Trouble (31 page)

“Doubtful. I'm a little out of control. I feel like a kid in a candy store.”

“You're not the only one,” she softly told him, her smile fading as she soaked in the thrilling sight of him stretched out in bed, his muscular chest and arms smoothly brown against the white sheets, a noticeable and growing bulge between his legs.

His gaze heated, slipping to her breasts. In response, her nipples pebbled and ached for his touch.

All she could do was sigh helplessly, everything else forgotten.

“Mike
.
”

He rose to his knees and scooted to the edge of the bed. “Come here.”

Moving automatically, she stepped back to the bed and into his arms. There was no gentle in him this time, which was good, because she needed his raw urgency. His fingers twisted in her hair, pulling her head back so he could bury his lips in the hollow of her neck, and the rumbling noises of his passion vibrated through her.

Utterly lost, she shuddered and reveled in every touch and every part of him, moaning loudly because there was no room for self-consciousness when they came together like this.

His voice was low and harsh between his kisses. “There were days … in the office … It felt like my skin was on fire because I wanted you so much.”

“And now?” she said, gasping.

He gave a hoarse, bewildered laugh. “And now it's worse. You're part of me now. You're my obsession, Dara.”

“Obsessions are bad.”

“No, sweetheart.” He pulled her back beneath him, flipping her over onto her stomach. “Not this one.”

After slipping on a condom, he slid over her and used his knee to spread her legs wide. Her hips lifted automatically, and he entered her with one hard stroke. Dara bucked beneath him, squeezing her legs and butt together around him. She drove him wild, and he used her mercilessly—pounding them both into oblivion.

Dara woke up facedown, the tangled sheets and blankets wrapped around her waist, and immediately reached across the bed for Mike. He wasn't there. Frowning, she sat up and forced her tired eyes open. It was still dark, although a thin sliver of light shone from underneath the closed master bathroom door, and she heard the faint sound of water running.

The alarm clock read five-thirty. She'd gotten two hours of sleep, if that.

She stretched her arms over her head, reveling in the delicious ache that originated between her thighs and permeated every part of her body. Mike had worked areas that yoga and Pilates could never hope to reach.

Following him to the bathroom, she squinted against the sudden infusion of light. The steamy air felt wonderful after the slight chill of the bedroom. He stood in the far corner of the large shower, his back to her. Bracing himself against the sand-colored tiles in front of him, he leaned down to let the powerful spray soak his head.

Technically, after the night they'd just had, sex should be the last thing on her mind, but her body hadn't gotten the memo and tightened with renewed awareness. Fascinated, she watched the ripple and play of muscles in his sculpted arms, shoulders, and back as he straightened and began to wash his hair. His butt was a perfect basketball—high, round, solid as a slab of marble. Long, powerful thighs tapered to shapely calves. The water splashing over him, running in various and thrilling channels and grooves down his body, only highlighted his perfection.

She opened the shower door and stepped inside behind him, sliding her hands up his back and pressing her body full against his.

He froze.

“I thought you might need some help with the hard spots,” she murmured in his ear.

Mike faced her, smiling.

“Good thought.”

He took a washcloth from the rack and lathered it with soap, his glittering eyes never leaving hers. She took it, and he turned back around while she rubbed his back in languid circles, which left him murmuring unintelligibly with pleasure.

“Now you.” He took the cloth back, reached over her shoulder, and trailed it down between her breasts to her belly button, where he increased the pressure. Her body jerked. She pressed closer to him, whimpering, but he gently pushed her away.

“Not yet.”

He circled the cloth on her breasts, deliberately keeping his touch light and teasing. She arched her back, thrusting her breasts into his hands, but he retreated again.

“Please,” she begged.

His hand moved lower, to her engorged sex. She cried out. He pressed his lips to her ear. Helplessly, she turned her head, moving closer.

“Please what, Dara?”

Her eyes rolled closed and her head fell back. She caught his hand and tried to pull his fingers back to her sex, but he circled around her core, as if he didn't quite understand what she wanted.

“Please, Mike. Please …”

He stroked her firmly, once. She writhed. He bit the tender hollow between her neck and shoulder.

“God,”
she gasped.

He stroked her again. “What is it you want, Dara?”

She swallowed hard. “I want you to touch me. I want you inside me. I'm begging you. I'll do anything.”

“Since you asked so nicely.”

