Exposed Read online

  She wondered if it would get awkward again now. Nothing had really changed. She didn’t know much more about him now than she did an hour ago. Except that she wanted to know more. And so did he.

  Which was potent enough.

  He lowered his mouth, brushed warm lips across hers. Soft and sweet, he kissed her. Short kisses, dropped across her lips, on her chin, along her jaw, until she sighed and let her head fall back, allowing him to trail that soft mouth along her neck. She sunk her fingers into his hair, let the low buzz in her belly begin to build, swell, move outward, fill her with warmth, with anticipation.

  When he lifted his head, she slowly brought her gaze back to his. And got her answer when she looked at the intensity, the desire, the curiosity so baldly apparent in his eyes. Not awkward. Still scary. Extremely potent.

  She traced her hand over his face. “How is this kind of power possible?” she murmured with a bit of awe. “I thought I had things pretty well figured out. Then this. You make me ache. For all kinds of things.”

  “I was just asking myself the same question,” he said, smoothing his fingertips along her hairline, cupping the back of her head.

  But when he would have drawn her back, kissed her again, she pulled away. He let her go, let her shift back, straighten, saying nothing, but his gaze held the silent questions all the same.

  “I said before I don’t do this. Could have never even imagined—” She broke off, shook her head. “And yet, it’s almost too easy between us. That scares me more than anything.”

  “Maybe it’s easy for a reason. Maybe we should take that as a sign. I don’t know about you, but this . . . this feeling, like I’ve been struck by lightning or hit by a truck, it just doesn’t happen. To other people, maybe. Is that a little terrifying? Yes. But you’re feeling it, too. So maybe that’s how it is when it’s right. I’d be crazy to walk away just because it scares the shit out of me.”

  Her lips twitched. “You sound so rational. And yet there’s nothing rational about it. The truth is, we don’t know each other. I don’t know you.”

  “You know I can please you. Make you laugh. Make you think. At least I hope I do. You’ve already proved you can do those things for me.”

  She leaned forward until her nose and forehead touched his, almost going cross-eyed in an effort to stare him down. “And yet I don’t even know your name,” she said distinctly, plainly. She shook her head, moved back again. “If you were to get up and walk out of here, I’d have no way of ever finding you. Nor you me. I’d say that makes us strangers.”

  He shifted her off his lap, surprising her. Gripping her hips to keep her balanced, he pushed to a stand right along with her. He set her apart a few feet, then stuck his hand out. “Hi, I’m Austin Morgan. I’m thirty-two and live out of a suitcase—although I have an apartment in Chicago I’m rarely in, and a hotel suite in Milan that feels like home. I make a good living shooting pictures of beautiful people who are usually at least ten years younger than me, but make me feel at least twenty years older than them on a regular basis. I don’t smoke, I occasionally enjoy a couple of drinks, I always enjoy sex, but never more than I’ve already enjoyed it with you. I’ve never been married, but have nothing against the institution.

  “I’m the second of four boys—no sisters—all of whom were raised in a tiny place in the Blue Ridge foothills called Rogues Hollow. A bucolic, rural setting founded by three Scots highwaymen several hundred years ago, one of whom happens to be an ancestor of mine. I haven’t seen any of my brothers in years, although we all get along. We’re all presently heading back to Virginia to see each other and settle some family business. And while I’m excited about that, I’m dreading going back.

  “Both my parents have passed away. I don’t remember my mother. My father was a son of a bitch who just recently died, hence the reunion. I’m okay with being orphaned, which probably makes me at least a little bit of a son of a bitch myself and I’m not sure how I feel about that. Or about stepping foot in a house I swore I’d never go back to. But I’m dealing with that. Much better now that I’ve met you.” He grinned. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  She took his hand, laughing a little, dazzled a lot. “Fine, okay. Um, well, I’m Delilah Hudson.” She narrowed her gaze before he could comment or even react. “Everyone who knows me, and wants to live to tell the tale, calls me Del. I’m twenty-eight, I live in New York City, where I make a decent living by New York standards, shooting advertising layouts that never involve people of any age, but do involve working with clients who make me grow old before my time on a regular basis. I’ve never been married, but have several bridesmaid dresses in my closet suitable only for very bad Halloween costumes.

