Against the Odds Page 11

  No, no. It was exciting like this, no doubt about it. But even though he wasn’t exactly angry, neither was he the man who’d charmed, seduced and teased her. It was one thing when they were role-playing, but this—this wasn’t what she wanted. Jesus, just what in the bloody hell did she want?

  She broke the kiss, managed to slip out from between him and the wall and stagger into the living room. He merely leaned in and pressed his forehead against the wall. They were both breathing heavily.

  She absently let her purse slide off her shoulder onto the nearest chair, and tried like hell to pull her wits about her. “I’m sorry.”

  “Do you want me to go?” he asked roughly.

  She jerked her gaze back to him, but he was still leaning against the wall, head tucked, eyes averted. “No.” It was the one thing she did know.

  She tried like hell to make the words come together in her head the way she needed them to, and felt betrayed when they didn’t. After all, she made her living with words, she felt she had a pact with them, that they’d be there for her always, as they always had been.

  “Before…” she began falteringly, “when I said that thing about not wanting lunch. It was—” She dragged her hand through her hair, then dragged her gaze away from him. He was all tense, coiled like an animal reining in the urge to leap and strike. And she still harbored a few ideas about what it would be like if he did. To hell with charm.

  “I suppose it goes to what you said, about time being an elastic quality where we’re concerned,” she said. “I don’t know you, and yet I feel I know you, or at least feel connected to you, in some way that defies logic. If I spent more time with you, that…connection…would only strengthen. And this…this liaison between us, well, it isn’t supposed to be about anything more than, than sex.” Dear Lord, you’d think she’d never been capable of stringing together a decent sentence in her life.

  He shifted, drawing her attention. Leaning one shoulder against the wall, he folded his arms across his chest. His expression was downright inscrutable, but that coiled tension remained. “I believe I was willing to forego the getting-to-know-you foreplay, as requested.”

  “Yes, yes you were.” And quite handily almost did, she added silently. “But, well, there’s a reason I’ve never done anything like this before. To those men-with-names-and-backgrounds,” she added, her lips curving just a little. His did not. “It would have felt forced, put on. It didn’t with you. And I suppose I didn’t realize why until just now.”

  “Why?” He didn’t move so much as a muscle, and yet she suddenly felt crowded.

  “Role-playing is fine, to a point. But what you and I were just…” She shook her head, wishing she’d simply let him have her way with her. There was no way to explain without making herself vulnerable, which was exactly what she’d been trying to avoid. “Well, while I don’t want to risk—”

  “Developing more than lust for what I can do with you?” He pushed away from the wall. “To you?”

  She couldn’t rein in the tiny shudder that tightened the muscles between her legs. She drew herself up, determined to face him, to see this through, before they went a step further. “Yes, that’s exactly it. But the fact is, I already do know you, at least a little…and it’s precisely what I do know of you that makes it possible for me to do this in the first place.” She backed up a step as he came closer. “So…so it’s too late to be anonymous. And I don’t want to pretend, not all the time. I—I want—”

  He caught up to her then and her breath left her. She had no idea what she expected he’d do. Toss her over his shoulder? Ravish her where she stood? The look in his eye was so at odds with the always-smiling, devilish-gleam-in-the-eye man she’d lusted for since he first strolled into that room at Blackstone’s. And yet, he wasn’t playacting now either…and she discovered she was just as turned on by this side of Tucker Greywolf as any other.

  So when he stopped just in front of her, and gently traced a finger along her lips, she almost fell apart completely. How could a man look so hard, be both hot and cold…and so exquisitely gentle, all at the same time?

  “I don’t think you can be intimate without risk,” he told her quietly. “And I’m talking emotional risk here. It sort of goes with the territory. At least it does for me.”

  The question was right there, and too compelling not to spill out. “Do you fall in love so easily then?”

  “No. But I always believe it’s possible.” His fingers drifted to her chin, then along her neck and collarbone.

  “Every time?”

  His gaze came up to hers. “Absolutely. Especially when I least suspect it.”

  “Have you ever been?”

  “No. Not really. Not the way I want to be. You?”

  She shook her head, having no idea how she was managing to have this conversation at all when his touch was literally setting off a maelstrom of reaction inside her.

  “You write about love,” he said, “surely you believe in it?”

  “I believe it exists, yes.”

  He tipped her chin up, searched her face. “But not for you?”

  She managed a light shrug.

  Then the smile surfaced again, only this time the light in his eyes was downright…well, predatory was the only word she could think of. “We’re not going to be anonymous lovers, Misty. You’re right, it’s already too late for that.”

  She said nothing, didn’t have to.

  “Why don’t we enjoy each other, ask the questions that come up, that beg to be answered. What’s the worst that could happen?”

  You could break my heart. The one piece of herself she’d managed to retain intact.

  “Does it scare you so much?” he asked, when she remained silent.

  “I don’t want to get hurt. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “No one wants to be hurt. But playing it safe is what finally forced you to seek out Blackstone’s, isn’t it? Maybe it’s time to take some risks, be daring.”

  She did find her smile then. “I believe I’ve been quite daring up to this point.” Her smile faltered. “But I wasn’t intending to gamble anything so precious as my heart.”

