The Desperate Game: (InterMix) (12 page)

“I can’t think of a better one at the moment.” He pulled back the quilt and slipped into bed beside her. “Can you?”

“No.” Her answer was soft with sudden acceptance of her own desire.

“You didn’t really give it a fair shot the other night.” He reached for her, folding her into his arms.

“Give what a fair shot?”

“The effort to turn me into a prince. Maybe it takes more than a kiss.” He put his thigh heavily over her leg, drawing her against his body, and then he covered her mouth with his own.

Guinevere let out the breath she had been holding. The cozy gray quilt created a deep intimacy that surrounded both of them. Within it she felt safe and warm and protected. The rest of the world faded into the distance. Zac’s body was hard and fierce all along the length of hers. She closed her eyes and put her arms around his neck.

“Maybe it does take more than a kiss,” she whispered against his mouth.

With a groan of anticipation and desire Zac pushed her gently onto her back. His shoulders loomed over her, blocking out the pale light that had trickled between the miniblinds. His leg got tangled in the soft fabric of her old-fashioned nightgown, his bare foot sliding along her calf. Guinevere felt the strength in Zac and realized she was luxuriating in it.

“God, you feel good.” Zac buried his face in the curve of her throat, nuzzling the sweetness of her scent. His hand moved to the fastening of her flannel nightgown. “So good.”

She felt the gown slipping from her shoulders, his large hands thrusting it out of the way with unexpected gentleness. Guinevere murmured softly, a wordless sound of growing wonder and need. She trembled as sudden shyness gripped her. When Zac pushed the gown down to her waist, she turned her face into his chest.

“Gwen, honey, I’ve been sitting out there thinking about you, wanting you. I’ve wanted to touch you like this for days.” He drew the center of his palm down across one nipple. When the small nub went hard, he took away his hand and bent his head to her breast.

Guinevere shivered again, but this time not with shyness. Her fingers sank deeply into his bare shoulders and then moved upward to clench and unclench in his night-dark hair. The urgency in his body communicated itself to her clearly. She was aware of it on every level, and it fed her own flaring excitement.

“Zac, Zac,
please . . 
.” She wrapped her foot around one of his legs, enjoying the crisp feel of the hair that seemed to be strewn all over him.

Her response to him seemed to delight Zac. She felt the delicate teasing of his teeth on her throat, and then he was taking her mouth once more. She parted her lips for him, and instantly he was inside, seeking to deepen the intimacy of the kiss. Even as he thrust his tongue between her teeth, he was flattening his palm on her stomach, pushing the nightgown down her hips.

“Lift up for me, honey,” he said huskily.

She obeyed, arching her hips so that he could get the nightgown off completely. Zac groaned and slid his thigh between hers. The feel of him pressed so intimately against her aroused Guinevere further. She explored the contours of his back with her hand until she reached the hard planes of his hips. Then she moved her fingers around and down, wanting the feel of him.

“Gwen, honey, I swear to God, you’ve got magic fingers. I’m going to go out of my mind!” But he shifted his weight so that she could circle the heaviness of him, and then he was pressing himself eagerly into her palm.

He muttered something dark and fierce into her ear as she stroked him, and then his fingers, fumbling a little with passion, found the secrets hidden between her legs. Guinevere gasped as he touched her there, withdrawing slightly. Instantly he pulled her back against him, holding her tightly against his chest.

“No, honey, please. I want to touch you. I’ve got to. Can’t you feel what you’re doing to me?”

She wanted to explain that it was only the exquisitely unbearable excitement he was producing with his fingers that had made her pull away from him. She needed time to adjust to this kind of passion. It had sprung up so quickly, overwhelming her so completely that she wasn’t quite sure how to deal with it. But there was no opportunity to go into a polite analysis of the situation. Zac was once more teasing the heart of her desire, this time allowing her no room to escape.

“Zac, Zac, now, please, make it
now
! I won’t be able to last another minute.” She felt the tightness in herself and knew that his hand must be damp from the warm liquid he had caused to flow so freely between her thighs.

