Trouble (26 page)

“Touch me,” she begged, leaning back against the pillows to offer herself.

“Oh, I intend to,” he said, not moving.

“Hurry.”

He stroked and teased her, taking all the time in the world to trace the dark edge of an aureole with his finger. Dara moaned. Leaning down, he flicked his tongue over one nipple. Squirming, she clamped her hands around his head, locking him in place. And with this unmistakable invitation, he gave up trying to torture her.

He opened his mouth and suckled. Hard.

Dara cried out.

“I want you, Dara.
God
, I want you.”

He trailed his fingers and mouth south until his hands anchored her hips so he could plunge his tongue into her belly button. She jackknifed, rewarding him with a sharp cry of pleasure.

At this range, her delicate scent, musky desire, seeped through the black satin of her teeny tiny panties. She was wet, then. But how wet?

Find out, Baldwin
.

So he slipped his fingers underneath the elastic band of the panties and slid them past her hips and down her legs, pausing only to notice her luscious thighs as he went. The panties joined her dress and bra in a growing pile on the floor. Then he ran his fingers down her belly to the triangle between her legs and lower, to the thick folds of flesh.

Yes. Yesss
.

She was hot and silky slick, more thrilling than he remembered. He pressed his face to her sex, rubbing it with his nose and mouth, reveling. Dara's thighs parted, issuing another invitation.

“Please. Please, Mike,” she said on a dry sob.

Like he'd ever tell her
no
.

Hanging on to her hips, he lowered his head and dove in, zeroing in on the hard little nub with his tongue. He flicked, he circled, and, finally, he sucked.

Dara mewled and squirmed until her entire body suddenly went rigid and her spine arched.

“Mike!”

He held her, letting her ride it out until, just as suddenly, she went limp.

Still between her thighs, he sat up and stared at her, restraining a triumphant shout with difficulty. Here she was, all of his wet dreams and waking fantasies for the last few months, alive, warm, sweaty, panting and sated beneath his hands once again.

This was what heaven looked like.

Her heavy lids opened slowly and she stared at him with dazed eyes.

“Oh, my God,” she whispered, her lips dewy and swollen from his kisses.

He shook his head, unable to keep the awe out of his voice. “You're amazing.”

“Yeah?” Drowsy smile. “Come here.”

That was easily the most tempting offer he'd ever had. He needed relief, but he also didn't want to embarrass himself by losing control of his raging erection like some pimply-faced kid.

He pulled back. “Not tonight, sweetheart. You're still not ready yet.”

“Oh, I'm ready,” she said smugly.

Mike swallowed hard—could lust make you choke and die?— and tried to remember he wanted to do the right thing.

“You weren't ready the other night,” he reminded her.

Dara blinked and looked away, her smile fading.

“It's okay,” he said reassuringly. “I can wait.”

She roused herself, sitting up and opening her arms. “Come here.”

“No, I said.”

Dara rose to her knees and crept closer.
“No?”
Her voice was simultaneously innocent and seductive. A siren's call.

Long pause. He swallowed audibly.

“No.”

Good job, Baldwin. Way to sound convinced
.

She ignored him anyway, pressing her breasts against his arm and massaging his chest.

Mike gasped and stiffened.
“Don't.”

Her hand shifted lower, kneading his belly, then slipped up under the edge of his T-shirt.

“I need you, Mike. I need to touch you. And you said whatever I wanted whenever I want.”

“True,” he said, leaning his face down to kiss her deeply again. In that moment of distracted vulnerability, her hand slid below the waistband of his sweatpants and briefs, shocking him with the searing skin-to-skin contact on his arousal.

He sucked in a strangled breath when her fingers tightened around him and, slowly but firmly, she began to stroke up and down.

She broke the kiss and pressed her tender lips to his ear.

“I want you, Mike.”

Her fingers tightened.

“I need you to come for me. Please. Please.”

With that, he was lost. Her voice, scent, taste and touch all coalesced and gave him a piercing pleasure from which he would surely never recover. He clamped his hand over hers and rubbed it roughly up and down until, groaning loudly, he came like he'd never come before.

Slowly—very slowly—the room came back into focus. He registered the shadowy furniture … the moonlight at the edges of the windows … his own harsh breathing … Dara still pressed to his side, her eyes glittering and warm. Pleased.

“Let's go to bed, sweetheart.”

“Okay.”

She laughed triumphantly, as exultant as he'd just been when he made her come, and he grinned back at her.

When he got to the bedroom, after a quick stop in the bathroom for cleanup, he watched as she turned back the fluffy comforter. Still nude, she straightened and smiled at him with no evidence of self-consciousness whatsoever. That was a delightful problem that triggered the first stirrings of renewed desire. They'd taken the edge off, sure, but he'd be ready to go again real soon.

