Читать книгу Game For Anything - Cara Summers - Страница 11

TRACKER AWOKE to find a rather large, tiger-striped cat sleeping on his chest. In the time it took him to remove the creature and set it on the floor, his mind cleared and the events of the previous evening came flooding back.

The side trip to the emergency room had turned out better than he’d expected. After a two-hour wait, they’d finally been escorted to a sheet-draped cubicle where an exhausted-looking doctor had ventured a diagnosis of mild food poisoning and pronounced Tracker good to go. By that time, he’d fully recovered from any lingering effects of the ipecac he’d taken, and he’d managed to charm one of the nurses into suggesting to Sophie that she keep him under surveillance for another forty-eight hours.

As a result, his game plan was back on track: he was exactly where he wanted to be, a recovering in valid in the Princess’s apartment.

Swinging his feet to the floor, Tracker sat up and glanced around the narrow living room. It had surprised him. Sophie had been raised in a mansion, and she’d chosen to live in a place that wasn’t much larger than a cell. He knew she had the convenience of living adjacent to her shop by residing here, but it was no palace for a princess.

The most surprising thing was that the room didn’t seem cramped. It was…comfortable. The honey-colored, pegged-wood floor wasn’t broken by rugs, but ran in a smooth line to the counter separating the rest of the living area from the kitchen. Aside from the overstuffed white sofa he’d spent the night on, and the cherub-faced jockey standing guard by the door, the room seemed almost monastic in its furnishings. But the bright explosion of color in the paintings that hung on the wall brought a homey warmth to the room. One on the opposite wall drew his eye. Pansies in every possible shade of red splattered across the canvas. It made him think of passion, hot and reckless, and of Sophie.

Dragging his eyes from it, he forced his gaze to the wall behind the couch and stared at the collection of horses. He hadn’t noticed them last night. All in all, he figured the shelves held nearly fifty equestrian figures, some cast in clay, others carved of wood or marble.

So, the Princess loved horses. He tucked the knowledge away.

“Mmmrph.”

Tracker glanced down to see that the cat had jumped back up on the couch. “You’re Chess, right?”

The cat blinked and stared.

Sophie had introduced them when they’d arrived. Then she’d given Tracker a quick tour, showing him the bathroom, which was half the size of the living room and had doors that accessed both the living room and the bedroom.

She hadn’t shown him her bedroom. If she had, he might have been with her in that bed right now. He didn’t kid himself that it was going to be easy sticking to his game plan. And the Princess might have some plans of her own. He was going to have to keep his guard up and his wits about him.

Just thinking about matching wits with her made him smile. He hadn’t felt this alive since he’d followed her across the country last year. Had he been waiting all this time for her to challenge him again?

“Mmmrmph.”

He glanced down at the cat. “Hungry?”

The question had Chess sliding onto his lap.

Scooping him up, Tracker moved to the kitchen, located cat food and filled one of Chess’s dishes. The other he filled with water. The cat dug in.

Satisfying his own hunger was going to be more problematic. Oh, the pantry was well stocked and he’d found eggs and butter in the refrigerator, bacon and coffee beans in the freezer. He might have fixed the Princess breakfast in bed if it weren’t for two problems.

First, he was supposed to be recovering from food poisoning. Second, going into Sophie’s bedroom for any reason would trigger a different and more basic kind of hunger.

Basic was a good word for it. Tracker was beginning to believe that having the Princess was becoming every bit as necessary to him as breathing. From that first day in Lucas’s office, when he’d held her in his arms, he hadn’t been able to break free of the hold she had on him.

In the middle of last night, she’d come out to check on him, and he’d used every bit of control he had to lie still and pretend to be asleep. Then he’d spent the rest of the night fantasizing what it would have been like to have her beneath him on that couch.

He had a job to do, he reminded himself. And he needed a clear head to do it.

When the cat jumped onto the counter, Tracker scratched him under his chin. “I might not be able to manage breakfast, but coffee might be a good idea. And then a cold shower. What do you think, Chess?”

The cat growled deep in his throat.

COFFEE. The scent of it had Sophie drifting up out of her dream. It had to be a dream, she thought as she sat up and shoved the hair out of her eyes. She was never organized enough to fill the coffeepot and set the automatic timer before she went to bed.

The second breath she inhaled told her she wasn’t dreaming. And the memories flooded in. Tracker McBride had spent the night in her apartment. He’d made coffee in her kitchen.

