could share.

Finally he spoke. “My sister, Claire, ran away when she was sixteen. She never came home. She was murdered by a man the police thought was her pimp, but could never prove he killed her. She died with everyone thinking she turned to prostitution. But I didn't believe it. It wasn't who she was. She was a fighter. She'd have found another way to survive.”

“Oh, God, I'm so sorry.” Now, it was making sense. He
would
appreciate why she'd gone after Hannah. And their connection did go deeper. But was it her understanding his pain, or something more?

“It was a long time ago. I was ten.”

At least twenty years ago, yet she'd have believed the wound fresh. “Would you like to talk about it?”

“This isn't the time.” He brushed the back of his hand over her bandage. “How about you take that hot shower, and I figure out where I'm going to sleep?”

“Excuse me?” Was the ringing in her ears making her hear things?

“The first responder said you needed someone to stay with you tonight.”

She'd forgotten that. “And that's you? I have friends who could come over.”

“And are you ready to tell them what happened?”

He had her there. “I'll be fine. It was just a bump. If the paramedic thought it was bad, he'd have made me go to the hospital.”

“I think he was worried about the balls he was going to lose if he kept insisting you do just that. In case you haven't noticed, you don't let anyone tell you what to do. Darlin',” he said in his slow southern drawl, “you have plenty of spare rooms. I'll call Lieutenant Cooper, or you can, and tell him I'll be here to check in on you throughout the night.”

“I'll send him a text.” She wasn't ready to talk to him either. And was she really agreeing to this?

He smiled that sexy smile of his, the one that told her she wasn't crazy, that she was smart and beautiful all at the same time. “That's my girl,” he said, wrapping his arms around her.

She allowed the hug, needed the hug. This close, she caught the faint aroma of chocolate, as if imbedded in his jacket. Unable to resist, she inhaled deeply of the intoxicating scent and gave in to the comfort of his strong arms.

“Maggie.”

“Yes.”

“You scared me today.” He buried his face in her hair. “When I saw you on the ground . . .” His embrace tightened.

Her ribs throbbed, but at that moment, she didn't care, her tightly coiled muscles grateful for the reprieve and greedy for the safety of his arms. “Sorry.”

“I don't want you to apologize. I just wanted you to know. Come on.” He led her out of the kitchen, his arm over her shoulder. “Where's your bathroom?”

She pointed in the direction of her master bedroom and they headed there together.

At his first look at her bathroom, he let out an appreciative whistle.

The fancy hotels didn't have much on Alice's design choices. She'd insisted Maggie spare no expense on what she referred to as a
woman's oasis
. It wasn't that it was feminine so much as opulent. Chocolate granite made up the double sinks, and the two benches in the shower stall capable of accommodating six. Triple jets came out of every wall, leaving no muscle unmassaged. Cream-colored Italian porcelain tiles made up the rest.

“Nice.” He pointed to the stand-alone tub. “I always wanted one of those.”

“You don't strike me as a bath kind of guy.” She could see him standing in her shower, naked, all that water massaging sculpted muscle. She blinked, trying to banish the image. It didn't work. Maybe taking a shower wouldn't be so relaxing after all.

“I'm not,” he said, his voice husky as he looked down at her. “And you're still shaking.”

“Uh-huh. Can't seem to stop.”

“How do you turn this thing on?” he asked indicating the shower.

“On the left.” She pointed to the control panel by the floor-to-ceiling glass door.

Taking her with him, he quickly read the buttons then punched three; the one that started the overhead rain shower, and the two for the second and third row of jet streams.

He stepped back and met her eyes. “This will make it feel better,” he said.

She thought he'd meant the shower, until he bent down and kissed her.

It was nice, soft at first, hesitant even, until one of them, she wasn't sure who, parted lips. Maggie let go, gave in to the temptation that was Christian Beck. She should tell him to go, make him leave before she did something truly reckless. But the alternative, being alone with her fears, her failures, was worse. She'd helped Hannah, helped countless more, but how many was she abandoning because a sadist had reminded her she wasn't immortal? She didn't want to think about it, was tired of thinking about it. She was a good person. She deserved this, deserved how gloriously female Beck made her feel. He was someone who understood that runaways weren't misbegotten youth seeking trouble, but the forgotten searching to belong.

Their kiss seemed to go on and on, his tongue inside her mouth, hers inside his. She allowed herself to indulge in the taste of a man who made her entire body tremble for reasons other than fear. No, here in his arms, she was safe. And when he drew her gently but firmly against him, when one of his hands slid down and cupped her bottom, she didn't pull away. Instead, she ignored the pain from her back ribs and wrapped her arms around his neck, holding on like her life depended on it.

It was Beck who broke the kiss. She'd been about to protest when he grinned, put a few inches between them and began to unbutton her shirt. She should stop him, but once she made eye contact, she couldn't tear her eyes from his. If she ever needed something to forget this awful day, his sensuous smile was it. A woman could lose herself in that smile. Nothing so perfect could be so wrong.

He stepped forward and tugged her shirt off, his fingers trailing down her back. This time the tremors that rocked her body were unlike anything she'd felt before. If that wasn't enough, she nearly lost her breath when he knelt before her to unsnap and unzip her jeans. Then looking down into those mesmerizing brown eyes she forgot to inhale as he slid his hands into her pants, and squeezed her bottom before dragging them down off her body. She stood in front of him in only a bra and a very small thong. When he stood, her mouth found his. If this was a sin, open the gates of hell and toss her sorry butt in.

Christian held Maggie, not giving a damn about the ramifications of caring about how good it felt to know she was safe.

