Читать книгу Sex And The Sleepwalker - Donna Sterling - Страница 9

HE WONDERED IF HE WAS dreaming. He had to be. No way in hell was Brynn Sutherland creeping into his bedroom in the middle of the night. But there she stood, right beside his bed, her beautiful, wide-eyed face faintly visible in the moonlight seeping between the drawn curtains.

“You want me to keep you occupied, Cade?” The fierce whisper sprang at him, like a cat, from the darkness.

Before he could gather his wits enough to reply, she sank a knee into the mattress, levered herself up and knelt beside him on the bed, her long hair billowing in sleep-mussed tangles around her. Her eyes, oddly shining, seemed to look straight through him. “Don’t think for a minute that I can’t ‘keep you occupied.’”

He sat up in bed, stunned beyond words.

“Oh, you don’t think I’m up to it?” she cried. “You think I’m a prude, a tease? You think I’m a dud in bed?”

“No! God, no.”

“I’m anything but a dud, or…or frigid.”

“Frigid? I never said—”

“Let’s give it a go, Romeo.” And with a suddenness that startled him, she yanked her gown over her head, struggled briefly to free her arms, then flung the garment aside. The effort threw her off balance. She swayed.

He grabbed her, pulled her to him. And his breath left him in a whoosh of sudden sensation. Her bare, jutting breasts, firm and full and impossibly soft, pressed against his chest, and a lavish abundance of cool, fragrant hair spilled over him. And her scent…ahh, her scent. He’d almost forgotten.

“Brynn,” he breathed, holding her tightly to him. She felt incredibly good. Incredibly right.

He fell back against the pillows with her, feeling as if he’d fallen into a fantasy. A purr hummed in her throat—a long, low moan of approval—and her breath steamed against his shoulder. His temperature spiked. His body hardened in arousal.

Sweeping his hand down her back, he relished the softness and warmth of her skin. It had been so long since he’d touched her. She wore panties, he discovered. But only panties. And she was here, in his arms, in his bed. Brynn.

She shifted against him, their bodies connecting fully from breast to hip, and she murmured something he didn’t quite catch. He rolled onto his side and pressed her down onto the bed, twining his leg with hers. He wanted to kiss her. Connect with her. Delve into her sweetness and heat. See if the magic could possibly be as potent as he remembered.

Her eyes were closed, her lips parted. He swept his mouth across them, wanting her. Wanting her.

“Mmm,” she moaned. And smiled. And turned her head.

Turned her head? The surprise of that made him draw back. Never had she failed to respond to his kiss. It was her one true weakness. His doorway to heaven. If his lips touched hers, he’d always been assured of long, lush kisses, each one hotter and wilder than the last. He believed that was the reason she’d never let him too near, after they’d broken up. Because she couldn’t resist his kisses. Yet she’d turned her head just now. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

“Brynn?”

As he watched, she lapsed into deep, rhythmic breathing, as if she were asleep. Which was impossible. No one went from anger to passion to sleep in a matter of minutes.

Thoroughly confused, he rose up on an elbow, reached for the bedside lamp and switched it on. He saw her clearly then. Lots of creamy skin with a natural honey glow. Dark, lustrous hair spread over the pillows. Sinfully beautiful, she was. And nearly naked beneath him. And, unquestionably, asleep.

But…but how? Why? It made no sense.

A vague memory stirred. A bothersome suspicion.

The light, or maybe the shifting of his weight on the bed, disturbed her, and she frowned. Blinked. Opened her eyes. For a moment, she stared blankly, toward nothing in particular. Perplexity entered her gaze. And then she turned her head and focused on him.

Her eyes widened and she shot up into a sitting position, gaping at him as if he were a two-headed space alien. “Cade! What are you doing here?” It was as much an accusation as a question.

As if he’d done something questionable. “What am I doing here? That takes some nerve.”

She glanced around the room, and gradually her expression turned from perplexed surprise to distressed understanding. “Oh no,” she whispered, clearly mortified. “I’m in your room.”