  “I used to smoke, but that was mostly to make the nuns who raised me shake their heads and worry for my immortal soul. I also enjoy a few drinks on occasion, which has nothing to do with the nuns, but my enjoyment of sex—especially, it seems, with you, given the language you elicit with very little effort—would likely shock them speechless, and therefore makes it all the more gratifying. Which only proves they were right to worry about my immortal soul all along, I suppose.

  “I’ve been to Chicago, but never Milan. Or, for that matter, anywhere out of this country, though I have gauzy dreams about what it would be like to traipse the globe and live out of a suitcase, probably all very over-romanticized, which would definitely shock my friends as they wouldn’t believe I have a romantic bone in my body.

  “I’m an orphan, too, only I’ve been one since I was six weeks old. I don’t know anything about either of my parents, except at least one of them thought I’d have a better shot at life if I started it out in an abandoned grocery cart in an alley behind a Greek deli on Third. The nuns did their best, and despite their probable opinion, I don’t think I turned out too badly. I occasionally wonder about the kind of people I came from, if I ever had any siblings, that kind of thing, but not so much anymore. The fantasy stories I made up as a child, of where I really came from, were always far more interesting and probably have a lot to do with those gauzy dreams I mentioned earlier, and why my closest friends will never know about any of them.” She paused for a moment, her dry tone softening a bit. “I can draw, but it’s very raw talent, I have no formal training. My secret dream was to write these amazing epic adventures for children, all illustrated by me of course, so kids like me would have an alternate universe to escape to.”

  She shook her head now, laughed, more than a little embarrassed by the revelation. “And I’ve never told that to anyone. I got into photography as a teenager, as a way of trying to define myself. I spent hours strolling the streets of Manhattan and the boroughs, making my own sense of the world, my sliver of it anyway, through the lens of my camera. Still do, when I have the time. I never thought of actually making a career taking pictures, am still kind of surprised I do. The ad job sort of happened by accident, a friend of a friend found me a job, and so on.” She shrugged. “I was good at it, it supports me well, and life went from there.” She smiled. “Occasionally even taking me to exotic foreign ports of call, like Atlanta. And here I am, on a train back to the city, where I have a glorious week to myself to wander those streets and once again make sense of my world.”

  Her smile faded a little as she looked into his eyes, so intent, so focused on her. “I think it might be a little more difficult this time around. Seeing as my world has recently been turned upside down and shaken up a bit.”

  “Lightning,” he murmured, then closed his hand around hers when she shook his, and yanked her up against his chest. In one smooth motion, he spun so it was his back against the wall and she was flush up against his body. “You have no idea what a pleasure it is to meet you, Del Hudson. And the more I meet, the more it pleases me.” He wrapped his arms around her. “So, now that introductions are out of the way, where were we?” He took her mouth without waiting.

  And truth be told, she was glad he had. Her mind was spinning, her heart poundin
g. She loved the way he kissed her, the way he just knew her mouth, how he somehow managed to take and give at the same time. The way he knew exactly how to kiss her. Strangers indeed. She’d meant her little recitation to be acerbic, a little dose of reality into their fantasy world, a raw glimpse into her real world. Maybe make him realize just how close to being strangers they were. And yet, the result had somehow done the opposite. It had drawn him to her . . . and when he’d pulled her into his arms, she realized that’s exactly what she’d secretly hoped he would do.

  “What happened to the rest of the twenty questions?” she asked breathlessly, when he moved from her mouth to the side of her neck.

  “I think we just gave each other at least that many answers. Besides, we’ve got the rest of our li—trip to ask and answer anything we want to know. I’m an open book. You can ask me anything you want to know. Right after I get done with this very important study I’m conducting.”

