Exposed Page 4

  Hers would be.

  His throat tightened, his finger twitched on the button. And, as if she could see through him, into him, understand the power she wielded, the corner of her mouth kicked up in the subtlest of smiles.

  He took the shot without thinking. His, he thought. Forever.

  He threw the camera on the bench even as he surged to a stand. Haunt me, he thought as he moved to her, even as he forced it from his mind. This was pure fantasy. Two strangers on a train. Heading nowhere. Except into each other.

  He slid his hard fingers over her tough face, drove them into her spiky hair, gripped her head, held her. Swallowed her gasp when he crushed his mouth to hers.

  Her hands immediately came up between them, fisted on his chest. But she only shoved him once. Then she was tearing at his hair, and shoving her tongue into his mouth. His lip caught on her teeth, she took him so hard. Animal. Primal. Alpha. The urgent need to mate.

  And goddamn if he didn’t need to mate. The hunger was almost a vicious clawing inside him now. The way she dragged his shirt over his head, then raked her fingers down his back, clutched into him, dragging him to her, told him he wasn’t alone.

  She ripped at his pants. He held her head pinned to the wall, plundering her mouth the way he wanted to plunder her body. And then she was climbing onto him, wrapping herself around him. And when he shoved himself inside her, she swore long and loud, bit his lip, then swore again as she pummeled his back with her fists, urging him deeper. Faster.

  Growling, he complied. Dear sweet Jesus, she was tight. So damn wet. Her back slapped against the wall as he drove into her. His grunts and groans alternating with her steady stream of “shit, fucking goddamn shit.” Her fists pounded harder; she found his mouth again, took him, driving her tongue inside his mouth, showing him what she wanted. Pistoning, deep, hard, fast.

  The wave came rushing at him so fast, the force of it draining the blood from his head so fast he thought he might black out. Sanity, some small shred of it, prevailed at the very last possible moment. He pulled out, let her legs drop from his hips, then shoved himself down between her thighs, held her hard up against the wall, and shuddered so hard as he came he was sure he’d buckle and take them both crashing to the floor.

  “Goddammit, no,” she wailed. “I’m on—the pill. Fuck.”

  He couldn’t help it, he started to laugh. He held her tight when she started to squirm, pressed his face against the damp skin of her neck. “Does Santa know you talk like a trucker?”

  She sighed, then made a noise somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. “It’s only when I’m—I’m usually able to censor myself, keep it in my head. But with you—” She turned away from him, cheeks stained the most becoming pink. He just followed, continued to nuzzle her neck, tickling her ear, making her smack at him, even as her legs trembled.

  “Uninhibited is the word I think you’re looking for. And before you apologize for it, don’t.” He lifted his head then, found her staring at him curiously. “What can I say? It worked for me. Who knew?”

  Her lips twitched, once, twice, then she lost the struggle and grinned. “No apology, then. But don’t tell Santa. I was finally enjoying Christmas Eve for a change.”

  And just like that his heart came into play. It made no sense. None. Hot sex was an incredible physical release, but he never put his emotions into play. Not ever. Observer, that was his role. Occasional enjoyer, but never full participant. Not that way. It muddled things up. Screwed with his objectivity.

  Haunt me. The thought he’d had, as he’d moved to take her, rolled through his mind again, echoed over and over. He wanted to look away from her, from those eyes, that face, her entire being, pull back into the protective mode where they were two consenting adults, enjoying a moment out of time. An incredible, intensely erotic moment. But a moment all the same.

  But he didn’t look away. And when her smile faded, when her gaze grew serious, when neither of them looked away, yet stood there, half naked, sweaty, and sticky . . . the moment to save himself passed.

  And he couldn’t seem to care all that much.

  Instead, he lowered his mouth to hers, and kissed her. With the mating urge sated, this wasn’t about hunger. Not physical hunger, anyway. So what was this yearning then? he asked himself, as he gently took her mouth, kissed her slowly, tenderly. Soothing the lips still puffy from their voracious feeding frenzy. Soothed some part of himself as well, in the doing of it, the caring for her.

