Читать книгу Blackhawk Desires: Blackhawk's Betrayal - Barbara McCauley - Страница 12

Crazy.

Unbelievably, undeniably, wondrously crazy.

His mouth on hers, his arms crushing her against him, drove every rational thought from her mind. She didn’t want to think, and how could she, with her heart thundering in her head the way it was?

She was too damn tired to fight her emotions any longer. She wanted, needed, as she never had before. When his lips moved to her ear, she rolled her head back on a soft moan.

Pressing closer to him, she wrapped her arms around his neck, felt giddy with the excitement rushing through her. But somewhere, far away, on the edges of her mind, she heard a tiny voice. Are you insane? You’re in the hotel. The entire kitchen staff watched you leave with Sam!

“Sam,” she managed a weak protest. “This is—”

“I know.” He nipped at her earlobe.

She shivered violently. “We shouldn’t—”

“No,” he agreed, and blazed kisses down her neck.

There, right there, she thought when his mouth nuzzled the base of her throat. “Someone might—”

“They might.”

She sucked in a breath when his teeth sank into her skin. “Will you stop being so damn agreeable?”

“Okay,” he murmured.

His mouth caught hers again, kissed her long and hard. A hot, wild meeting of tongue and teeth and lips. Her pulse raced; heat swept through her veins like a firestorm, turning her insides to liquid. Certain her bones were melting, she clung to him, afraid she might slide to the floor.

But the carpet was soft, she thought dimly. Soft and cushioned.

And so close …

So decadent …

She arched up into him, felt the full length of his solid body against hers, the hard press of his erection. Her breasts tingled with anticipation, her skin tightened, and the intensity of the sensations might have been painful if she hadn’t been so completely and utterly aroused.

Her fingers hurried up his neck, curled into his thick, smooth hair. The texture shivered from her fingertips all the way down to her toes. She breathed in the scent of his skin, a heady mix of pure male and hot passion, then rushed her hands down again, slid under the lapels of his suit jacket and slid it off his broad shoulders.

Through the rolling haze of desire, she felt him backing her across the room. Toward the sofa? she wondered. The bedroom? It didn’t matter, just as long as they got there soon. As long as he never stopped kissing her.

She fumbled with the knot of his tie, cursed her inability to make her fingers work faster. Finally, with a whoosh of silk, the tie slid from her hand and dropped soundlessly to the floor. She worked at the top button of his shirt, felt his low growl against her fingertips when she opened buttons and slid her hands inside. The feel of his muscled chest under her palms, the heat of his skin, sent ripples of white-hot need coursing through her.

So it was the bedroom he was directing her toward, she realized when she bumped into the doorjamb. She opened her eyes just enough to catch a glimpse of smoke-colored walls, a mahogany armoire and late afternoon sunlight streaming through the open, dark blue drapes. She couldn’t see the bed from this angle, but she knew it was there, and the thought of making love with Sam, of having him inside her, made her shudder fiercely.

His kisses swept like liquid fire across her jaw, over her chin, down her neck. Certain she couldn’t take any more, she raked her fingernails down his chest, moved her hands toward the buckle of his belt.

“Sam …” She heard the desperation in her voice, his ragged breathing, her heart slamming against her ribs. The sounds swirled in her head, melded together. She kicked her flats off, then rose on the tips of her toes and wantonly moved her hips against him.

On a groan, he tugged her blouse from her slacks and slid his hands underneath, rushed his fingers over her rib cage.

“So damn soft,” he murmured.

As if in slow motion, she felt herself falling backward onto the mattress, the descent steep and long and exciting. His hands covered her breasts, and she sank into a river of erotic sensations, let herself be swept away in the swirling waters.

“I’ve been crazy wanting this,” he said huskily. “Wanting you.”

Crazy. There it was again. The word that seemed to say it all. She looked at Sam, saw the fierce desire glinting in his narrowed eyes as he stared down at her. Crazy or not, how could something that felt this right be wrong?

When he lowered his head to her bare stomach, she simply didn’t care anymore.

It surprised Sam how fragile Kiera felt under him. She was tall for a woman, but her bone structure was delicate, her curves soft and smooth, her breasts firm and round. Her fingers moved restlessly over his back when he touched his lips to the hollow of her belly. When he swept his tongue over her warm, silky skin, she squirmed under him.