  Her snort turned into a surprisingly delighted giggle when he nuzzled her neck all the while sliding her arms out of her sleeves, stopping only long enough to tug the garment over her head. Surprising because she wasn’t a giggler either. She supposed the new things she was learning weren’t necessarily all about him.

  “And this study would be?”

  “To see if you look as fabulous naked as you felt.”

  “Ah,” she said. Not exactly a stinging retort. Much less a roadblock to his continued exploration. “And?” she asked baldly. “How do I stack up? Although,” she added, gasping a little when his warm palms spanned her waist, “stacked is probably not the right word here.” She’d said it dryly, well aware of the fact he’d had no problem finding her arousing before. When his wide palms closed over her breasts, barely filling his hands, she let her head drop back. “Don’t answer the question. But—Jesus, that feels good,” she said, when he softly rubbed her nipples across the ridges and valleys of his fingers.

  “Swearing already. Point to me.”

  “Two points, I believe,” she said, as her nipples hardened painfully.

  He chuckled, then banded one arm around her back, snuggling her up tight against the hard length of him, the rigidly hard length. Thereby removing any shred of doubt about his final judgment regarding her naked breasts. He leaned her back over his arm so he could trail his tongue down the center line of her chest, then moved torturously slowly to the tip of one breast. The deep groan of appreciation as he finally took her plumped nipple between his lips was matched by her own.

  Her hips were twitching up against his, the muscles between her thighs clenching almost viciously. She finally ripped his head up and, catching him off guard, shoved him up straight against the wall and yanked at his shirt. “Fair’s fair,” she reminded him, and off it came.

  He was beautiful everywhere. Hard, leanly muscled, with a spray of fine dark hair across perfectly molded pecs. Perfect pecs with their own tight little buds. Well, she thought, turnabout was just. She pinned his shoulders back. “Uh-uh, no hands.”

  He held his hands up in mock surrender.

  She merely nodded approvingly. “Keep them there, you’re entirely too sneaky with them.”

  “Anything you say, ma’am. What, uh, are you planning to do with me?” He tipped his head back, closed his eyes, and with an air of mock drama, said, “Just be gentle.”

  Which was the only reason she used her teeth—just a little—when she closed her lips around his nipple.

  His whole body jerked. Most impressive was the part that had jerked between her thighs. “Ah,” she said, trying to sound detached, scientific. “Knee-jerk reaction, or . . .” Keeping him pinned to the wall with her hands on his forearms, she ducked down and swirled her tongue around the other one.

  A little moan escaped. She thought he might have breathed something that sounded like, “Shit. Jesus Christ,” when she pinched the hard nub between her lips.

  She licked her way up to his chin, bit the edge of his jaw, then the edge of his ear. “You know, it is sort of arousing to make you swear.”

  He turned his head, so his eyes blazed into hers. She knew he was fully, completely aroused, and, this close, not entirely tame about it. The inherent whisper of danger didn’t remotely make her feel like backing down. No, it sent a hot thrill right through her. Made her wonder just how far she could push him, provoke him. And just how incredible it was going to be when he lost control.

  Since when had she become a thrill seeker? She, who had worked very hard to create stability, sameness, a solid foundation that only changed when she allowed it to. A life she controlled. And here she was, all but daring him to take control away from her. And just the mere thought of him actually doing it soaked her panties.

  He continued to stare into her eyes. She felt his pulse thunder through the veins in his forearms, now flexed beneath her fingers. “Any other little experiments you want to conduct on me, Del?” he said, his voice low, rough.

  “Maybe,” she taunted. Only hearing him say her name did something wacky to her insides. Simultaneously jacking her up, and stunning her a little. How much she’d enjoyed just hearing him say it. Made no sense. People said her name all the time. But this . . . now . . . it was personalizing things between them in a way that—well, considering just how up close and personal they’d already been . . . and from the looks of things, please, God, were about to be again—was a little ridiculous to think was any different. But it was different. Enough that she wanted to see if it would send that same jolt through him.