“I’m the one who won’t last much longer.” He moved, coming down on top of her like a breaking wave. “I used to think I’d developed self-control, but around you . . .” He never finished the sentence. Instead, he thrust into her with an impact that sent tremors through both of them.

Guinevere felt the tautness in him and lifted herself to absorb the full length of his manhood. She felt herself stretched tightly around him, clinging with a hunger that was new to her. She shut her eyes, letting her mind drift freely into the never-never land of sensual euphoria and fantasy.

Zac clutched her shoulders, driving himself into Guinevere’s softness as though he could make it his own by invading her. But every thrust served only to take him deeper into mysterious territory that invited yet challenged his sensual assault. She accepted him completely, urged him deeper, beckoned him so close to the fire that he had no choice but to get burned.

As Guinevere gave herself up to the shimmering tension, Zac surrendered the last claim he had on his self-control. He moved one hand down from her shoulder and slipped his fingers between their bodies. Guinevere felt him touch her one last time, and everything in her went over the edge. Zac followed her almost immediately, his body shuddering in climax.

“
Gwen!
”

The pleasant, satisfied aftermath held both of them in thrall for what seemed ages. But when Guinevere glanced sleepily at the bedside clock, she realized that only a few minutes had passed. Zac still lay sprawled on top of her, his weight crushing her deeply into the bed. She liked the feel of him, enjoyed the damp scent of him as his body relaxed after sex. Guinevere ran her fingertips idly down his side, counting ribs.

“Jesus, lady, that tickles.” He didn’t open his eyes. His head was resting alongside hers on the pillow.

“I didn’t know frogs were ticklish.”

There was a pulse of silence before Zac said very carefully, “Does that mean it didn’t work?”

“What? The experiment to see if you’d turn into a prince? I don’t know. It’s dark. I haven’t had a good look at you yet.”

“Far be it from me to get up and turn on the light.”

“Umm.” She trailed her straying fingertip down to his hip. “Zac?”

“I haven’t gone anywhere.”

“I noticed.” She could still feel him inside her. “Zac, were you really sitting out there in my living room, falling asleep while thinking about me?”

“Not exactly. First I thought a lot about that damn computer game Hixon and Bender created. Then I thought about your sister and Hampton Starr. And then I guess I dozed off. When I woke up, I discovered you’d very generously covered me up for the night. I realized all the lights were off and you’d gone to bed.”

“That’s when you first started think about me?”

“It came to me in a flash that you were in bed only a few feet away. One thought just sort of led to another,” he said proudly. He still hadn’t opened his eyes.

“I’m not sure I like being last on the list.”

His lashes lifted at that, revealing a gleaming gaze. “I’ll reprioritize immediately.”

Her soft amusement faded. “I’m still not sure this was one of the world’s best ideas, Zac.”

“I’ll get to work right away on convincing you.”

Saturday morning dawned chill and bright. Guinevere woke to the smell of coffee and the feeling that something fundamental had changed in the universe. When she opened her eyes, there was no sign of either a frog or a prince, but there were distinct morning sounds coming from her kitchen. She stretched hugely and then pushed aside the quilt. The coffee smell drew her, a fish to bait. She found a robe in her closet, belted it around her waist, and padded out to see what Zac was doing with the coffee.

She came to a halt in the kitchen doorway. He was standing in front of the sink, sipping from a steaming mug while glancing through the morning paper. For a moment she just absorbed the sight of him looking so much at home in a place where no man had ever really been at home before. He looked strong and vital standing there in the sunlight, and she remembered the feel of him during the night. He was dressed in the trousers and white shirt he’d worn yesterday, his hair still damp from a shower.

A feeling of uncertainty that was all mixed up with a distant sense of hope swept over Guinevere, keeping her silent for another moment. Then she took a firm grip on reality and stepped forward.

“Did you make enough coffee for two?” She walked barefooted over to the pot and peered at the contents. “Ah, lucky for you.” She poured herself a cup.

“I’m not entirely without foresight, you know. I have more sense than to make only enough coffee for one in this kind of situation.” There was soft, purring contentment in his voice—the voice of a very satisfied man.

