Stroke of Midnight (19 page)

"I need to wet it up good and then I'll put the shampoo in."

"Okay," she murmured and let out a slow exhale. She had to remember to breathe, and to not assume every word he said had a double meaning.

He almost dropped the bottle while trying to open it. It was the way she'd breathed out the word "okay." He poured way too much in his hands and the excess lather immediately created billowing white suds. The fragrance from it brought tears of anticipation to his eyes as he made gentle swirls with it.

A gasp was trapped in her throat, and she quickly swallowed it away. No, the gentle strokes had to stop or she'd never make it through the night with him. She had to just be calm, talk to him like they were doing something else, like watching TV.

"Oh, c'mon. You can do it harder than that. I'm not a baby, and I'm not tender-headed."

He paused with her hair in his hands, shampoo lather dripping in large globs into the tub as her words made him breathe through his mouth. "Cool," he said quietly, scrubbing her scalp a little harder. "Like that?"

"Yeah," she murmured, "harder, though." She'd meant her voice to stay light and cheerful, but when he stopped and took a deep breath… his voice had dropped to a low timbre that practically vibrated through his legs where they touched her hips.

He closed his eyes and let his hands work with the erotic textures under his palms. The way she'd asked for it harder… Okay, he had to pull himself together. This was ridiculous. He was simply washing her hair and needed to remember that. He added a bit more pressure but was unsure. "Like that… it's not too hard, is it?"

"Uh-uh… that feels
really
good," she said on a heavy exhale.

The response made him pause, then redouble his efforts. He couldn't think about the sound of her voice and the many ways what she'd just said could be taken. He made his fingers work out the frustration, scratching her crown, the sides of her temples, the back of her skull till she gasped. The moment the sound escaped from her, he wanted to drop to his knees behind her so badly that the muscles in his thighs were twitching. But he knew better than that, and stopped his own agony by rinsing out the suds. He could do this and remain cool. He had to.

Just rinse it and let me get up
, she begged him in her mind. This was such a bad idea. The man had made her tremble with a touch, and it was time to put an end to it. She had to be responsible, she reminded herself. And she also knew herself well enough to realize that at this point, she couldn't take another soaping—not the way his hands felt.

Her hair squeaked as he stripped her long tresses of lather, and he watched it turn into long ringlets, just transform in his hands. Mesmerized, he wanted to do it again, just one more time. He was fascinated by the way it went straight under the flow of the water, then as soon as the air hit it, it became a thick mass of unruly curls.

But when he reached for the shampoo, she chuckled.

"I think my hair is clean," she said, "but it could use some conditioner."

"Right… right… that's right. You've already washed it once."

He straightened his back and locked his knees to give his legs a short rest. He was glad her head was in the tub, and was too embarrassed when he looked down at his blue jeans. He should have bought the black ones, then a wet spot in them wouldn't have been so obvious. This didn't make any sense. He grabbed the conditioner and slathered some into his palms and bent over her again.

However, the viscosity of the fluid in his hands was like straight sex. The way it slid down her hair, the slickness of it under his palms, the sound of it going on, made him shudder in earnest. She glanced over her shoulder, and he didn't even care. He was beyond worrying about appearances when her spine dipped so she could look at him.

"You okay? You need a break? My mom always said doing my hair broke her back." If he didn't need a break, she sure did. She hadn't expected the feel of the conditioner going in under his hands to melt her. She had to keep the conversation light. Yes, that was the only way. Her face was hot, her throat felt flushed, and he'd awakened other parts of her that she dared not admit to herself.

"No, I'm good," he lied, rubbing the slippery conditioner through her hair and reveling in the textures of her scalp, the fluid, and the curls, with the scent of her and the sight of her wearing him out.

"How long do you have to leave it in?"

"How long do you want it in?" he said hoarsely, his eyes closed against the sensations that were rocking him.

He felt her tense, pause, and turn her head.

"It says on the bottle, three to five minutes," he said quickly, trying to recover.

"Oh…" For a moment, she thought she'd lose it—had almost moaned. It was time for distance.