The sweet taste of her nearly sent him over the edge, but he held back, wanting, needing to draw that sweetness out. He nipped at the edge of her rib cage, heard her sharp intake of breath. She arched upward, and he slid his hands underneath her, unclasped her bra and shoved the lacy garment up.

When he took one hardened nipple in his mouth, she gasped and raked her fingers over his scalp. He suckled one breast, then the other, teased the peak of each nipple with his tongue and his teeth. The need he felt for her rocked him to the core. Slow it down, he told himself. Get yourself back in control, dammit.

Then she moved her hips against him and whispered his name.

Oh, to hell with it.

Flipping open the single button on her slacks, he blazed kisses along the underside of her breast while he tugged the zipper down, then slid his hand inside to cup her. Soft lace pressed against his palm. When he tightened his grip, she groaned.

Every breath burned his lungs, sweat beaded on his forehead. If he wasn’t inside her soon, he thought he might go mad.

He slid between lace and skin and slipped a finger into the wet heat between her thighs. She bucked upward, and when he stroked her, he felt the bite of her nails across his shoulders.

“Take … off … your … clothes,” she gasped and hurried her hands to his belt buckle.

He brushed her hands away, knew he didn’t dare let her touch him yet. “You first.”

In one fluid sweep of his hands, he had her slacks and underwear off and tossed them aside. She rose up, managed to undo the knot on her own tie and yank it off, then reached for him. But he moved too quickly, tugged her blouse downward, pinning her arms and dragging her closer while he dropped his mouth down on hers.

She couldn’t move, could barely breathe, and she thought she might die if he didn’t hurry. Heat coursed through her, coiled between her legs. She wanted desperately to touch him, but he’d trapped her arms, frustrating her. Exciting her. Thrilling her as no man ever had before.

“I can’t stand it,” she said raggedly, dropping her head back when his mouth moved to her neck. He sucked lightly, then used his teeth. Flames raced over her skin. “Sam, please.”

Hopelessly and wonderfully lost in the sensations battering her, she couldn’t think, could only feel as he moved over her with his mouth and teeth and tongue. She trembled with need, wantonly arched upward, frantic for him to be inside her.

When he released her arms, she fell backward and lay naked under him. He unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants. She drew in a breath when he shoved his pants and black boxers down. He was hard and fully erect.

And large.

Her eyes widened, and she felt a moment’s apprehension. He slid his hands up her legs, her thighs, his gaze dark and fierce and primal. He spread her legs and she gripped the bedclothes as he moved over her.

He entered her, moving deeper with each thrust, then deeper still, until he was fully sheathed inside her. She released the breath she’d been holding and wrapped her arms and legs around him, felt the rippling sinew under her limbs.

And then he began to move.

Slowly at first, his rhythm building gradually. Exquisitely. Moaning, she clung to him, every thrust of his hips coiling the pleasure inside her tighter, then tighter still. Blood pounded in her temples, raced through her veins, until she burst apart.

She cried out, bit her lip as the shudders tore through her like shards of colored glass. When he groaned and thrust deeper, harder, she held him tight, felt his muscles bunch under her hands. He moaned, deep in his throat, then his body convulsed with his release.

He collapsed on top of her, pressing her into the mattress. Closing her eyes, she slid her arms around his neck and smiled.

It took a few moments for Sam to regain any sort of order to his brain. With his breathing still ragged, he rolled to his back, bringing Kiera with him. She lay over him like a rag doll, her head on his shoulder, her warm, soft breath fanning his chest. A fine sheen of sweat covered their bodies.

Reality slowly came back. They were in his bedroom, on his bed, their clothes tossed on the floor. He could still hear his blood pounding in his temples, though not quite as loudly as a few minutes ago.

He stilled when he saw the impressions on her arms left by his hands.

“Dammit,” he said through clenched teeth. “Did I hurt you?”

“Hurt me?” she mumbled without moving.

“I was a little rough.” He felt like an idiot, losing control like that with her. “I should have been more careful.”

“Did I act like I wanted careful?” She slid her hand up his chest.

Gently, he traced a fingertip over the marks on her arms. “You may have a bruise or two.”

She raised her head and rested her chin on her hand, gave him a sultry smile. “You may have a few yourself, mister. Maybe I should have been more careful with you.”