Okay, so he wasn’t in her bed yet. But she was making progress. She’d very nearly hugged the blond, perky nurse at the hospital who’d strongly urged that she keep Tracker under surveillance for at least twenty-four—preferably forty-eight—hours. And the wait in the emergency room had given her a lot of time to analyze the situation and to plan.

Sitting up, she plumped the pillows behind her and pressed a hand to her stomach. There was no reason for it to be so jumpy. She could do this. After all, she had the coin. A quick glance at the nightstand assured her that it was still where she’d left it. And the little bag with Mac’s “toys” was right at the side of her bed.

Lifting it, she drew out the black velvet ribbon that lay on top. She was going to have to work up a lot of nerve to use something like this. Truth be told, her confidence with men was mostly a sham. She could count on one hand the lovers she’d had, and most of them had been…unimaginative. Or maybe it had been her.

Well, with a little help from Mac’s toys, Sophie was about to become a new woman.

When she heard the shower start, a little skip of panic moved up her spine. She’d better hurry and examine her plan because she was going to have to put it into action soon. Slipping out of bed, she grabbed her robe and tucked the coin into her pocket.

The key to any good business deal was to offer the other party exactly what he or she wanted. She and Tracker wanted each other, and so she would offer him a no-strings affair. What could be more simple or basic than that?

She began to pace. She’d have to take the first step. In spite of that kiss, he hadn’t made any move to touch her once they’d entered her apartment.

When she was making a sale in her shop, timing was everything. And surprise. If she could catch him off guard, she would have the advantage.

She was lifting Mac’s bag of toys off the bed when the sound of the shower stopped. An image filled her mind of Tracker stepping out of the tub, water dripping from him. A river of heat pooled in her center. She could picture him so clearly—lean muscles, long bones and taut, slick skin. Even as the bag slipped through her fingers, she was moving toward the bathroom door. Timing. Surprise.

Gripping the handle, she turned it and found it locked. No. No. She pounded on the door. “Tracker!”

The lock clicked, the door flew open and she saw him. His scent—it assaulted her with its potency. His heat—she felt it reaching out to her, touching her. All thoughts of perfect timing and surprise drained from her mind as her body went into sensory overload. She was so aware of him, all at once, that she felt paralyzed. His skin was slick and damp—and only part of it was covered by the towel. Lust—a quick, sharp slap of it—filled her, along with greed. She wanted—no, she needed—to touch him, to run her hands over every inch of him.

And she would, just as soon as she could move her arms.

FOR A MOMENT, Tracker stood absolutely still, paralyzed by a swift onslaught of emotions. When she’d called his name, fear had hit him hard, like a sucker punch to his gut. In the three short seconds that it had taken him to open the door to her bedroom, he’d realized that he hadn’t checked it out. Last night, he hadn’t trusted himself to even set foot in the room. Someone could have gotten in through a fire escape or through a back entrance to the apartment.

Though his eyes never left Sophie, he instantly catalogued the room, taking in a tall dresser, a full-length oval mirror, a bed. The closet door, standing ajar.

She was alone in the room. Safe.

He had about one second to process relief before he was sucker-punched by pure lust.

The oval-shaped mirror stood at an angle behind her, so that he could see her back and front. Her robe was a thin bit of silk and lace that draped over her breasts and hips so closely that it made a man wonder if she wore anything beneath. The thought of touching her and finding out had his blood running hotly, greedily.

It took every bit of strength he had not to tumble her onto the bed. He could have her just that quickly, and put an end to the desire that was clawing at his insides.

“Are you all right?” His voice sounded strained, raw.

“I thought you’d gone.”

He should go. He should step back into the bathroom and relock the door. She was fine. He’d over-reacted to a false alarm. And if he didn’t get control of the situation, he wouldn’t be prepared when a real alarm sounded. He ordered himself to back out of the room right now. But he didn’t move. And he wasn’t going to. His feet had stopped taking orders from his brain.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good.” She moistened her lips, and Tracker had to swallow a moan. “I don’t want you to go. I wanted to talk.”

Talk? The woman was killing him.

TALK? What was she saying? Sophie wanted to jump him. But she couldn’t seem to make her body take orders. She couldn’t even remember the little speech she’d been rehearsing before she’d decided to storm the bathroom. The ripe, hot desire she saw in his eyes was melting her brain. She wasn’t even sure she could talk.