  She leaned closer, until his mouth was as close as it could be without her actually touching it. “I want to know what I’d have to do to provoke you, to make you lose control.”

  His lips curved slowly, but the resulting smile was more primal than amused. “And your method would be?”

  She drew her hands down his forearms, pushing them before she moved on down, signaling him to keep them there, which he did. Having him pinned, willingly, against the wall, was intensely arousing. Undoing his pants was even more so. She moved her body down, so it slid against every inch of him as she dropped into a crouch . . . taking his pants and his briefs down along with her.

  He was gloriously hard and thick. And when she looked up at him as she drew her hands back up bare thighs, now locked in a rock-hard stance, his cocky smile faltered. But the hot gaze turned almost molten. She brushed along his inner thighs, keeping him jutting close to her mouth, but not touching her.

  She allowed her breath to caress him as she slowly cupped him. His cock jerked. When she wrapped her hand around him, he swore. She glanced up, found his head back, hands pinned to the wall, eyes clenched shut, jaw tight. The mere sight of all that power, leashed, controlled, allowing her full possession of it, however she wanted to avail herself of it . . . made her almost light-headed with desire.

  She stroked him, making him groan, making him growl. She let the tip of him brush her cheek, her closed lips.

  “Holy Mother of God,” he said through clenched teeth, his chest rising and falling.

  She drew her hand to the tip, back to the base, then up again, before stopping to look up at him again. “Austin,” she commanded quietly. His whole body twitched.

  “Yeah,” he grunted.

  “Watch me.”

  “Jesus,” he breathed.

  “I want you to watch me.”

  “Del—I don’t know what you meant by lose control, but the minute you put your mouth on me—”

  “Austin,” she said, voice quivering just a little. She liked the taste of his name on her lips. Now she wanted to find out if she liked the taste of something else. “I dare you.”

  He swore. In both English and Italian.

  She grinned.

  He pried his eyes open, slowly lowered his gaze. “And you say you don’t know me.”

  “I’m about to.” She wet her lips.

  He groaned, “Fuck me.”

  She said, “Most definitely,” then took him fully into her mouth.

&nbs
p; Chapter Eight

  Austin was pretty sure the top of his head was no longer there, blown off by the intense sensation of her lips, tongue, and mouth sliding up and down along his—Christ, it wasn’t like no one had ever . . . but when she—he sucked in air, tensed, shocked to feel the surge begin to gather. He’d just come an hour or so ago . . . no way was he going to—but damn, it sure felt like it.

  He spent a split second thinking he should tear her away, pull her up, bury himself deep, so he could come inside her sweet, hot body—but just the thought of it was enough to send him flying over the edge.

  Del kept him pinned hard to the wall, not letting him take any control. Taking him. And taking him. Until there was nothing left, and he could barely stand upright, his knees were suddenly shaky. He wanted nothing more than to slide down the wall, pull her into his lap . . . and just drift on the intense waves of pleasure still flowing over and through him.

  His head was tipped back, his eyes squeezed shut. “Never,” he managed. “Twice. Jesus.” He shook his head. He was still half hard; in fact, he wasn’t sure he’d ever go limp again. His body had been hard-wired for her and it simply wasn’t going to quit until they were both either completely spent . . . or unconscious.

  “Austin,” she urged, her voice all throaty. She kissed one rigidly locked thigh, then the other.

  Something in her voice had him opening his eyes, looking down at her, still kneeling there, looking up at him, eyes still dark with desire, mouth curved in a damned dry smile. It was the smile that did him in completely. He laughed even as his throat grew strangely tight. Unsure what to do with all the emotions she so easily elicited, he only knew she shouldn’t be kneeling before him. He yanked her up, tugged her so she fell against him. “I want to feel all of you,” he said, not aware of what words he had to say until he was saying them. “Against all of me.”