He grinned at her. “Bring it on, darlin’.”

“I love a challenge.” She slid her hand down his chest, then his belly. Her smile turned wicked. “You may live to regret those words.”

He hadn’t a chance to answer, couldn’t have come up with anything witty even if she had given him a chance. But the second her hand closed over him, his brain locked up and his body took over. When she brushed her lips across his stomach, he sucked in a breath through clenched teeth.

“I see we’re off to a good start,” she murmured, touching her tongue to his skin.

He couldn’t have agreed with her more.

When he woke, the room was dark, the bed beside him empty. His brain was thick as mud, his throat dry and coarse. He rose on one elbow and winced, realized he must have pulled a muscle in his bad shoulder.

But at least he was alive.

Barely.

Frowning, he sat, scrubbed a hand over his face, then shook the cobwebs from his brain and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark. He glanced at the bedside clock: 8:57. He swore, irritated that he’d lost over an hour sleeping.

And given Kiera an opportunity to escape without an argument.

Any other woman, any other time, he wouldn’t have been annoyed. Hell, it had always been easier if he’d been alone when he woke up. Usually, after he made love to a woman he didn’t have a great deal to say, and he sure didn’t want to deal with the emotional expectations some women built up in their minds.

But this wasn’t any other time, and this sure as hell wasn’t any other woman. Without question, Kiera was one of a kind. Sexy, funny, confident, and yet strangely innocent at the same time. He’d never met anyone like her in his life. He rotated his shoulder, preferring the sharp pain of a tweaked muscle to the strange, dull ache in his chest.

Tossing the bedcovers off, he sat on the edge of the mattress, spotted his slacks at the foot of the bed, had barely yanked them on when he stilled. The amazing smell of warm chocolate wafted in from the other room. His first thought was one of relief that she hadn’t left, but then he frowned, couldn’t imagine that under the circumstances she had ordered room service.

Dragging a hand through his hair, he moved to the bedroom door, felt his heart slam against his ribs when he caught sight of her.

She stood in the kitchen, wearing nothing but his shirt. She hummed softly, her arms elbow-deep in dish soap bubbles. He leaned against the doorjamb, took in the endless length of sleek legs, the curve of her bottom, her shiny black hair tumbling down, resting on her shoulders. How could he want her again so soon? he wondered. They’d fallen into bed nearly an hour ago, and all he could think about was dragging her back.

But he wouldn’t. Not yet, anyway. At some masculine level, he felt a profound sense of satisfaction simply watching her. He glanced at the oven, couldn’t imagine what she was baking in there, especially considering how little food he kept stocked in his cupboards. But if there was a kitchen in heaven, he thought he’d just stepped into it, complete with his own gorgeous angel.

He pushed away from the doorjamb and moved toward her. “Smells good.”

She glanced over her shoulder at him, smiled. “Wait till you taste it.”

He came up behind her, brushed her hair aside and kissed her neck. “I can’t wait.”

“I’m busy here, buster.” But she leaned back against him with a sigh.

“I’m busy, too.” He nipped her neck with his teeth, felt the shiver move through her. “Don’t mind me, you just keep doing whatever it is you’re doing.”

“I’m washing the bowls and utensils I used.” She’d tried to sound impatient, but her tone was more seductive than clipped.

“Used for what?” he asked, but he was much more interested in that little spot behind her ear that made her breath catch.

“I felt like baking.” She wasn’t even pretending to wash dishes anymore. Eyes closed, she’d tilted her head back and laid it on his shoulder.

“What do you feel like now?” He nibbled on her earlobe, then slid his hands under the hem of her shirt, traced the curve of her hips with his palms.

The steady, high-pitched beep, beep, beep of a timer rudely interrupted.

Damn.

Straightening, Kiera shook her arms free of bubbles, grabbed a towel sitting on the counter and moved to the oven. He watched her open the door and pull out a tray holding two coffee mugs.

His irritation at being interrupted shifted to amazement. A steaming dome of chocolate bubbled around the rim of the coffee mugs.

“I hope you like soufflé,” she said, setting the tray on the stove top.

Soufflé? He furrowed his brow. She’d made soufflé?

“You don’t have much in your cupboards or refrigerator.” She bit her lip. “But I found a few eggs, some sugar packets and pats of butter. I had the chocolate bar in my purse.”