A rational man wouldn't have allowed it to go this far. He'd have turned the shower on and waited outside for her to finish. He would've pulled down her bedcovers, told her to get in alone, and made her that cup of tea, or whatever women drank to soothe their nerves. He might even have cooked soup and fed it to her. He'd have enjoyed that. A coherent man might have acknowledged, in some part of his brain, that Maggie took risks, that she was a detriment not only to her health but his sanity. Unfortunately, thinking clearly and Maggie were like oil and water.

Instead, he did what he'd wanted to do since sweating his ass off waiting for her outside the morgue. He ran his hands over her body, down the curve of her back, her hips, and lingered over her sweet, sweet ass. The urge to drive himself into her, to hear his name on her lips, to know she was truly safe, strained every muscle in his body. He reined in his lust. Tonight he'd take it slow. Tomorrow was another day. The days after that—who knew.

He unsnapped her bra and peeled it off her body. She held his face keeping her lips pressed to his while he tossed his jacket to the floor. She seemed oblivious to the awkward dance needed to remove his shoes, socks, shirt and pants or how difficult she made it simply by kissing him. Buttons and buckles had become foreign objects as he rushed to have her skin next to his.

If her tongue kept this up, he'd forget about taking it slow. The taste of her urged his hands to seek out more, and those throaty moans in his mouth made sane thinking impossible.
Breathe
, he told himself.

With his back, he pushed open the glass pane and walked them into the shower. Thick steam swirled around them. Hot water showered their bodies from all angles, the gentle sprays reminding him they were naked. She was naked. Naked and with him. He wanted her everywhere, every way, all at once. Unable to stop himself, he touched the bandage on her cheek and for a moment rage overrode his desire. Damn, what if her injuries had been worse?

“Guess I'm not the prettiest belle at the ball,” she drawled, finally speaking.

How the hell did she manage to do that, find humor where there was none? “Are you making fun of the way I talk?” He teased her mouth, nipping on her lower lip, licking the corners.

She giggled, the sound relieving some of the tension in his neck. “I love the way you talk,” she said. “My knees buckle whenever you open your mouth.”

“Really? Then let me open it more.” He kissed her, tasted her, and it wasn't enough.

He turned her to face the tile wall. Pressing the handy automatic soap dispenser, he used the silky clear gel to loosen her tight shoulder muscles. He recognized the jasmine scent of the soap, the perfume that had caught his attention when he bandaged her hand. When she moaned, that sweet little sound he so liked to hear, and finally relaxed, he did the one thing he'd been dreaming of—filling his hands with her breasts and rubbing his painful erection between the lush globes of her ass. He suckled her neck and pinched her hard nipples, her breathy gasps a test to his restraint.

With a shudder, he kissed his way down her spine. When he came to the ugly welt below her shoulder blade, he reminded himself to go slowly as he lapped water and tasted Maggie. Like a gauzy sheath, the thick steam twirled around her in a hypnotic, sensual dance. On bent knees, he splayed his fingers across her belly, the heel of his hands against her hips. Tilting her pelvis forward, he did homage to her bottom.
More
. The word demanded, he listened.

Encouraging her to spread her knees, he said, “Maggie, put your hands on the wall.”

“Huh?”

“Wall,” he repeated and cupped her between her legs, “hands.”

She did as she was told, her head tipping back with a moan. He took full advantage of the sexy pose. He squeezed her cheeks and opened her to his tongue, where he teased and sampled. He'd dreamt of this, her beautiful ass in his hands while he lapped every inch of her. Except in his dream the shower spray didn't sting like tiny pinpricks against his hard cock.

Maggie cried out, “Stop.”

“Am I hurting you?” he asked, doing as she'd requested.

“No,” she said in a breathless whisper.

Smiling to himself, he licked her more. “Good.” Only when he was certain the tremors that rocked her body were from him and not the bastard that had dared to bruise her face would he stop. Then and only then would he toss her on the bed and bury himself inside her. He wanted Maggie, was desperate to have her, but his condom was in his wallet, in the side pocket of his jacket. So he'd have to wait. Not such a bad thing considering what he had in his hands, in his mouth.

Her hips rocked against him and he knew she was close. Calling on his patience, he continued to torment her, to stroke her. She let out a soft scream. Her legs stiff, he held her to him, refusing to let go, tasting her orgasm. When the muscles of her legs grew lax, only then did he rise. Trailing kisses up her spine, he murmured, “You're so beautiful,” and turned her around. She looked dazed, satiated, and the word
beautiful
would never suffice.

Christian led them out of the shower, grabbing the first towel he found. Cocooning her inside the fluffy white terrycloth, he snagged his wallet and retrieved the condom. Scooping her into his arms, he carried her to the antique bed, resisting the urge to toss her onto the mattress, spread her legs and make her his. He put the fantasy away for a day when she could better handle it. Today, he would go slow.

Careful of the cuts and bruises, he brushed his lips against her forehead. He kissed the blue eyes that had held him spellbound from the first moment he'd seen them. He kissed her nose, softly touched his mouth to her battered cheek and chin. His fingers followed his kisses, down her graceful neck and the sexy, sharp collarbone that drove him crazy. He lingered on her breasts and pink nipples, then her ribcage, leaving no skin untouched. She kept her eyes closed, her body arching in response to his caresses. Tendrils of wet hair painted golden streaks against her alabaster skin. It made her sexier, him harder. He couldn't take much more.

After slipping the condom on, he did what his body demanded. With one sweet thrust, he buried himself inside her. She was tight, her muscles an erotic vise grip. “Maggie . . . God . . . Maggie.” He couldn't move.