"How about five?" she said quietly, turning off the water. "It's really been a long time since I've done this right. Some things you just can't rush."

He stepped away from her, leaned against the sink, shut his eyes, and nodded. "Uh-huh. Know what you mean."

"You sure you're all right?" she asked, squeezing excess water out of her hair and turning so her tresses could hang over the tub, but so that she could lean against it while sit-ting on the floor looking at him. She would not read more into his expression than warranted. "You didn't hurt your back, did you? I mean, you ride that bike all the time, and could have—"

"I'm cool," he said, gazing at her, "but this
is
breaking my back."

"I knew it," she said with a sigh. "I'm sorry."

"That's not what I meant." He just stared at her.

"Oh…" She leaned over and turned on the spigot, then got on her knees. She had to stop looking at his intense hazel gaze. "If it's any consolation, it's breaking mine, too." She put her head under the water and closed her eyes. She turned the cold faucet on full blast. Oh, no… she hadn't misread him, had heard every word he'd said just as it had been intended. But the fact that he'd made her just say what was on her mind, so openly, made her cheeks burn. It sent the butterflies loose within her again, and then something imploded like a sudden heat.

While her admission was profound, if he was reading her right, it didn't help matters in the least, since it was obvious that she wasn't prepared to take things to the next level. If she had been, she wouldn't have turned on the water and begun washing the conditioner out. He watched her struggle to do it unassisted, loving the conflict as it unfolded, her towel sliding away, and then she'd grab it, trying to tuck it so it wouldn't fall while trying to get her head farther under the spigot.

"It hasn't even been three minutes yet. You're rushing it."

"I know," she said, almost out of breath. "It's hard to do it by yourself."

"Don't I know it," he said, finally going to help her. "Then why didn't you let it sit there for a few more, and wait it out? Patience is a virtue, I'm told."

"That's always been my weak point," she said, glancing up at him with a look that made him stop rinsing her tresses. "I'm trying to get this stuff out of my hair so it doesn't mess up the bed."

What was she doing! The words had just tumbled out of her mouth. Humiliation paralyzed her.

He blinked twice, then almost fell in the tub as he pulled her up, hair dripping, water still running, and kissed her hard. The inside of her mouth had the consistency of raw honey, mint hit his nose, and his tongue tangled with hers till he couldn't breathe. He broke away, took a huge gulp of air, and buried his face in her wet hair, then dragged his jaw down the side of her neck. Her immediate gasp blurred his vision, it hit his system so hard, just like her wet form molding to his bare chest did, her satin skin pure butter under his palms.

She almost passed out when he scored her throat where it had once been bitten. He didn't understand what he was about to unleash. But as his strong arms enfolded her, and he smelled so good… his pulse beat so hard, and Great Spirit help her, she'd never felt like this in her life. Her hands trembled as they slid up his back, the muscles within it pure cable. The way he tasted made her weak in the knees.

"Why didn't you just say so?" he murmured hotly against her ear, then captured her mouth before she could answer. Then she did something that almost made him pass out. She bit his shoulder and gently dragged her teeth up the side of his throat while her palms slid down his chest, one hand finding the middle of his back, the other finding the center of his groin, all in one fluid, graceful, feline motion. It forced the air from his lungs as her grip on his length tightened, and the sudden expulsion of air came out as a ragged groan combined with a gasp.

He didn't even feel it when his back banged the door on the way out of the bathroom. All he was aware of was her as he lifted her up and kept kissing her while walking, knowing his way to the bed blind. Her arms were around his neck, her legs wrapped around his waist, the attention she paid to his neck at the jugular was bringing tears to his eyes. He had read every signal wrong, but he was clear about this one. Caution was the wind itself, fleeting, unimportant, and something neither of them could summon.

They fell so hard they almost took out a slat in the bed. He fought with his jeans as her legs threaded around his and she arched. He felt a bite at his throat that made him see colors beneath his lids. He heard her whisper, "I'm sorry," and he couldn't even answer her, it felt so damned good. He returned the kiss hard, and then bit her neck even harder, and the sound she released almost made him release in his jeans.