So a few parameters and ground rules were in order, because he was absolutely determined to remember she was only twenty-three, with much less experience than he'd had. He would never press her to do anything she wasn't ready for.

“Don't you own any underwear?” A couple of layers of clothing, preferably something in wool or flannel, seemed like a good idea. “How about a nightgown?”

Her eyes widened innocently. “A nightgown?”

He didn't like her tone. He watched warily as she rummaged in one of her dresser drawers and pulled out something white and filmy, with dangling price tags. She jerked off the tags and slipped it over her head. It slithered down her breasts, hips and thighs until it reached her toes.

His jaw dropped.

The lousy nightgown—if you could call it a nightgown—had spaghetti straps and a deep V in the front that barely covered her breasts, not that it mattered, because the thing was entirely transparent. He could still see tantalizing images of her dark nipples and the triangle between her legs. Fantasies of ripping the gown away from her body danced through his dazed brain. It'd been better when she was naked.

“Are you kidding me?” he muttered. “Where'd you get that?”

“When we were seventeen, Monica and I wandered into the Victoria's Secret at the mall, and, well, one thing led to another. You should see the one she picked.”

He stared at her. “And you haven't worn it until now?”

She ducked her head. “No.”

Something joyous and unprecedented unfurled in his chest. He caught her hand and pressed it hard to his lips. “Then I'm the luckiest man in the world, aren't I?”

She laughed, the sound low and seductive, then climbed into the bed. He slipped under the covers behind her and, wrapping his arms around her waist, pulled her back against him. It was as if he'd been there thousands of nights before this one—as if he belonged there. One of his hands automatically went under her neck and cupped her breast, and the other went over one hip to her belly, pressing her to him. He felt more at home than he'd ever felt in any other bed—including his own—in his life.

Suddenly, his guilt knifed through him. He was a rotten brother, plain and simple. Because he wanted this time with her, and he wasn't thinking about what it would do to Sean if he found out. In this blissful moment? He didn't give a fuck. Later, he might. For now, he shoved thoughts of Sean far away and focused on Dara, and the fact that they would take this risk together.

The familiar panic was still there, but it seemed muted now, distant.

Manageable.

He slept soundly for the first time in months.

Dara woke to the slide of the sheet down her mostly bare back. Before the cool bedroom air could hit her skin, she felt the press of Mike's warm mouth and tongue in the hollow of her back, at her waist.

“Good morning,” she cooed, smiling into the pillows.

Mike's mouth slid up her spine and lodged between her shoulder blades, which was a very fine spot for it.

“How are you, sweetheart?”

“Wonderful
.
”

He kissed her nape, then scratched it with his rough cheek.

Dara cried out, her skin sizzling with pleasure.

“It's killing me, but I have to go. I've got early court, and I need to go home and change.”

“Nooo!”

He sat on the bed beside her, and she forced herself to sit up and open her eyes. It was absolutely dark in the room, except for the glow from her clock radio, which read 6:00. He smiled, amused by her disappointment, and pulled her into his arms. She held him tight, resting her head on his shoulder. He'd dressed again, but had a wonderful, rumpled, clean linen smell. She doubted she'd be able to let go long enough for him to walk out the door. His hands caressed their way up her back, then filtered through her hair, letting it fall to her shoulders. Her sex swelled and ached insistently.

“Why do you touch me like this when you have to leave?” she complained.

She felt him smile as he skinned his teeth along the curve of her neck. “Because I want you to think about me after I'm gone.”

“Mmmm,” she said, catching one of his hands and pulling it to her breast. “Maybe you should touch me some more. My memory's not what it used to be.”

Mike rubbed the flat of his palm against the nipple, and she arched into him, moaning.

“Can't,” he said hoarsely. He took her hand and brought it to his lap, where the size of his rigid arousal made her mouth go dry. “I don't want the judge to think I'm overly glad to see him.”

Laughing, she turned her face and flicked his ear with her tongue. “Later, then.”

“What about your SUV?”

“The rental place will drop one off here for me, I think.”

“And what time should I look for you at work?”

She pulled away and smiled coyly. “Why do you ask?”

He did not smile. “Because I need to know how much time I'm going to waste daydreaming about you before I can see you again and settle down to work.”

“Eight o'clock,” she said, breathless.

He smiled. “Good. Dinner tonight?”

“Absolutely.”

That night, Mike took her to an Italian restaurant downtown where they could see the skyline's reflection, shimmering on the river, from their secluded corner booth. A candle glittered on the white tablecloth. Normally, Dara would pause a minute or two to enjoy such a romantic scene, or at least to soak up the savory scents of basil and sausage, but not tonight. Mike had commandeered all of her senses, and she was oblivious to almost everything else.