  He drew her closer, tipped her head back. “Then we’ll just have to take very good care of one another, won’t we?” He leaned down, until his mouth was a whisper away from hers. “But there’s only so much safeguarding we can do, you know. So tell me to leave now, Misty. It’s the only way to be certain you’ll stay safe.”

  And that’s when she knew it was already too late. She’d long since crossed that line and hadn’t even been aware of doing it. She reached for him then, framed his face and tilted his mouth so it would fit hers the way she knew it fit best. “Don’t leave,” she told him, praying she wouldn’t be begging him for the same thing four days from now.

  9

  AS SHE PULLED HIM into a deep kiss of her own initiation, Tucker told himself he’d have turned and walked out the door without looking back if she’d asked him to.

  Thank God she hadn’t put him to the test.

  Damn but Amethyst Fortuna Smythe-Davies knew how to kiss a man.

  She teased her tongue into his mouth and he groaned. Sweet, so damn hot and sweet. He pulled her close, taking her hips in his hands, pushing what was so hard against all of her incredible softness. Now it was her moaning, and him twitching and throbbing. Need, had he ever felt such an intense need? This went well beyond the foreplay they’d indulged in on those stairs.

  He hadn’t paid any attention to the design of her suite, beyond that she was in it. He had no idea where the bed was, but he felt the thickly cushioned arm of a loveseat pressing against the back of his thighs. He rocked back, taking her with him as he slid over the side, landing on his back.

  Her eyes widened in surprise, but were already drifting shut again as she came down on top of him and he pulled her head to his. He never wanted to stop tasting her, was determined to have his mouth on some part of her for as long as she’d allow…or as he cou
ld make her want to allow. He seduced her tongue back into his mouth, suckled her until her hips began to move on his.

  He slid his hands down the side of her thighs, then back up, taking her skirt with him. “So smooth,” he murmured, “so strong.” She straddled him, bent low so their mouths and tongues could continue their dance. Her breasts brushed along his chest and he found he desperately wanted to feel those taut nipples skim over his bare skin. He reached for the hem of her shirt, only to find her hands there, holding him back.

  Thwarted, but easily diverted, he buried his hands in her hair, took the kiss deeper, until they were both panting. She pressed harder against him, riding him, and he tried again to pull at her shirt. “I want to see you, feel you on me.”

  She shook her head, pushed his hands away, this time capturing his wrists and pulling them over his head. “Not yet,” she finally managed, ending on a little gasp as he bucked his hips.

  She gave him a “no funny business” look, which was hilarious considering the funny business they were hip deep in, but he reined in his control and made every effort to still himself beneath her. Her expression shifted to a considering smile, which made him wonder what creative little thoughts were going on behind those gemstone sparklers of hers.

  He honestly couldn’t help the little hip buck that followed. After all, he was only human.

  She tightened her hold on his wrists, blowing a stray brown curl from her damp cheek. “Wait.”

  “You keep grinding on me like that, and there might not be a later to wait for.”

  She grinned. “Now, now. It’s my turn to do a bit of the torturing.”

  Like this wasn’t, he wanted to ask. Instead he raised an eyebrow. “Torture?” He clenched his jaw against the growl that threatened when she squeezed his hips between her thighs and pushed down with a little rotation of her hips. “We’re not talking pain here, are we?”

  She released him and sat up, a satisfied smile on her face when he left his arms draped over his head. “Are you in pain, now?”

  “Define pain.”

  She laughed. “I assume you meant pain of the more sadistic sort.”

  “There are some who’d say this almost qualifies. But yes, that’s what I meant. You didn’t have any S&M fantasies lurking about on that list of yours, did you?”

  “No whips and studded leather if that’s what you mean. I’m a bit of a wimp when it comes to that sort of thing.” She eyed him. “Disappointed?” She wiggled a little as she settled atop him.

  He could only shake his head.

  “Good.” She stayed upright and toyed with the hem of her shirt. “There is one thing I’ve wanted to try, however. Which is why I stopped you.”

  “If it’s how to make a man harder than he thought possible,” he gritted out, “you’ve aced that course.”

  She laughed, provoking a long, low growl from him as her thighs tightened further. “No, no. Stripping.”

  “Stripping,” he repeated, fighting hard to keep his hands off her. She kept toying with the hem of her top, giving him tiny peeks of pale, creamy midriff. He curled his fingers into fists above his head.

  “Not the sort that takes place in sleazy nightclubs with music and a pole,” she clarified.

  “A real shame, that,” he said, imitating her British lilt.

  She merely grinned, the light flush making her milky skin positively glow. “I’ll confess right now, I’m not much of a dancer.”

  He bucked his hips lightly, making her gasp. “Could have fooled me.”

  She leaned forward, bracing her palms on his chest. “No doing that, I’m not finished with you yet.”

  “Oh, you’re closer to the finish line than you think.”

  She sat back up, no longer rotating those sweet hips of hers, but bringing him to the edge nonetheless. She fingered the hem of her shirt. “So I should just leave this on, then?”

