Something Wild (17 page)

Hot was an understatement. Fire rushed through every point in her body, settling—
throbbing
—between her legs. She’d bought a vibrator once at one of those crazy, naughty lady parties, but she’d thrown it away after using it only a couple of times. It felt too good and she didn’t want to get addicted. Just looking at Mike’s body thrilled her far more than the vibrator, and she had the feeling he could be much more addictive.

The safest thing for both of them would be for her to get up, say goodbye, and go home right now. But his bed was comfortable. And, okay, she admitted it, she was a glutton for punishment.

She picked up the mug and held it in front of her face, hopefully hiding her sinful thoughts.

“I’m going to take a quick shower. Can I do anything else for you first?”

Do a slow striptease on your way? Come back to bed and ... kiss me?

“No, thanks,” she said, in spite of her wanton thoughts. “The hot chocolate’s fine for now.”

All too soon Mike was behind closed doors and she was alone in bed. She could hear the shower running and just like the morning before, she imagined him stepping inside. Only this time her imagination didn’t have to work too hard to cook up a picture of his body. She’d seen him naked. Every glorious inch of him.

Wrong. Wrong.
So wrong
!

They were obviously being tested by some greater power. They were being tempted but she couldn’t, wouldn’t lower her principles. She’d fought off some rather gorgeous men in her life, men with money, power, and even fame, and she’d felt good afterward.

Surely she could fight her attraction to Mike.

She heard the thump of the water pipes, and knew the shower had stopped. She heard the jangling of the shower curtain as it was moved, could almost hear Mike’s bare feet stepping out of the tub onto the tiled floor.

She imagined water coursing through the short black hair on his legs, making a puddle beneath him. She pictured him towel-drying his hair, his arms raised above his head, making his biceps flex and his chest widen, like Atlas holding up the world. She thought of the little dab of water that would remain in his belly button, forgotten when the towel whisked over his body.

She thought... She thought she should get out of bed and run!

But where would she go? Out into the cold? No, that would be crazy, especially when she was so warm and cozy in Mike’s bed. And well, there was the fact that he was and always would be a minister, so his thoughts were pure—except that he did think about naked women. But surely, surely he wouldn’t try anything funny, because her defenses had never been weaker.

She dragged air into her lungs when he opened the door, and even though she wanted to see him naked again, she hoped he’d be dressed. Her resolve to be good could withstand a lot, but Mike’s body was one very good reason to forget her resolve and be bad.

Very, very bad.

He was in his jeans—that was good. His chest was bare—that was nice. His feet were long and narrow and a sparse sprinkling of short black hair dotted his toes and the top of his arch. She was fascinated. Totally and completely smitten.

He walked toward the bed.

Danger! Warning sirens went off inside her head.

He kneeled on the left side of the bed and leaned over her to grab his mug of cocoa. A tsunami raged through her body, the violent wave rushing over her nerve endings as she took a quick peek at his belly button to see if he’d left any water behind, something for her to lick away.

A drip was there. One little drip. But she didn’t dare. Instead she inhaled deeply, dragging in the scents of Irish Spring and Old Spice that made her hot. So very, very hot.

Maybe she could lower her principles just a bit. She’d hung on to her virginity because she knew in her heart it was the right thing to do, to save herself for the man she loved—after all, that’s what her father had preached. Later she hung on to her virginity as a protest against her father’s declaration that if she went to Vegas she’d end up unmarried, unwanted, and pregnant—or even worse, living in sin. Well, she’d proved him wrong so far.

Who would have thought a minister would be the one holding a tempting, sin-filled apple in front of her, making her want a bite?

But Mike had principles, too. He’d never dangle an apple in front of her knowingly. More than likely, he was going to grab a pillow and blanket and go downstairs to sleep.

“Still cold?” he asked, crawling onto the high four-poster, doubling an extra pillow up against the headboard and leaning against it. Surely he planned to stay only a moment.

“I’m getting warmer, thanks. Of course, I don’t think falling asleep in a cold, hard bathtub has done much for my muscle tone.”

His gaze slid over her quilt-covered body, and she knew instantly that her conversational skills needed bigtime help. Was she trying to sabotage her virginal ideals by focusing her words on body parts?

“What hurts?” he asked.

Why lie now
? “Everything.”

He plucked her mug from her hand and set both cups on the nightstand. “Roll over on your stomach.”

I should have lied
! “Why?”

“Because you’re tense, because I’ve got a bad habit of not being able to sleep, and I figure I might as well do something constructive with my nervous energy.”

“Like what?”

He chuckled. Obviously he wasn’t as nervous as she was. “Like give you a massage.”

“It’s too cold to take off my clothes.”

“This isn’t about sex. It’s about making you feel good.”

“Is there a difference?”

He grinned. “Just roll over.”

If any other man had told her to roll over, she would have scrambled from the room, but she took a deep breath and put her “principles” in Mike’s extraordinary hands.

And those strong hands found their way to her shoulders, his thumbs gently kneading the muscles in her neck. She moaned softly, and let her body relax into the mattress and pillows.

“I could use a masseur like you in Vegas,” she said, her words somewhat garbled against the pillow. “You wouldn’t consider moving there, would you?”

“No.”

“Could I bottle up what you’re doing and take it with me?”

“Don’t think so.”

Charity felt his hands moving down her spine, felt him pulling back the quilt until the soft cotton tickled her skin as it slid over her legs. Down, down, down. She couldn’t see him, but still she felt the heat of his eyes on her body and the cool night air on her derriere. Reaching behind her, she tugged at the hem of her boxers, stretching them over her thighs. No need to give Mike too good a view. Why it should bother her was anyone’s guess. Her bottom was exposed every night when she danced on stage. But this was different. It was personal.