Taking a deep breath, she gave it a try. “I want to make love to you.” She might have turned around to see who’d spoken if she could have taken her eyes off Tracker. The good news was that his gaze was still hot enough to burn her skin. The bad news was he wasn’t moving.

You can do this, Sophie. You’re Mac’s role model. “Right now would be good for me. Are you game?”

There was a beat of silence, his eyes never leaving hers. She saw his jaw tighten as he clenched his teeth. “It’s not that I don’t want you.”

But. He hadn’t said it, but the word threatened to slam down between them like a brick wall. Panic bubbled up at the same moment that her fingers closed around the coin in her pocket. Thank heavens her fingers were working. Testing, she took a step toward him. She could move. She could do this. “The way I see it, we could have a debate about the pros and cons, but why don’t we cut right to the chase and settle it with a coin toss?”

Taking the quarter out of her pocket, she tossed it into the air. “Heads, we make love. Tails, we…”

TRACKER WATCHED THE COIN sail into the air. It didn’t matter which way it came down, they were going to make love. He’d lost whatever battle he’d been waging with himself the moment she’d said, “I want to make love to you.”

He hadn’t expected it, hadn’t built up any defense against the possibility.

How could he have possibly known that it was the one thing he’d wanted to hear her say? From the moment he’d heard those words, he’d wanted her on that bed beneath him, and he didn’t know how much longer he could wait.

“Heads,” she said as she glanced down at the coin and then held it out for him to see. “Okay, that’s settled.”

Fear gripped him then. In a second he was going to touch her, and he had to make sure that he maintained control. He’d pay a price for making love to her, but he had to make sure that she didn’t. He didn’t want to hurt her, and the urge to take her swiftly was so huge. “Unless you’d rather…talk? Set up some ground rules?” She fumbled a little, slipping the coin into her pocket, and he noticed for the first time that her hands were trembling.

Nerves. He’d always thought of her as the Princess, so confident, so brave. That she was nervous because of him thrilled him and softened something inside of him. Tracker wasn’t even aware that he’d closed the remaining distance between them until he touched her shoulders and absorbed the quick shiver that moved through her.

“Easy.” He ran his hands slowly up and down her arms the way he might gentle one of his horses. Then, lifting her hand, he pressed his lips to her palm, and watched the pulse at her throat quicken. “We’ll talk later. Right now, I want to make love to you.”

She moved her hands to the belt of her robe.

“No.” He covered her hand. “Let me.” He’d done this in his fantasies, but he hadn’t imagined the quick tremors that moved along her skin, nor the quick hitch of her breath as he eased the robe off her shoulders. Nor had his imagination quite captured the silky smoothness of her skin. He let out a deep breath. “You’re wearing nothing. I wondered.” He reined in the urge he had to touch and possess every inch of her.

When his hands moved to the towel at his waist, she closed hers over them. “No. Let me.”

This time the tremors moved through him as his towel slid to the floor and she ran her fingers along the length of his erection.

“I want you.”

Sophie wasn’t sure who’d said the words. The only reality that she could grasp fully was that he was finally kissing her again. Almost. His lips were nibbling at hers, tasting, as if she were something he wanted to sample slowly. His tongue traced her bottom lip, then brushed at the corner of her mouth. In some part of her mind she questioned how a kiss this soft could set her blood pounding. She wanted it to go on forever.

Moving her hands to his shoulders, she ran her palms along the hard muscles until she could fasten her fingers at the back of his neck. Then she rose to the tips of her toes and tried to get closer. “More.”

And then he was kissing her for real, his tongue sliding along hers. The man tasted like a dark, forbidden treat—the wild honey she’d once found in a hive. She hadn’t been able to get enough of it. The sweet, addictive flavor had almost been worth the stings she’d suffered later.

She felt his hands move from her shoulders down to her waist. But instead of drawing her closer, they set her away.

“Slow and easy, Princess.”

Lifting her gaze to his, she tried to read the expression in his eyes. The blue-green had darkened to the color of an angry sea. It wasn’t slow and easy he wanted, and she didn’t, either. But the kiss had weakened her again and she couldn’t seem to… Then his fingers gripped her waist, turning her so that she could see both of them in the oval mirror next to her bed. The woman she saw reflected there was completely framed by the man. He was dark, dangerous looking. In front of him, she looked pale, almost fragile. The contrast sent a thrill skipping up her spine. Would she ever be able to look in this mirror again without seeing this image?