She helped him push the barrier down to his knees, and when he entered her the sound of his voice was foreign to his own ears. The sensation was so immediately explosive that he had to look at a point on the wall for moment to hold back the inevitable. But when she leaned up and took one of his nipples into her mouth, his eyes literally crossed. The way she held his back made her part of his skin, and the way her pelvis worked in unison against his created pinpoints of light inside his head. He could feel them both sliding to the edge of the bed, about to go over the side of it as he began chanting her name on every other thrust. Then she called him by name, his real name, on a heave that became a shudder, which transformed into a jerking spasm that made him go blind for a moment when his body convulsed with hers so hard that he was sure he'd stripped a gear and had a hernia.

He couldn't even shout what his mind was screaming, it felt so good. Oh, God… Aftershocks were slamming him, her body was still moving, it was pleasure so profound that tears were running down the bridge of his nose. Jesus…
I've never felt anything like this in my life
. This woman had called him like that by name.

It took a while for him to stop panting and to get enough air into his lungs. He looked at the tiny goddess under him and kissed her forehead, too afraid of what her lush mouth could do to him. Her eyes were closed; tears stained her cheeks, her hands caressed his shoulders, then she sobbed as she stroked his hair. Oh, yes, he was a blessed man. So what that he'd never made it to the hidden box of protection in the bag? Yeah, he'd marry her. Whatever. All he knew was, he wasn't letting this one go. Uh-huh, make it last forever, baby.

She opened her eyes and peered at him as he petted her hair while he was still lodged deep within her. "Oh, Rider… this wasn't supposed to happen until—"

"Shush," he said, kissing away her words and banishing them. "This had to happen."

"But—"

"Uh-uh," he murmured, sliding his hand up and down her side and finding her breast. "Don't get nervous on me now. I'm over the top and crazy about you. Whatever happens, happens."

"I'm crazy about you, too. That's the problem. But this happened too fast."

"How is that a problem?" He looked deeply into her eyes, loving the fact that he'd put tears of pleasure in them.

"Because I want to make it last forever."

He kissed the bridge of her nose, her face, and found her earlobe. "Tell me how that's a problem… like I told you in the bathroom, all you had to do was say so."

"I have to get something to eat. Soon."

He stared at her for a second, and then laughed. "Oh, honey, I'm sorry. I forgot we were supposed to be getting something to eat. It's just that when you came to the door in that towel, wet, and then put that lavender dress up to your pretty skin… then I touched your hair. I lost it."

"You promised you'd pull out." She smiled at him.

He closed his eyes. "Tara… I couldn't… so help me, God."

He felt her cringe and knew that he'd messed up, knew that he should pull himself from her deep, warm valley to let her up, but that was next to impossible at the moment. And the thought of having to sheathe latex between him and that sensation, after knowing how good she felt, was going to be impossible, too.

"Rider, if I don't eat, I'll die."

"Okay," he said, bracing himself for the knife of cold air that would slice him when he pulled away from her. "All right. But when we get back to the room, please tell me you'll still feel the same way."

She touched his face and then kissed his cheek. "Once I eat and the sun goes down… I have this really dark side, sweetheart, that, uh… might make you feel differently. It might shock you."

He closed his eyes and flopped back on the bed, so grateful to be alive. His prayers had been answered. She was beautiful on the inside, gorgeous on the outside, was kind, gentle, funny, sexy, smart, passionate,
and
she knew how to handle herself on the back of his bike, plus loved music… she was trying to tell him that she had a little bad girl in her? Oh, yeah, he was definitely a blessed man.

"Let's get you something to eat, so we can get back here pronto and then you can shock me all you want."

She just looked at him for a moment, then her gaze went to the window. The sun was low, she could tell by the orange glow at the edge of the drapes. He didn't understand. She brought her hand to the side of her neck where he'd instinctively bitten her, as though he knew just the thing that would send her into a frenzy. But how could that be? No one uninitiated knew the secret. She let her breath out in defeat. A soul-mate would know, would have an instant roadmap to her body, just like he'd stumbled upon an immediate trail to her heart. All of it was working her mind way too hard.