  What was this yearning, this need? he asked himself again. But then she was kissing him back. With the same care. The same tenderness. And the question was lost, the answer no longer so urgent.

  Chapter Five

  Where was this coming from? Del wondered, even as she kept kissing him. This urge to be sweet, to be tender, when this was supposed to be all about hot, about sizzling.

  She shifted, let their lips part, slowly disengaged herself from him. He didn’t stop her, but when she edged away from the wall, he reached out, let his fingertips brush hers, then dropped them when she paused.

  “I’ve—I know we need to, you know, clean up. I have some—” He stopped stammering and moved instead to a leather duffel that sat on the bunk he wasn’t using. He opened it up, pulled out a small pack of Kleenex and handed it to her. “I’m sorry, it’s all I have.” He pulled a bottle of springwater from another satchel and handed it to her. “Will this help?”

  It was awkward, she thought, hating that. Mostly because the sex hadn’t been. How could that have been so easily magnificent, and now they could barely string two sentences together? They were apparently fine with screwing the daylights out of each other. It was only when they’d slowed down enough to—to—get involved in whatever that last kiss had been about. That was what had messed it all up.

  She struggled to come up with something blasé, dry, amusing, to put them back on track. But when she took the Kleenex and water from him, she made the mistake of catching his gaze. Where did that curiosity she found in them stem from? He had carnal knowledge of her. What more did he need to know? Shouldn’t he be wanting her to clean up and get on back to her seat right about now? Shouldn’t she?

  She thought about that kiss. And didn’t know what to do about that part. “Thanks,” was all she managed.

  He nodded, then turned his back, pulled on his clothes. “I’m going to step out,” he told her. “Use the rest room.”

  She nodded, then realized he wasn’t looking at her, was carefully giving her some privacy. Considering what they’d just been doing, it should have made her laugh. It didn’t.

  “Can I bring you back anything?”

  “I’m fine,” she said, finding herself curious, too. What kind of guy seduced a woman one moment, took her like an animal the next . . . then turned into a decent, gentlemanly sort?

  The kind you want to get to know better, she thought. Then had to swallow the sudden urge to snicker. She knew him carnally, too, right? What else was there to know? “I’ll be right behind you as soon as I—you know.” Try as she might, the amusement came through anyway.

  He paused at the door, his lips kicking up a bit, too, as he glanced briefly back. And just like that, it was comfortable again. “We never got around to that coffee.”

  “No,” she said, no longer caring that her eyes were likely dancing. The hell with being blasé. Blasé hadn’t gotten her the best sex of her life, now had it? She grinned. “No, we never did.”

  “Still interested?”

  Oh, yeah, she thought instantly. “Here?”

  “Would you rather go to the club—”

  She shook her head.

  His eyes darkened. Very sexy, she thought. Damn sexy. She wondered what his recovery time was like. Then mentally slapped her wrist. Greedy girl.

  “Black, no sugar?” he said, and at her nod, added, “You want anything else?”

  She let her smile be her answer.

  Rather than respond in kind, he simply held her gaze for the longest mome
nt. “Don’t disappear on me.”

  She shivered a little, liking that intensity. A lot. “What, do I look like a mirage to you?”

  A grin split his face, but it just made the intensity ratchet up another notch. “No, but I damn sure couldn’t have hallucinated a better moment than this one.” He flipped his cabin card on the bunk. “Take this with you. In case you get back first. It might take me a while to get the coffee.” And then he was gone.

  As it happened, she did get back first. The buzz among the passengers as she’d made her way to and from the bathroom was that the storm was surpassing forecasters’ predictions, further hampering rescue and clean-up operations. The conductor had announced they’d likely be there until past daybreak at least.