“I’m going to touch you.” His voice was rough and it moved along her skin like sandpaper, igniting little fires as he flattened one large hand against her stomach, drawing her back until her bottom was nestled into his thighs. She could feel his arousal pressing hard against her. Pleasure pierced her as her own body responded, her inner muscles tightening, a dampness gathering between her legs.

“Watch and feel.”

She could barely hear his words, her heart was pounding so hard. And her legs…could they really be melting?

His other hand moved to cup her breast. She moaned and her head fell back against his chest. If he weren’t holding her, one hand at her breast and the other at her stomach, she would have slipped to the floor.

A horrible thought suddenly occurred to her. Narrowing her eyes, she studied the reflection in the mirror. “I’m not dreaming. Tell me I’m not.”

His eyes darkened. “You’re not dreaming. Neither am I. Tell me what you want, Princess. This?”

He moved his hand lower over her abdomen, and she began to tremble.

“Lower?”

“Yes.”

When his fingers slipped over the curls at the apex of her thighs, she couldn’t prevent the moan. “I want…”

She tried to arch up against his fingers, but he held her trapped, pressed tightly against him. Leaning down, he brushed a line of kisses along her throat. “Look at me.”

She met his eyes in the mirror.

“I want to see how you feel—how much you want me.” He slipped a finger into her and withdrew it.

“Again?” he asked.

“Please.”

This time he used two fingers.

The climax began so forcefully and moved through her so fiercely that she cried out as she seemed to splinter apart.

TRACKER LOWERED HER onto the bed, then lay down next to her. The tremors were still moving through her, and his own body was throbbing with the need to take her. Now.

Through sheer force of will, he reined in his desire. No matter how many times he’d fantasized about touching her, pleasuring her, none of it had come anywhere near the reality. He’d never imagined what seeing the pleasure he gave her would do to him.

While she was still steeped in that pleasure, he would love her again. And he would keep it easy and gentle. Raising his hand, he skimmed it down her side, over her hip to her thigh, and began to trace a pattern.

“No,” she murmured, opening her eyes. “Stop.”

“Stop?” He stilled his hand. “Did I hurt you?”

“Of course not.”

“Am I doing something wrong?”

“Oh, no. I didn’t mean it that way.” She wiggled away from the hand that was resting on her thigh.

“You want me to stop?”

“Good heavens, no. Are you crazy? No one has ever touched me that way. But you haven’t…I mean, I haven’t…” She managed to lever herself up onto her knees.

When he covered her breast with his hand, she grabbed his wrist. “No, don’t. It’s my turn to make love to you. You just have to give me a second. I think some of my brain cells died.”

She was sure they had. But she wasn’t paralyzed, at least. Pressing her hand against his shoulder, she pushed, rolled and wiggled until he was lying beneath her. She might not be as experienced as she would wish, but she’d read Cosmo. She knew the value of being on top.

“Princess, let me—”

When he gripped her shoulders, she rose up to straddle his waist. “Let me,” she teased, looking down at him. “Haven’t you ever heard that turnabout’s fair play?”

He studied her for a minute. “What if I said I’m not finished with my turn yet?”

“That would be good.” She leaned down, brushed her mouth against his and then withdrew. If she allowed him to deepen the kiss, she would be lost again. And she had plans first. “How could I argue with that? I just want you to take a little break. I’ll be more in the mood for round two if you let me play around a little first.”

His eyes narrowed. “Play around? What exactly do you have in mind?”

“You don’t trust me at all, do you?” There was wariness mixed with the blatant desire in his eyes, and it filled her with a sense of power and confidence.

“I know when you’re up to something, Princess.”

“Me?” Up to something? Well, if that’s what he thought, that’s what she would deliver. She’d just have to think “naughty” and improvise. Slowly, she trailed a finger from his throat down his chest to a point at the apex of her thighs. The quick hitch of his breath thrilled her. “I might be more trustworthy if I knew your real name. Are you going to tell me or suffer a penalty?”

“What’s the penalty?”

Avoiding an answer, she said, “I just want to touch you.” She trailed her finger slowly back up to his throat. “You got to touch me.” She moved her mouth to his ear. “It only seems fair that I get a turn. And you can even join in after a while. But not until I tell you to.” She straightened then and gripped his hands, drawing them over his head. “First, you have to hold on to the bedposts.” She was leaning over him, their eyes only inches apart. The wariness was still there, but the heat beneath it nearly singed her skin. Drawing in a deep breath, she said, “Are you game?”