Читать книгу Escape to Ecstasy - Jodi Lynn Copeland - Страница 8

Erin had tricked her into agreeing to the kind of professional help that forced her out of her apartment in the dead of night. Claire could be sensible about it and understand that, in her own special way, her sister believed the kind of help that involved kidnapping was help all the same. She didn’t have to scream or cry. Or puke her guts out over the idea someone had rendered her so completely out of it—to cart her from her apartment, to wherever the bed she’d just woken up in was, without her knowledge—that anything could have happened to her.

Might have happened to her.

No. She wasn’t going to play the paranoia game. She was going to sit up, breathe deep, and take stock of her surroundings. The doublewide oak dresser butting up against an eggshell-white wall on her left. The cozy little breakfast table and chairs and the floor-to-ceiling vertical blind that let through the faintest of sunlight and invariably hid a sliding glass door to a deck or balcony on her right.

The half-naked man leaning casually against the bedroom’s doorframe as he eyed her in a way that was anything but casual.

His gaze lifted from where the sheets and covers pooled at Claire’s waist. Sliding his attention upward, he did the kind of slow-burn examination of her breasts that left the full mounds tingling and her feeling naked despite her shorty PJ set.

Bringing his gaze the rest of the way up, he stepped inside the bedroom. “How you feeling?”

Like screaming, crying, and puking. “Pissed.”

A small smile quirked his lips. “Can’t say that I blame you.”

What about aroused, could he blame her for feeling aroused?

She wasn’t dripping-wet-with-desire aroused, but her body was definitely aware it was within ten feet of a member of the opposite sex for the first time in months. A member of the opposite sex with the kind of raspy voice that made her panties want to instantly evaporate. That he was dressed only in faded jeans that rode dangerously low on his lean hips and not exactly what you would call hard to look at didn’t help the desire.

With disheveled dark blond hair, nearly translucent blue eyes, and a body sculpted with just the right amount of muscle guaranteed to feel good rocking against hers without feeling bad, he had that rough-around-the-edges thing working well in his favor.

And she had that far-too-long-horny thing working well against her better judgment.

Pretending like her pulse wasn’t racing for all the wrong reasons, Claire scooted back against what was presumably his headboard. The room had certain elements, like the spray of pink dogwoods in a vase on the dresser, that reminded her of a woman’s touch, but the wildlife scene depicted on the green comforter and framed pictures of the same on the wall shouted masculine. “Is this your place?”

His smile deepened with the heat of sensuality. “My bed, yeah.”

Her nipples pinged to life with how intimate his smile made this situation feel. How intimate was it? Had he had her naked last night? Had he done all sorts of wickedly carnal things with her body? Did she care if he had?

Hell, yeah, she cared. If not because it was the logical thing to do, then because she wasn’t having her first post-incident man-supplied orgasm when she was too doped up to remember.

Claire winced with the memory the thought triggered. She couldn’t recall being stuck with a needle or having a pill forced down her throat. Something had obviously been done to her last night though, to render both her body and voice all but useless.

His smile vanished. “Head hurt?”

“I’m fine.” Truthfully, the verdict was still out, but she couldn’t exactly rail into him for doing the job Erin had paid him to do.

“Want to take a walk along the beach?”

Instantly tense, she hugged her arms around her chest. “God, no!”

“The wind’s a little brisk, but nothing we can’t handle.”

Wind? Was he nuts to think that wind was the problem, or just not in the know? “Do you know why I’m here?”

“Yeah.” He sobered. “And I also know you’re not fine.” Moving to the dresser, he pulled out one of the top drawers to reveal bras and panties in an array of vibrant colors. “The left-side drawers are yours. Breakfast is ready, so get over the whole pissed thing, accept that you’re here for a reason, and join me in the kitchen.” With a last glance in her direction, he left the room, closing the door behind him.

Claire hurried out of bed and yanked a coral bra and matching boy-cut underwear out of the dresser. There was no telling how long he would stay away. If he hadn’t seen her naked already, she wasn’t going to give him that opportunity. Not when the uneven pitch of her breathing and the swollen state of her nipples suggested two things.