He didn’t bother to confirm that conclusion. He just watched her through narrowed eyes. Maybe she understood what had happened, but he didn’t. Or maybe he didn’t want to understand.

“I…I guess I was…sleepwalking.”

“Sleepwalking.” He said it as if the idea was ludicrous, although the suspicion had flitted through his mind. He remembered hearing something about her sleepwalking in the sorority house. But, damn it, he didn’t want to accept that as the explanation. She’d come to him, wanted him. There was no mistaking that. He forced a nonchalant shrug and leaned back against the pillows. “Whatever you say, darlin’.”

“It’s true,” she insisted vehemently. “I was sleepwalking.”

He nodded and smiled.

She glared at him, then glanced down at her naked breasts, so high and round and pretty, with their proud coral tips and lilting bounce. With a little cry, she grabbed for the rumpled sheet and yanked it up to cover herself. The accusation returned to her gaze. “What did we do?”

Now that irked him. Did she really think it would be possible, if they’d made love or anything close to it, for her to sleep through it? He managed not to grit his teeth. “You’re telling me you don’t know? That you were unaware of what you were doing when you came to my room, unlocked my door, climbed into my bed and got naked?”

“I’m not naked!”

Heat sluiced through him in a surprising rush, just from thinking about her sitting there in nothing but those little panties and a bedsheet. He wanted his hands on her. And his mouth.

Along with the heat came unreasonable resentment. She’d been in his arms, ready and willing. He would not disregard that. “Oh, you’re not naked?” His gaze traveled pointedly to the sheet she clasped to her slim form. “Then show me what you’re wearing.”

Her fists tightened on the sheet. “I’m sure you know.”

“And why is that?” He tilted his face close to hers, the anger and the desire flaring in him. “Because you crawled into my bed wearing only those little panties and rubbed your body against mine, promising to keep me occupied.”

She looked stricken. “Oh, God.”

“Then you said something like, ‘Let’s go, Romeo.’”

“No!”

“You want me to believe you don’t remember any of that?”

His chiding pushed her too far, it seemed, and the spunk and sass returned to her face. Leaning back against the pillows, she crossed her long, shapely arms and lifted her delightfully cleft chin. “I don’t care what you believe. The truth is I was walking and talking in my sleep. It meant nothing.”

“At the very least it means you were dreaming about me. Dreaming about having sex with me.” The thought pleased him. Immensely. He raised a brow. “How often does that happen?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. You could have been anybody. I had no idea who you were.”

“You said my name. You called me Cade. How many Cades do you know? And how many are registered to this room?”

“If I was dreaming about you, which I don’t remember at all, it had to be the first time. I haven’t given you a thought in years.”

He might have believed her if rosy color hadn’t climbed her cheekbones and she hadn’t averted her eyes. She was, without a doubt, lying. She’d dreamed about him before. Pleasure warmed him like fine whiskey. He wondered how often she’d dreamed of him, and if those dreams always involved sex. He hoped so.

But then another question occurred to him. “My God, Brynn…how often do you walk in your sleep? How many guests have you surprised like this?”

Her mouth opened and hung ajar for two or three heartbeats. “I’ve never done this before,” she cried, aghast. “I haven’t walked in my sleep since college. Well, except for once, when I ended up in the broom closet. Alone. Wearing pajamas.”

He believed her, and couldn’t have been more relieved—or more pleased that thoughts of him and him alone had stirred her to rise from her bed at night.

Then again… “If you don’t remember your actions after you wake up, how can you be sure? Maybe this happens more than you realize.”

“It doesn’t. I would know.”

He rubbed his chin and regarded her doubtfully. “I’m not too sure about that. You seemed pretty popular with those frat guys I met in the parlor. And if I understood correctly, they do come back year after year.”

Surprisingly, she didn’t hit him, storm out of the room or cut him to shreds with a razor-sharp comeback. Instead, she caught her lower lip between her teeth to suppress a smile. “Are you accusing me of being…promiscuous?”

He stared at her, not because of what she’d said, but because her emerging smile caught him off guard. A dimple now danced beside her mouth and cute little she-devils played in her eyes. It had been damn near a decade since she’d sparkled at him like that. “I didn’t accuse you of anything,” he murmured, feeling shell-shocked.