  “Absolutely not. As long as you stop that—” He made a whirling motion with his hand.

  She wiggled on him. “This?”

  “Yeah,” he groaned, tipping his head back, centering every ounce of will he had on controlling himself. “That.”

  “Ah.”

  He peered at her from one open eye. “Think you’re real cute, don’t you?”

  “I think I want to take my shirt off, is what I think.”

  He grinned through clenched teeth. Her royal highness was back. “And I’m not stopping you, but I do have one question.”

  “Which is?”

  He opened both eyes. “You’ve never taken your clothes off for a man before?”

  “Well, there’s a difference between removing one’s garments for the purpose of lovemaking…and stripping them off as a point of pleasure all on its own.”

  “Damn but I love it when you get regal on me.”

  She laughed. “Sorry.”

  “Never apologize to me.” He’d said it a bit more fiercely than he’d intended, but he didn’t care. “Just be yourself.”

  “You mean the pathetic self that has never disrobed for a man in a provocative manner?”

  He ignored her self-directed jab. “Why haven’t you? I can’t believe you never had the opportunity.”

  She shrugged. “I suppose it’s simply never seemed appropriate. More like stage direction or something.”

  “And now?”

  She settled then, met his gaze. “And now it doesn’t.”

  He couldn’t recall ever feeling so gratified. “Thank you.”

  She gave him a saucy wink. “Don’t thank me yet, you haven’t seen the performance.” Without waiting for a reply, she pulled in a breath and seemed to pick a spot somewhere past his head and focus on it as she lifted her shirt. She stopped before she’d bared more than an inch of her midriff. “Bollocks.”

  “You were doing fine.” He shifted. “Trust me. Or is this part of the act?”

  She shook her head, looking down at him. “I think I should have started with something that didn’t have an endless row of tiny buttons, something I could open without fumbling, slide off my shoulders. It’s hard to be seductive yanking all this over one’s head.”

  “Oh, I’m betting you’ll manage.”

  She continued staring at him, but it was clear her thoughts had shifted elsewhere, puzzling out a solution.

  Tucker thought that this was probably the expression she had when she went off inside her mind, crafting this bit of a story, or that. He was a little in awe of how she did that, created a whole world, filled with people, out of nothing more than wisps of ideas and images in her mind.

  Then she was slipping off of him and perching on the edge of the heavy glass coffee table that fronted the padded couch.

  “Whoa, wait—” He’d half rolled to a sit, but she pushed him back down.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” she said.

  “You’re not where you were.”

  “I think I’ve hit on a solution.”

  “So far, I’m not thinking much of it.”

  She merely gave him a look. “Patience.”

  He lay back down on the loveseat, head bracketed in his hands. This was the damnedest roll in the hay he’d ever had with a woman. Not that he wished himself anywhere else at the moment. “You know, not to spoil this or anything, but most guys would be quite happy if you just ripped that shirt off over your head without all the fuss and bother. We don’t care if it musses your hair and makeup. We’re simple creatures.”

  She smiled, then shifted her perch so that her back was to him. “I’ve always thought so.”

  “Very funny.”

  “You’ve a point, though. Mostly I’ve undressed in the dark,” she went on. “Or just dispensed with clothing sort of methodically. And you’re right, I never had a complaint.”

  “You’re not going to get any complaints from me, either.” He tried very hard not to imagine her undressing for other men. Neither of them were inexperienced, and just because she wanted to try some new things with him didn’t make
her a novice. He knew all that. And yet, there was definitely some part of him that wanted to be the one she learned these new things with. And that same part balked at the idea of her going on to share them with others. He tried to ignore that part.

  “It’s not a tease I’m after, really,” she said. “More like adding to the foreplay.” She glanced over her shoulder. “And this is not to say that ripping one’s clothes off doesn’t have its place.”

  “Hear, hear.”

  “But for now,” she went on, once again turning away from him, “I’d like to try something else. You tell me what you think.” One more quick glance. “Any suggestions or improvements are requested and appreciated.”

  He laughed. “Yeah, right. Talk about a guaranteed way to kill the mood. I’ve discovered that most women don’t actually want a critique, no matter what they say.”

  “I’m not most women.”

  Well. She had him there.

  “I’m a writer, I’m used to critiques.”

  “Fine. I’ll do my best.”

  “No pretty lies,” she warned. “I don’t need them.”

  No, she very likely didn’t. “No lies.” And, no matter that the motive wasn’t entirely clear, he promised himself right then that no matter where this led, he would be honest. With her. With himself.

  She slipped the edges of her shirt between her fingers, breathed a quiet sigh. “Okay then,” she said, more to herself than to him. Slowly, very slowly, she drew the hem upward, revealing the narrow span of her lower back. As creamy smooth as the rest of her. She angled her torso, slid the fabric higher. The thin silk strip of her bra appeared.

  It was pale blue, which only made her skin seem more translucent. There was a supple play of her muscles as she continued to draw the shirt over her head. Her hair was swept up inside of it, so he could see the full, unadorned line of her back. It was graceful, a sinuous curve that had him tightening the fists he’d made of his hands. He’d thought his need to touch her was strong before, but now…