One, she wasn’t exactly as pissed as she let on, or probably should be. And two, if he caught her in the buff and liked what he saw, she was liable to let her deprived pussy do the driving.

After grabbing a pair of jeans and a black sweater from the second drawer—at least Erin had the good sense to pack for comfort—she moved into the attached bathroom. A visual search while she dressed found her toothbrush and lotion on the sink basin and a makeup bag of odds and ends on the toilet tank. A more thorough check of the medicine cabinet revealed her deodorant and a box of tampons. He might not fit her imagined profile of a psychologist—between his buff body and not looking much older than her twenty-seven—but the guy was obviously a professional not to rebel against having her female products invading his personal space.

That he was a pro and, therefore, not any too likely to really force her on a walk down the beach, eased her nerves as she brushed her teeth and hair. Feeling almost calm, she returned to the bedroom and ventured out the door into the connected sitting area. A chocolate brown couch and recliner, with throw pillows sporting wildlife scenes similar to those in the bedroom, angled toward a wall housing a flat screen TV. On the far side of the room, beige carpet turned to the wood flooring of a kitchen. Past a short, two-stool bar, he stood with his back to her, doing something she couldn’t distinguish.

Claire could see his backside just fine though, and the teasing flash of navy underwear—boxers she was guessing all the way—past the low-slung waist of his jeans. The divine way the worn cotton of his jeans molded to his butt cheeks reminded her again just how long it had been since she copped herself a feel of nice, firm man ass.

She started over to the kitchen and, oh, the view just got better and better. Her fingers flexed and her sex gave a decadent flutter she hadn’t experienced in ages.

Seriously, no quack had a right to a back that broad and scrumptious looking.

Noting the two glasses of orange juice at the bar, she slid onto one of the stools and took a long drink. Whether it was the effect of all that gorgeous maleness on display, or a side effect of whatever she’d been given last night, she was seriously parched.

Setting the glass down, she observed, “You don’t look like a shrink.”

“I’m not.” He turned around with a heaping plate of omelet and hash browns in either hand, which made for an excellent frame for his pecs.

He wasn’t liable to have a shirtless tan in May and she couldn’t see him fake baking. The golden brown cast to his skin was an au natural stunning contrast to the dark blond hair dusting his chest and arms and the morning stubble scruffing up his jawline.

Coming around to her side of the bar, he set the plates down and slid onto the stool next to her. His body was close enough she could feel the heat radiating off it. See the delicious play of his muscles as he reached for his glass and brought it to his lips. Appreciate the hell out of his strong, sexy profile as he took a drink of juice.

The tantalizing scents of garlic and butter wafted up, splintering her thoughts, and her stomach gave a low rumble. Apparently, she was hungry for more than just a good, long screw.

“So what, you’re the prep guy?” Lifting the fork from her plate, she cut into the omelet. A mouthwatering melody of cheese-covered sausage and veggies oozed out. “You see that I’m well rested and fed for when the shrink arrives?”

“There’s no shrink on Ecstasy Island. I’m the only one responsible for curing you and my knowledge is about as far as you can get from a six-figure degree.”

She chewed a bite of omelet as she considered the words. Knowing he wasn’t going to make her feel welcome just to hand her off to some textbook quack definitely added to her comfort level. As for their location…When he’d mentioned the ocean, she’d assumed he’d taken her somewhere near her waterfront apartment. Really, it didn’t matter. Two miles down the road or two hundred or more miles away on an island, she wasn’t going to make it past his front door without freaking out.

Much preferring to focus on the conversation—and, okay yeah, his naked upper half a touch away—than thoughts of the outside world, she asked, “Why Ecstasy?”

He ate a forkful of hash browns before looking over. Where his attitude had been sedate from the moment he’d left her in the bedroom, lust was in his eyes now, alive and sizzling hot. “Let’s just say we believe in alternative healing.”

Warmth rushed through Claire with the implication. “Alternative?”