  “Merry Christmas to me,” Del had sung beneath her breath, smiling unashamedly when other passengers gave her curious looks. She refused to feel guilty. The buzz still warming her insides was too good. Besides, though she understood there were many unhappy people on this train, they were at least safe, warm, and dry. She wasn’t going to pretend she was upset by the current set of circumstances.

  It was only when she’d gotten into the bathroom that she’d noted the high color in her cheeks, the razor burn at the base of her throat. Ah. That might explain some of those curious looks.

  And she still hadn’t felt guilty. In fact, her grin had been rather wanton as she splashed water on her face and neck. Like it was going to magically fade away. Like she cared. She’d all but danced her way back to his cabin. Let the rest of the passengers get their own fantasy train lover.

  Only now that she was back in his cabin, alone, with nothing to do but think about what she’d done, what she’d allowed him to do . . . right there against that wall, did the second-guessing begin to creep in. She sat by the window. The sun had gone down now, and with the sky still heavy with clouds and snow, there was nothing to see but endless darkness, and the reflection of her own face in the glass. Why had she so blatantly disregarded any reasonable standards for her safety, possible health concerns, all of it? All for a quickie with a man whose name she didn’t even know.

  And yet when she closed her eyes, pictured in her mind every detail of what she’d done with her stranger, what he’d done to her . . . well, she shifted in her seat, her body still vividly aware of recent pleasures, and found she couldn’t quite quash the grin that accompanied the mental replay. “Del, you naughty, naughty, girl,” she murmured, shaking her head with a little laugh. So she’d been irresponsible. She figured she was due. And hell if she hadn’t picked the best possible time, place . . . or man.

  She opened her eyes, and her gaze landed on his camera, still lying on the opposite seat. She remembered then, the pictures he’d taken. A little shudder of fresh arousal skated over her, twitched at muscles that amazed her with their apparent unending need. He’d been so intent, she thought, so specific about what he was after.

  She pictured him, kneeling before her, like she was some sort of goddess to be worshipped. She was hardly that . . . and yet, when he’d aimed that lens at her, something had shifted in her. She was neither exhibitionist nor repressed maiden. Far from either. She was comfortable enough with her body . . . but in the way a person was comfortable in the house they lived in. She never thought about herself, not in the way he’d made it clear he was thinking of her. When he’d aimed that lens at her, she’d felt more than naked . . . and terribly aroused at the thought of what he might discover. What it was he might see in her, that she’d never revealed before . . . maybe even to herself.

  She shifted on the seat, needs and desires stirring in her all over again. It was silly, really. They were just stupid pictures. She’d probably cringe if she saw them. But her gaze lingered on the camera. Did she want to know? Want to know what it was he’d seen in her? What he’d felt so compelled to capture? What would it say about him? About her? It was that last part that kept her in her seat.

  She looked up at the satchel, and the leather duffel on the bunk. What would its contents tell her about the man who had just taken her, like some kind of half wild warrior, starved for the feel, the taste, of a woman.

  Any woman?

  She shrugged that off. So what if she’d merely been convenient? He surely came under that heading, didn’t he? She smiled. So she’d gotten the better end of that deal. Shut up and thank Santa for early presents.

  She looked back out the window. So, if their almost unnatural ability to perform mind-blowing sexual acts with each other, first time out of the gate, was their only purpose in spending time together, why was she sticking around? What did they have to say to each other? After what had just happened, what else would they choose to reveal?

  Don’t disappear on me.

  He didn’t want her to go. Not yet. Did he want to take more pictures? Did he just want another shot at nirvana while he had the chance? Did she?

  It was what fell under the “or what” column that had her standing, pacing the few steps in the narrow space between the bench seats.

  He was smart. Had a swift sense of humor. A devout interest in pleasing a woman. All good things to know. Did she really need more? Right now the fantasy was pretty damn near perfect. Coffee, conversation . . . might ruin it all. Did she want to risk it?

  She snagged her camera off the other bunk, fiddled with the settings, thought about the picture she’d taken of him. What would she think about when she looked at it? A week from now. A year from now. What memories did she want it to elicit?