Her knuckles went white around the handle of her mug. Guinevere looked intently out the window, studying the artist’s loft on the second floor across the street. The artist wasn’t up yet, she realized. Too bad. He was missing a lot of great light.

“You have a great deal of experience with situations such as this?” she asked with a calm that seemed unnatural.

Without any sound he was behind her, his arms going around her waist as he tugged her back against him. Guinevere felt his warm breath in her tousled hair.

“Gwen, I have very large feet, and sometimes I put them in my mouth. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. Some things are unique. God knows you’re one of them. This morning is another. And last night was one of a kind. Please don’t go cold on me.”

She shook her head slightly, smiling a little as she relaxed. “Sorry. Guess I’m just a little tense.”

“So am I in some ways. In others I feel very, very good.”

They stood that way for a long moment, both gazing out into the new morning, neither knowing quite what to say next. And then there was movement on the other side of the huge, arched window across the street. A lean young man wearing only a towel wrapped around his waist wandered into the sunlit room and stopped in front of a canvas that stood on an easel. He ran a hand thoughtfully through his slightly long hair while he studied the half-finished painting. Then he turned around and waved at Guinevere. When he saw the man standing with his arms around her, he grinned and wandered back out of the room.

Zac went still. “Who the hell is that?”

“An artist. Can’t you tell? See the paintings stacked around the room and the half-finished one on the easel? He keeps the windows uncovered so that he can get the maximum amount of light into the loft, I suppose. You know how artists are. They treasure light.”

“He looked more like a Peeping Tom to me. You two stand here and wave good morning every day?” Zac released her and reached out to lower the miniblinds that he’d raised earlier. His annoyance was palpable.

“We think of ourselves as two ships passing in the night.” For some reason Guinevere began to recover her normal cheerfulness as well as her sense of humor.

“Except that your ships aren’t exactly moving, are they? Don’t you know it’s dangerous to encourage strangers in the city? What the hell’s the matter with you?”

“We’re talking mild fantasy here, Zac, not hard-core risk. He moved into that loft a few months ago and seems totally devoted to his work. You know how artists are.”

“You keep saying that, but as a matter of fact, I don’t know much about artists. And I don’t think I want to. What have you got for breakfast besides dry cereal?”

“Not much.”

“Let’s go out then. I’m starving. I think I need protein to replace what I lost last night. Go hop in the shower, honey.” He gave her a light slap on the rear.

“I’m on my way.” She pinched his hard buttock quite forcefully as she went by him.

“Ouch!” He snagged her wrist and pulled her around to face him. “What was that for?”

“Just to let you know how those casual little love taps feel.” She smiled challengingly up at him.

Suddenly Zac grinned and pulled her into his arms. “Let’s start over again.”

He bent his head and kissed her thoroughly until Guinevere forgot all about the morning’s uncertainties and tension. By the time he freed her mouth she felt very satisfied with life.

“Now go take your shower,” Zac murmured.

“Yes, sir.”

She spun around. At the doorway she paused and glanced back. “You look the same, you know. Cute and green.”

“I was afraid of that.” Shrugging in resignation, Zac picked up the newspaper he had been reading. “Can’t win ’em all.”

“I think I’ve been conned.”

He looked up. “Is that what you call it?”

“I’ll be out of the shower in twenty minutes.”

“Wonderful.” He was already studying page two.

Smiling to herself, Guinevere trotted down the hall to the bathroom. Ten minutes later, thoroughly soaped and feeling infinitely more alive, she nudged the hot-water tap to a higher setting and prepared to rinse lavishly. There were a couple of places within walking distance where she and Zac could have breakfast.

She was trying to make up her mind about which one to recommend when the bathroom door swung open, sending a wave of cool air into the pleasantly overheated room.

“Zac, close the door!” She held her face up to the water.

“They found him, Gwen.”

“What are you talking about? Found who?” She turned her head to let the water run down the back of her neck.

“Cal Bender.”

That got her interest. She stepped back a bit from the water so she could hear him better. “No kidding? Did somebody just call? Where was he? On vacation in Bermuda?”

“Not quite.”