He gave a curt nod, his lips tipping up at the corners, and the air between them seemed to spark about ten degrees hotter. Jesus, she really needed to indulge her sex drive more often. Maybe next time she would agree to let Erin hook her up with a gigolo instead of the therapist type.

Or had her sister already as good as done that?

She shivered with the thought, not from fear but anticipation. “You mean sex?”

His gaze narrowed. “You don’t like sex, or why are you trembling?”

“I love sex.” Was even now considering just how good his cock would feel sliding into her when he swept aside their plates and glasses to do her on the bar.

As if he could read her mind, the heat returned to his eyes. His gaze shifted to her breasts, giving them another of those all-but-panty-evaporating leers. “Then what’s the problem, sweetheart?”

Her nipples peaked against the soft cups of her bra, answering the question without a sound. Since her famished pussy wasn’t likely to be the problem he had in mind, Claire improvised. “I’m a recluse who, up until last night, hadn’t set foot out of her apartment in months. Last night it was by coercion and, no doubt, some drug cocktail. What do you think the problem is?”

“The sedative you were given was very mild and all natural.” Teasing glinted in his eyes as they returned to hers, and a shallow cleft came out to play amidst his chin stubble. “A lot like the sex you love. The natural part, at least. You don’t strike me as a woman who goes for the mild, in bed or out of it.”

Something about his expression—maybe how wet it suddenly had her—made one thing clear. He might not have a degree in psychology, but he knew precisely how to get into a woman’s head…and panties. “You aren’t cheap, are you?”

He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Depends who’s asking.”

Oh, yeah, he knew what he was about. “I mean your services. Erin, my well-meaning PITA of a sister, said your fees were minimal. That was a lie, wasn’t it? She paid a buttload to have me brought here.”

“Not that much so far.” His arm connected with hers at the shrugging of his shoulders, and the subtle brush was like the most intimate caress. He felt it, too; she could see the flicker of sensual awareness cross his face. “Ecstasy requires half pay up front,” he continued in a voice even raspier than usual. “If our client’s time on the island proves successful, the rest is due upon their return home. If they go home with the same fears they had when they came here, they don’t pay another dime.”

“Do you work on commission?”

“I get part of the half that’s paid after the fact.”

Bummer for him, he wouldn’t be getting it this time around. He might be good at his job, but it was highly doubtful he could erase the effects of The Incident in a matter of days or even weeks. Would it be so wrong to throw in a consolation prize to offset his monetary loss? Celebrate her first post-incident trip outside the apartment and the fact she’d lived to be upset with Erin about it by ending her sexual dry spell? This could be her only chance to have a lover this year.

Or the rest of her life…

Glum thought, yet reality. The kind of cold, hard, empty reality that made this sexy stranger and this stolen opportunity too tempting to pass up.

Going with the heat spiking in her core, Claire lifted her hand from where it rested on her thigh and put it into his lap. The impressive bulge of a not-quite-flaccid cock stroked against her knuckles. Any doubts she had vanished as delicious tingles erupted in her sheath.

She grinned expectantly. “So with me you’re counting on the sex being payoff enough?”

His smile flattened as he covered her hand with his own. She thought he meant to be a killjoy by lifting her fingers away. He turned her hand over instead. Turned it over and squeezed her fingers around the length of his thickening shaft through his jeans. “I’m counting on the sex being a bonus for a job well done.”

Chris bit back a groan and the urge to beat the shit out of himself for not only allowing Claire to put her hand in his lap but encouraging further exploration. Friday morning, when Treah passed her file his way, he knew he was in for a challenge. Once Chris had time to look through her file and discover the details of the circumstances which brought her to the island, the enormity of that challenge became crystal clear. Last night just sealed the deal.

Normally, he went out of his way to avoid the mainland. Relied on the guys hired exclusively to bring clients to the island to deliver his women to his door. With Nic’s taunt continuing to ride him, he’d embraced the escape the hour-long boat ride and another fifteen minutes of travel in Ecstasy’s employee truck had afforded. Seeing Claire come awake scared to death for his actions had made him feel shady as hell. More so because, even with the edge of panic riding in her eyes and her bangs lying cockeyed across her forehead, she looked far hotter than what her picture let on.