  She looked at the door. Leave now, and know? Or stay and risk ruining it?

  She was reaching for the door when it slid open. She snatched her hand back, rubbed it along her pants leg and smiled as he stepped in, carrying a cardboard tray with two cups and a paper bag.

  “Hey,” he said, “sorry it took so long. Club car is now chaos car.”

  “I can imagine,” she said, moving to the window, taking her seat.

  He sat across from her, handed her a cup. “It’s really hot.”

  If you only knew, she thought, thinking how the temperature had spiked the moment he’d stepped in the cabin. Or maybe it was just her temperature. “Thanks.” She took the cup, wrapped her hands around it as she watched him set the tray to the side, and dig into the paper bag.

  “I went ahead and got some sandwiches, some chips. I had no idea what you like.”

  That’s where you’d be wrong. She had to duck her chin and pray that hadn’t shown on her face. But the little snort gave her away. Damn her impulses. She glanced through her lashes over at him.

  He’d paused in his bag search, was looking at her, one eyebrow raised. “You’re really something.”

  “Yeah, but what?” she said on a laugh, immediately raising her hand. “Don’t answer that.”

  He tossed a bag of chips on her lap. “Why? You so sure it’s something you don’t want to hear?” He held up two sandwiches. “Turkey or ham?”

  She put her coffee in the side cup holder and reached over to snag the turkey. He was fast, caught her wrist before she could shift back to her seat. “What?” she asked, her pulse bumping up a bit at the unexpected move. But not in fear. This man meant her no harm. In fact, if the look in his eyes was any gauge, his intention was quite the opposite. A promise she was well aware he could deliver on. If she wanted him, to.

  “Fascinating,” was all he said, then he tugged on her wrist, pulling her from her seat. The bag of chips fell to the floor.

  “Huh?” she asked, all lost in his darkening gaze.

  “The ‘something’ you are. Is fascinating. Come here.”

  She should have resisted, just to see what he’d do, what he’d say. But she didn’t want to. Besides, doing things his way had worked out pretty damn well for her so far.

  He shoved the tray with his coffee down the bench and she moved to sit next to him. He just shook his head, took her by the hips and pulled her onto his lap so she straddled his thighs.

  She gave him a questioning look; he
gave her a totally endearing, lopsided smile, and said, “You were too far away.”

  “Define too far,” she said, not quite settling her weight on him yet.

  “Not in constant contact with some part of my body.”

  Now it was her turn for a quirky grin. “Ah. I’m guessing there’s a specific part you’re most interested in having. . . constantly contacted?”

  He laughed, but didn’t tug her down tight against him. “Naturally, but I’m not that picky at the moment.” He nudged her back, so she was perched closer to his knees than his lap. “Mostly you just felt too far away. Now you don’t.”

  Maybe she should have moved, taken some control. But she liked where she was sitting, liked him wanting her there. She realized she was still clutching her sandwich, and decided what the hell, she was starving. So she unwrapped it as she talked. “And do you always shift things to suit your needs?” she asked, biting off a corner. “Never mind, don’t answer that,” she said, or tried to, while chewing. “After all, it’s your job to shift your surroundings to suit your needs. No surprise you take that approach in every sense, I suppose.”

  He picked up his sandwich from where he’d tossed it, unwrapped it and took a bite as he thought over what she’d said, finally nodding. “I guess you’re right.”

  “I guess the real question is, do people always allow you to get away with it? Do they ever get to call the shots, move things to suit their needs, even if they’re not in line with yours?”

  He grinned, sunk his bare teeth into the sandwich, and bit off a chunk, still smiling as he chewed.

  “I take it that’s a no,” she said, unable not to smile in return. He was being completely alpha, and he knew it. Somehow, that didn’t bother her too much. After all, she was only going to have to handle it temporarily.

  “I didn’t say that,” he said. “Actually, I was thinking that you of all people should know exactly how much I don’t mind putting others’ needs above my own.”