His fingers circled and stroked her bud, and then he thrust two fingers inside. Dara went rigid, the pleasure hitting her in tsunami-sized waves as he palmed her. He was like a bloodhound, flushing out any hidden deposits of ecstasy until there was nothing left inside her.

It took her a long minute to recover.

When she opened her eyes, she focused immediately on his rampant erection.

Mike went stock-still.

“You're going to pay for that.”

“What did you have in mind?” he asked warily.

Smiling, she took him in her hands as she knelt. His breath hissed and he slumped against the wall. She looked up in time to see his eyes drift closed and his head fall back.

Thrilled with herself, she lowered her head.

Eventually he left her to finish her shower while he dressed. By the time he came back in the bathroom, suit on, briefcase in hand, she'd wrapped a towel around her hair and body. He came up behind her, circled her waist with his free arm and kissed her nape, catching her eye in the mirror.

“Sullivan's coming at nine. You'll be there?”

“I'll be there. The trial's in two weeks. Are you ready?”

“Getting there. I'm way ahead of the game with the witness outlines you've put together for me.”

“Good,” she said, enormously pleased.

“And then you have finals right after Thanksgiving.”

She made a face. “Don't remind me. The only good thing about finals is that I have the world's greatest tutor on twenty-four-hour standby.”

His flat hand slid up her waist to her breasts, where he rubbed his palm over one nipple, then the other. The terrycloth towel abraded her skin in the most delicious way, making her hum with contentment.

“I'm glad to hear I'm the world's greatest at
something
.”

His glittering gaze held hers in the mirror.

She flushed. “Oh, you're the world's greatest at a couple of things I can think of.”

“Good.” He grinned with unmistakable satisfaction. “We make a good team, don't we, Dara?”

“A very good team.”

“I left an extra key and the security code on the nightstand for you,” he told her, skimming his lips over her nape again. “Lock up when you leave.”

“Okay.”

“Dinner tonight?”

She raised her eyebrows. “
Dinner
?”

He grazed her earlobe with his teeth. “Dinner … and other things.”

“Okay.”

Turning her to face him, he kissed her thoroughly, then slowly let her go.

“I'll see you soon, angel.”

“Bye.”

She tried to go back to getting ready, but as soon as she heard the front door shut behind him, emptiness set in. Close on its heels came morning-after doubts.

She was really in it now, wasn't she? There was no going back after she'd given herself to him body and soul. If he wanted to make her his slave, she was helpless to do anything about it. Hell, he'd even branded her and she'd rejoiced in it. Easing aside the edges of the robe, she rubbed the vivid love bites he'd left on her breast and thigh, each about the size of a quarter.

She laughed shakily, grateful Mike wasn't a vampire because God knew she'd eagerly bare her neck so he could drink her dry.

Yeah, there were no two ways about it:

She was absolutely, positively his woman now and doubted she could ever be anyone else's.

Was he equally her man?

A shadow crossed her heart because the honest answer was, she didn't know.

Groping in her makeup bag, she pulled out her compact and snapped it open with shaky hands. Lisa's unwelcome image flashed through her mind. Mike had made love to Lisa once, too, and look where it had gotten her—tossed aside for someone new and probably ruined for other men. Dara had precious little experience, but enough to know Mike's skilled lovemaking was a rare and wondrous thing. It certainly bore no resemblance to the awkward, unsatisfying fumbling she'd experienced with Antonio. Dara had taken Lisa's place, and maybe, all too soon, someone else would take her place.

Stop it
.

Disgusted with herself, Dara shoved all doubts and images of Lisa and Antonio far away. Mike loved her. She knew it even if he'd never said it. Their relationship was about much more than the thrill of the conquest, and her worries were just a sign of her pathetic—and groundless—insecurities. Mike had given her no reason to doubt him, and she needed to pull herself together and get to the office.

As soon as she saw him again, she'd realize how ridiculous her fears were.

Mike sat at his desk, flipping idly through his notes for the meeting with Sullivan, his mind on Dara. His panic was back, full-blown, and he knew why:

He was whipped.

Just as he'd feared, she'd done a number on him last night, and he knew absolutely that he couldn't live without her. Certainly not now or next month. Probably not ever. Leaving her this morning to come to work had been, quite possibly, the hardest thing he'd ever done. Giving her the only extra key to his house had been the easiest.