She looked even hotter now, from her gleaming baby blues to the naughty curve of her lips to her bare feet peeking out from beneath the frayed cuffs of her jeans. Unlike her lips, her toenails were painted—a girlie shade of pale pink. Since spending over four years surrounded by men in uniforms as severe as their personalities, he was a sucker for anything soft like that, anything that spoke of femininity.

The sweep of her fingers along his cock was definitely feminine. Tilting her head to the side, she eyed his mouth. “How long did my sister buy your body for?”

Letting her believe their time together centered on sex would be both the easy and the feel-good way out. But it wouldn’t be doing his job. Biting back another groan, this one about regret, Chris lifted her hand out of his lap and came to his feet. “This is a healing resort, Claire. I’m your mental coach, not your man-sized sex toy. I should never have implied otherwise.”

Her gaze skipped to the bulge pressing at the fly of his jeans. “Just mental? You don’t sleep with your clients?”

“Ecstasy takes a sensual approach to healing. So, no, not just mental. That doesn’t mean I jump into bed with every woman that enters my home. If things get that physical, it’s because the healing process calls for it. Even then, it only happens after I’ve had a chance to get to know a woman.”

Her eyes returned to his face, skepticism filling them. “I look that stupid, huh?”

“There’ve been one or two through the years that I didn’t know very well before things got hot,” he admitted as he rounded the bar. He wasn’t some horny teen that needed the partition between them to keep his hands to himself, but then he wasn’t going to tempt fate and Claire’s obvious desire to fuck him either.

“Years?” Amusement tinged her voice. “You’ve been doing this since you were what, fourteen?”

“Twenty-two, and I take my job seriously. I will cure you, Claire.”

She seemed to consider the vow for a few seconds and then concentrated back on her food. Relieved she’d temporarily turned off the heat—no way did he buy that it was a permanent cool down—Chris pulled his plate and glass across the bar.

They ate in silence for several minutes before she pointed out, “You never said how long I’m here for.”

“It’s a three-week package.”

A sultry smile returned to her lips as she cast her gaze down his body. “Fortunately, I already know it isn’t a three-inch one.”

She couldn’t see past his waist with the bar between them. That didn’t stop his shaft from perking right back up again. Ignoring the throb of his cock, he forced his mind on the issue that brought her to the island. “Since the shoot—The Incident—you haven’t been outside even once?”

“Obviously I have that I’m here.”

“Other than that?”

Her smile fell away. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“You’d be surprised what I understand.” Claire’s expression said she didn’t believe him. Trust was a huge factor in the success of these sessions. Though he could already guess how she would respond, working on that trust issue was priority number one following breakfast. “Generally these weeks involve a good deal of outside time—taking advantage of Ecstasy’s fleet of watercraft, socializing with the other women on the island, talking about your—”

“How many others are there?” she asked, bringing a bite of omelet to her mouth.

“A little over a dozen.”

“Wow.” The fork stilled in the air. “I never realized there were so many screwed-up women in the world.”

“You’re not screwed up, Claire.”

She set the fork back on her plate and slid off the bar stool. Before he could guess her intention, she was around to his side, her body inches from his own. With the bulky black sweater covering her chest, Chris couldn’t make out much about her breasts. He’d been able to tell plenty about them and the rest of her body when he’d carried her from her bed last night.

She was all lithe curves and valleys. Tall and long limbed. The kind of lushly sensual woman a guy could sink himself inside and forget his every worry. If that woman wasn’t the guy’s client.

Claire’s head tilted to the side, brushing the blunt ends of her straight, shiny hair against her shoulder. Her lips parted a breath as her eyes returned to his mouth. “Not screwed up. Not fine.” She leaned into him and placed her palms on his chest, fingers splaying warm and intimately against his bare skin. “So what am I?”

He let out a tense breath. Hell, he should have let her stay pissed. “Too close.”

“Ah, c’mon. I haven’t slept with a guy I just met in years.”