“But you implied it. You implied that I climb into my guests’ beds on a regular basis.” With a toss of her thick, tangled hair, she held up her hands, like a perp surrendering to police. “You caught me. I can’t deny it. I never know which bed I’ll wake up in.” She looked so pleased at the notion that Cade almost laughed. Almost. But the sheet had drifted lower across her breasts, ending just above her hardened nipples, and he was helplessly aroused. “I see more action than those girls on Sex and the City,” she boasted. “I’m one hot mama.”

Cade rested his bare shoulders against the head-board and studied her, aroused, amused, mystified and intrigued. “That’s odd, then…considering what you said when you climbed into my bed.”

A watchful stillness came over her. “What?”

He didn’t answer right away, enjoying the sudden intensity of her gaze. He still couldn’t believe she was actually sitting here beside him in bed, talking about sex, wearing next to nothing, while he wore only his briefs. The possibilities were endless. And he couldn’t help dwelling on them.

“Cade, what did I say?”

“Well, at one point, you mentioned something about your being a dud in bed.”

The chagrin that filled her eyes said more than words ever could. He’d clearly hit a raw nerve.

So, of course, he prodded a little more. “I believe you also said something about being frigid.”

Her color flared. “What I say in a dream means nothing.” She nearly choked on the words. “Just a lot of garbled nonsense.” She looked wounded and terribly vulnerable.

Why? Of course it was nonsense. He had no doubt about that. But, incredibly, it seemed that she did have doubts. “Don’t tell me someone’s got you believing you’re no good in bed!”

“Of course not. It’s none of your business, anyway.”

He strongly felt that it was. “Are you involved with someone now?”

“Yes, and he’s a wonderful man. An excellent lover.”

“Who makes you think you’re frigid.”

“No!”

Cade ignored her denial, amazed that she could believe herself sexually inadequate in any way. She, the epitome of desirability. The standard by which he measured all others. A standard no one else had met.

He was also suddenly, violently, jealous of anyone who had had her. Anyone who had known her intimately. It took Cade a moment to find his voice and form coherent words. “You’re not frigid, Brynn, or a dud in bed. Nothing could be further from the truth.”

That wary stillness came over her again, and she concentrated her attention on him like a ray of noonday sun through a magnifying glass. “And how would you know that?”

He released a surge of breath and realized he was angry. She was wounded. Unfairly wounded. And he wanted to punish whomever was responsible. And tend to her wounds…

Sliding an arm around her, he cradled her against his chest and brushed a tendril of hair from her face. “I’ve never known a woman more responsive than you,” he said, meaning every word. “One who made me hot with just a kiss. No one, Brynn. Ever.”

Her breath caught, her neediness apparent. “Really?”

“Honest to God. I can’t tell you how many times over the last nine years I’ve gotten hard just thinking about you, and the things we used to do. With only our hands…” He trailed his fingers down her arm to her slender wrist and rubbed his thumb over the center of her palm. His gaze then drifted to her lips. “And our mouths.” Desire coursed through him, hot and strong, making his voice gruff. “Don’t you remember?”

“Yes, I remember,” she admitted with a trembly exhalation.

“Things couldn’t have changed that much. At least, not between you and me.”

Her eyes darkened in that old familiar way, and the need to kiss her propelled him closer, until he breathed in the honied warmth of her mouth. But before his lips touched hers, she pulled back, pressing deeper into the pillow. “If you remember me so clearly, Cade, how is it that you didn’t quite recall my name?”

He pressed his lips together to keep from cursing—not at her, but at himself. He should have known that that silly, impulsive ploy would cost him. He’d just had to call her Brenda. “I was trying to slow you down a little. You were ready to throw me out on the street. As if we were enemies or something.”

“I hate to break this to you, Cade, but we’re not exactly friends. We didn’t part on a friendly note.”