Even more personal was the way Mike straddled her hips. Maybe now was the time to leave, but... oh, she liked the weight of his body pressing into hers.

“Could we discuss Vegas again?” she asked.

“If you want.”

He put the heels of his hands on either side of her spine. His fingers made circles, his thumbs swirled, and she nearly forgot what she wanted to say as she turned her body over to his magical hands.

“We could use someone like you in Vegas.”

“I’m sure there are thousands of masseurs.”

“Probably—professional ones and those who aren’t exactly professional,” she said. “There are a lot of sinners, too. A lot of people who need saving. I’m sure Vegas could use a good minister.”

“I’m happy here.”

He drew her arms down to her sides then slipped his hands under her shirt. His skin was warm against hers, the calluses on his palms rough but sensual as they soothed her muscles. Whether it was an accident or on purpose, his fingers skimmed the outer edges of her breasts, where they were pressing beneath her, against the mattress, and she jumped at the sensation.

His hands rested in place a moment, tentative, still. She heard Mike’s intake of breath, and then his fingers disappeared from the heated skin of her back and sides, from under her shirt, and went back to work on the strained muscles of her neck. Slowly, methodically, he worked upward, splaying his fingers through her tangled hair and tenderly stroking her temples.

She was lost in the power of his caress, completely, breathtakingly mesmerized by the sensuousness of his kneading, probing fingers.

Slowly his weight shifted, his hips moving lower, settling over her thighs. She might have turned over to look at him, but she felt the length of his upper body stretch over her, felt the muscles of his chest against her back. His whiskered cheek brushed over her jaw, and then she felt the ultimate, body tingling sensation of his warm breath against her ear. “Have you ever thought of leaving Las Vegas?”

“Every time I get frustrated with my career.”

“But you’re not frustrated right now, are you?”

“No.”

Soft, masterful lips touched her ear. “Don’t go back,” he whispered. Confusion hit her strongly, especially when his teeth tugged at her earlobe, when his tongue reached out and traced the edges of her ear. “Stay here, Charity.”

“I’ve got an audition in a few days,” she reminded him. “That’s my life, Mike.”

His mouth trailed to her throat, his gentle hands smoothing over the length of her arms until his fingers wove through hers. “How can I change your mind?”

She shifted beneath him, feeling the slight lift of his weight while she rolled onto her back. His forearms rested on the pillow at each side of her head. He had her trapped and she knew, looking into his heated green eyes, that he had no intention of leaving—or letting her leave.

And then he kissed her. Soft. So soft, his hands cupping her cheeks. He tasted of hot cocoa and the sweet mini-marshmallows he’d tossed into the mugs. If any man could make her give up her dream, Mike was the one. But she couldn’t give up, no matter how good he made her feel.

Again he whispered, this time against her lips, this time with his imploring eyes looking down into hers, “Stay, Charity.”

If only she could. She cared for him, but it didn’t seem enough to pull her away from her dream.

“My life’s on the stage, Mike. I won’t give it up.”

He stilled, then sighed, and a moment later rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. The cold seeped into her, and as if he sensed her sudden discomfort, he gathered her into his arms again and tenderly drew her head against his chest.

His heart beat steadily, maybe a little bit fast, and she watched him close his eyes. His chest rose and fell with each soft breath he took. For a while she thought he was asleep, but his fingers never loosened on her arm. He held her tightly against him, as if he were afraid to let her go.

There was silence between them, too much silence. She knew she should slip out of bed, go downstairs and sleep, but she’d never known the comfort she felt now. She wanted even more, and stretched her hand from where it had been resting on her hip to his stomach, slowly trailing her fingers through the short curly hair, sliding them gently over his ribs, until they found his heart, and stayed.

His free hand settled on top of hers, and he squeezed it lightly. She thought he’d again ask her to stay, but he didn’t say anything, he just looked up at the ceiling.

“Why do you have trouble sleeping?” she asked, after one minute on the clock had drifted into ten.

“Too many things always on my mind. Sermons to write, fences to mend.”

“Do you think about Jessie?”

He was silent a moment, and then he sighed. “Too much, I suppose, considering that it’s been six years. Sometimes, when I’ve been out on the range all day and I’m tired, I’ll walk in the front door and imagine her lying on the floor, not breathing, her skin blue.” His head rolled toward Charity and his tortured gaze settled on her eyes. “Your skin was blue like that when I saw you in the tub. It was something I never wanted to see again.”

His tired eyes flickered closed. “I don’t like to talk about her, Charity. It’s too hard.”

She didn’t expect him to say anything more, not after that, but just as soon as she thought he might drift off to sleep, his eyes opened and focused on the ceiling again.

“Sometimes when I close my eyes I see Jessie lying in the hospital with tubes running everywhere. I see all the machines that kept her alive. I hear them hum and I blame myself for not being with her when she had the heart attack, for not being able to get her to the hospital on time, for...” He sighed and rubbed a hand over his eyes. He pulled her tighter and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Most of the time, staying awake is easier than trying to sleep.”

This was the first time she could remember anyone sharing their deepest hurts with her, the first time anyone had ever reached out for her and needed her comfort.

Mike loved his wife and she couldn’t change that. But maybe she could help him sleep.

She raised up on her elbow and kissed his eyelids shut, a pang of delight squeezing her heart when his hand slipped into her tangled hair. She kissed his brow, then hooked her finger under a lock of his hair and dragged it down softly over his forehead.