Lifting her hands away, he set her back a couple feet. The last thing he needed was for his cock to jerk against her belly and have her realize he’d probably succumb easily at this point. “Like I said, you’re not going to today either.”

“You want to.”

“I want to heal you more.” He took a drink of juice, giving her time to return to her own side of the bar. When she didn’t budge, he veered the conversation far away from the sexual. “How do you feel about one or two of the other women coming into the cabin for a visit?”

“Since I’m guessing Ecstasy doesn’t get any murderers for clients, I should be okay with it. One at a time, at least.”

No, Chris thought wryly as her words sent his gut into a vicious grinding, the resort didn’t get any murderers. No reason to with a resident murderer on staff.

This was exactly his concern with Claire for a client. Her fear, stemming from a recent senseless shooting, would keep his resurfaced anxiety over a past senseless shooting right there at the front and center of his mind.

His appetite as gone as his erection, he grabbed his fork and plate and set them beside the sink. “All right. We’ll work with that. First, I need to talk with my boss.”

He was outside and about to close the door when the brisk nip of the wind registered against his bare skin. It was low sixties at best, cooler-feeling in the breeze. Not only had her words unsettled him to the point he’d failed to put on a shirt and shoes, but he’d forgotten about the whole trust deal.

Shit. Maybe he wasn’t up to handling her right now.

But, yeah, he was. He could do this. He was the head healer for a reason, and, despite what Nic thought, it went beyond his friendship with Treah.

Drawing a calming breath, he turned around to find Claire had followed him nearly to the door. The sex-seeking siren from the kitchen was gone. Unconcealed fear filled her eyes as she surveyed the area around him, like she thought at any second someone was going to jump out of the trees and fire a pistol her way.

Her gaze fell on him, and her fear clouded over as a saucy smile formed on her lips. “Forget to kiss me good-bye?”

He couldn’t have planned a better opening. Yet he hesitated to take it, unable to stop from wondering how quickly she would turn away if she knew what he really was.

Promising himself that all she would know him as was the man who eradicated her fears, Chris retraced his last steps and pulled her into his arms. “Matter of fact, I did.”

Her lips opened a slice with her surprise. He pushed his tongue inside to cut off any reply and taste the teasingly wet warmth of her mouth.

Claire’s client file claimed she was a hellcat in bed. The way she boldly took his ass into her hands and rubbed her mound against his cock as she kissed him back with vigor, he believed it. She circled her breasts and pelvis against him with each silky swipe of her tongue. Her pubis connected with his erection and heady sensation slipped through him, tightening his balls as it warmed his blood.

The hot, soft press of her body was such a sweet contrast to the chilling wind he’d encountered seconds ago, he could just melt into her. Just let her keep going until they were both naked and writhing together on the carpet.

Nah, hell, he couldn’t.

Before she made him forget his intentions a second time, he lifted her up his body. Her legs twined around his waist, and he did a slow backstep out the door. Not far, just enough so the morning sun could leak down on them. Just enough so she might hear the tidewater lapping at the sand past the fast-blowing wind.

Just enough that the second he broke from her lips, she was going to have a holy conniption.

Taking control of the kiss, Claire brought her hands to his back. Short nails, painted the same powder pink as her toenails, nipped and scraped at his skin. Rocking her pelvis against his abdominal muscles, she moaned into his mouth, and then went back for another rocking that jolted electric sensation straight to his groin.

And that was all the farther he dared to let her go without giving her the full-on primal scratching she’d gone months without.

Chris slid his hands to her ass, allowing a quick cup and squeeze of her rounded backside through her jeans. He took hold of her ankles then, and untwined her legs from his waist. She glided down his body, nails feathering along his back and her sex grinding torturously slowly along his. Releasing her lips at the last second, he made certain she was steady on her feet and then stepped backward.

Her eyes had fallen closed at some point. She opened them now to grin at him. “Mmm…That was—That…” The passion died from her expression. Gaze narrowed, she looked to her left and drew a sharp breath.

Claire’s gaze snapped back on his. Terror burned in her eyes and her face was washed of the high color of seconds ago. “You. You.” Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, crap. I’m going to be sick.”