He couldn’t deny that. The last few times he’d seen her on campus, she’d looked straight through him. “You’re right. We didn’t part on friendly terms. And it was my fault. I never should have given you that ultimatum.” Make love to me, Brynn, or we’re through. He winced at the memory. “I’m sorry for that. It was stupid and cruel, and I’ve wished a thousand times that I’d never said it.”

“Forget it.” Her voice and eyes remained cool, though. “No harm done.”

No harm done.

An odd urgency gripped him. He couldn’t allow her to hide behind coolness again—not after she’d smiled at him and very nearly kissed him. “I’ve never forgotten you, Brynn,” he vowed. “Not for a single day. And, believe me, I’ve tried.”

Surprise entered her eyes, and she searched his face as if trying to gauge his sincerity. The very fact that it mattered to her gave him hope.

He had to convince her. Had to convey his feelings. Had to close the distance between them and keep her here, in his bed. Make her want him again. Make her need him…deep inside this time.

Splaying his fingers along the delicate curve of her face, he kissed her.

It began as a gentle nudge of his mouth. A signal of intent. A silky, sweet “Hello, may I come in?” With a sigh—not of reluctance, but of pleasure—she opened to him. The kiss progressed slowly at first, into a simple inhalation of mingled breath, a savoring of scent and texture. A blossoming of erotic warmth. A sensuous sliding of smooth, tender flesh in a sumptuous, mutual tasting.

Ahh, but that wasn’t nearly enough. Not for him or for her. In a simultaneous rush, they surged closer, delved deeper. The heat intensified with startling suddenness, like a flame touched to tinder.

Cade reveled in the blaze, in the freedom to hold, squeeze, feel and indulge. She reveled in it, too, he knew, her pleasure evident in the quickening of her breath and the tiny hums and moans vibrating her throat. He’d forgotten how eloquent her kisses were.

And he’d forgotten the way she moved whenever he kissed her—the provocative arching of her back. The instinctive ebb and flow of her hips. The crush and rub of her breasts against him, as if she were driven to get close, closer, closest….

No, he hadn’t forgotten. Any of it. Every detail was indelibly etched somewhere in his being. He’d deliberately turned away from those memories. But she was back in his arms now, his body conforming to hers, moving with hers, moving against hers, with a growing need to dominate, penetrate. Merge. The subtle movement of her pelvis stroked him to unbearable hardness.

He slid his hands down the bare, lush curves of her body, captured her bottom and rocked his arousal against her, straining at the barrier of their underwear. And each new joining of their mouths incited an even more voluptuous kiss.

The fire leaping inside him was one he hadn’t felt for nine years, and he fed it now with serious intent. Hooking his thumbs into the sides of her little satin panties, he tugged them down to midthigh. He’d have to get a condom from his wallet, he knew, but not quite yet. He couldn’t bear to pause just yet….

“Cade.” She broke the kiss, flushed and panting. “We’ve got to stop.”

Stop? He couldn’t have understood her. Or maybe she’d meant that it was time to get a condom.

“Soon,” he murmured, loath to release her even for a moment. He kissed her again and led her back to those enticing undulations, spreading her thighs as far as the panties would allow. The satin garment had to go. And so did his briefs.

“Now,” she whispered faintly against his mouth as he tugged at the waistband of his briefs. “We have to stop now.”

He kissed her again into silence, not allowing himself to worry too much. This wasn’t like their make-out sessions in college. She wouldn’t leave him high and dry. They were adults, and she wanted him. She’d come to his bed, stripped off her gown and was kissing him even now with a feverish need, a very sexual need.

A tortured groan escaped her, and she caught his hands in her own. “Cade, I…I have to think about this.”

Think about this, she’d said. Not get a condom. Surprise made Cade pull back to read her face. “Think about what?”

“This. Us.” Her expression was troubled as she squirmed from beneath him and sat up. “Having sex.”

“Don’t think so much.” He levered himself up on one arm and hijacked her mouth in another kiss—a little more urgent than the ones they’d been sharing. A little more impatient.

She matched his impatience with a roughness of her own, an exhilarating thrust and parry that roused him all the more.