He stared at the coffee cups in disbelief, still trying to absorb the fact that she’d actually made soufflé.

“It’s better hot.” She picked up a spoon from the counter and handed it to him. He scooped out a bite of the dessert and tried it, felt an explosion of chocolate pleasure on his tongue.

Good Lord. Too stunned to speak, he simply stared at her.

“I realize I should have left,” she rushed on, twisting the towel in her hands. “But it’s still a little early and I was worried someone might see me.”

“You baked this,” he finally managed. “In my kitchen.”

She shifted uneasily. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Mind?” He stepped closer to her, tugged the towel from her hands and tossed it on the counter. “Ahalf-naked, sexy woman makes me the best damn chocolate soufflé I’ve had in my entire life and you think I would mind?”

He pulled her into his arms, caught her small gasp with his mouth and kissed her. Not with the desperate hunger clawing unexpectedly in his gut, but softly, so softly he surprised himself. Her lips parted, warm and willing, her eyes fluttered closed.

“This is how much I mind,” he murmured against her mouth, felt her smile. “Miss Daniels, you are the damnedest woman.”

She stilled, then laid her palms on his chest and eased back, kept her gaze lowered. “Sam—” she paused “—Daniels isn’t exactly my last name.”

He could have told her he already knew she’d lied about that. He’d looked at her file the first day she’d been hired, and he’d also ran a search on her name. He’d found nothing that came close to matching any information she’d given on her application or even anything she’d told him. Except that Rainville, Texas, was famous for its bee festival.

He could have—should have—had her fired. Still wasn’t sure why he hadn’t. But he’d simply trusted his gut and looked the other way.

Standing in his kitchen, holding her, he could feel her internal struggle with revealing even this small piece of truth. As badly as he wanted to, he knew if he pushed her she might disappear as quickly as she’d shown up.

And if he knew anything at all, he knew he wanted her to stay.

“I’m sorry I lied,” she said quietly. “But I needed this job.”

He felt the cool slide of cotton when he ran his palms up her arms. “You’re rehired.”

“I can’t stay, Sam.” With a sigh, she dropped her hands to her sides. “Chef Phillipe—”

“I’ll handle Phillipe.”

Shaking her head, she stepped away. “It’s better this way.”

“Better?” He narrowed his eyes. “Better for whom?”

“For everyone,” she insisted. “The restaurant, the staff, the hotel. For you.”

He reached out and snagged her arms, pulled her close again. “Don’t tell me what’s better for me. What the hell were we doing here today?”

Blue fire sparked in her eyes. “What are you saying, that you think I slept with you so I could keep my job?”

“Of course not.” Hell, he didn’t know what he was saying. His hands tightened on her arms, but he could feel her slipping away. “Dammit, Kiera, if you run away every time there’s a problem—”

“Let go of me.” The fire in her eyes turned to ice. “Now.”

Swearing, he let go of her, watched her chin lift as she stepped back.

“You don’t know anything about me,” she said, shaking her head. “Nothing.”

“That’s the understatement of the century.” He hadn’t intended to sound sarcastic, but that damn stubborn streak of hers had put a crack in his hard-won patience.

Narrowing her eyes, she turned and walked toward the bedroom.

“Dammit, Kiera,” he yelled after her. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I’m leaving.” She shot him a cool glance over her shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ll take the suite elevator down so no one will see me.”

“Did I say I was worried?” he snapped, clenching his jaw when she disappeared into the bedroom.

He started after her, swore, then stopped, raked a hand through his hair. Swore again.

No woman had ever made him feel helpless like this before. Made him feel out of control or cut off at the knees. He didn’t like it.

Not one damn bit.

He wouldn’t chase after her. If she wanted to leave, he told himself, then fine. She could leave. If she wanted to be so damn secretive, then that was fine, too.

He couldn’t keep her here against her will—well, actually, he probably could—but he didn’t want her that way. He wanted her to trust him. He wanted her honesty. She wasn’t willing to give him either one.

So when she came back out of the bedroom, her head high and shoulders squared, he let her leave, made no attempt to stop her.

Long after she was gone, the taste of her, a sweet mix of chocolate and woman, lingered in his mouth. He drowned it with a bottle of scotch and cursed the day she’d walked into his hotel.