But then she broke away, panting as if she’d been wrestling rather than kissing. “I know you’re right. I do think too much. And you’re right about our kisses, too.” She paused to catch her breath, her eyes luminous, her color high, her hair tousled and sexy. “Just kissing you makes me hotter than…than…oh, never mind.”

She initiated the kiss this time.

Fire leaped within him, and his next kiss pressed her back against the pillows. She groaned, wrapped an arm around his neck and arched against him. He rubbed a greedy hand over her breast until the tender peak stood high and tight and scraped across his palm.

She gasped, writhed and ran her silky knee up his thigh…up, up, up, to the tip of his erection, sending shards of heat through his groin.

With a sharp hiss of breath, he plunged his hand in a downward path toward the dark curls glistening between her thighs.

She caught his hand again, though, just shy of his destination, and held it. “This is wrong. I can’t let myself do this.” She pulled away from him and scooted to the side of the bed.

Dazed and shaken, Cade watched in disbelief as she rose and pulled up her panties. “I’m sorry, Cade.”

Sorry. Which meant she was doing it again! Just as she had in college—leaving him all hot and bothered and half-crazed. “Brynn,” he said, his voice inhumanly gruff, “what the hell are you doing?”

“I’m going back to my room.” She found her rumpled nightgown on the floor, slipped the filmy fabric over her head and smoothed it down her maddening body.

“Why?”

“Because I can’t jump into bed with you without even thinking about it.”

He sprang from the bed, crossed the room in two long strides and trapped her against the dresser, anchoring his arms on either side of her. “In case you don’t remember, you did jump into bed with me without even thinking about it. You also stripped off your clothes, kissed me into a goddamn fever—”

“I know, I know!” She glanced at the erection straining beneath his briefs, and looked away with a guilty wince. “I’m sorry about that, but—”

“What are you afraid of, Brynn?”

“I’m not afraid.”

“Then what is it?” A thought hit him, and he asked with a curious tightness in his jaw, “Are you in love with someone else?” The tightness spread to his chest. “The guy who makes you think you’re frigid?”

“No!” She frowned at him, and relief rushed through his veins. “I’m not in love with anyone. And don’t talk about Antoine that way.”

“Antoine? He’s French?”

She nodded, and Cade scowled. There was something about Frenchmen that drove women a little crazy. “If you’re not in love with this Antoine, then what’s stopping you from having sex with me? If you think you don’t want to, you’re lying to yourself.”

“Oh, I know I want to.” Her voice had gone all throaty and her gaze warmed. “There’s always been sexual chemistry between us. I’ve never denied that.”

Cade pressed closer, longing for the taste of her mouth, the feel of her body moving beneath his.

Her gaze grew apologetic, though, and he had to hold back a curse. “But…well…” She searched for words that clearly evaded her.

“But what, damn it?”

“You’re…Cade Hunter.”

He stared at her, nonplussed. What the hell did she mean by that? Before he was able to decipher the statement in any rational way, she ducked under his arm and fled across the room, her sheer gown billowing out behind her.

“That’s no answer,” he called, bewildered, riled and more sexually frustrated than he’d thought humanly possible.

She didn’t reply, stopping only to scoop up the keys she’d dropped when she first entered the room.

He fisted his hands to keep from grabbing her and carrying her back to bed. “If you walk out that door, Brynn,” he warned, his voice harsh and uncompromising, “don’t—”

He stopped, precariously on the verge of saying, Don’t come back to my room unless you’re ready to make love.

As if she heard what he’d left unsaid, she froze on the way to the door and turned a forbidding frown on him. “Don’t…what?”

“Don’t…forget that you…said you were going to think about it—about…finishing what we started.” He forced the impromptu words through a throat severely constricted by pent-up pressure. “So, do that. Think about it.”

She regarded him in clear surprise, then slowly nodded. “I will.” Bowing her head, she hurried out of his room.

Cade released an explosive breath, feeling as if he’d stopped just short of driving blindly off a cliff. He’d come close to giving her the same ultimatum he’d been cursing himself over for nine long years.

At least he’d learned from his mistake.

And that just might have earned him what he now wanted more than anything—one more chance with her.