Читать книгу Escape to Ecstasy - Jodi Lynn Copeland - Страница 9

Hoping—make that praying—this wasn’t really happening, that he hadn’t used her attraction to him to get her outside his house, Claire looked around a second time. A cluster of huge, camouflaging trees rose up on either side of the house, which looked more like a cabin with its log siding, screened-in room off to one side of the structure, and smallish size. A hammock was tied to the trunk of two more trees, solitary and feet from where the sun shone on a white-sand beach with churning tidewater lapping at its fringes. The sun’s rays bled down on her, warming her despite the blustery wind.

That wouldn’t be possible through a window or wall.

A gasping sob broke past her lips with the realization that no amount of hoping or praying was going to help. They really were outside. Her stomach really was roiling bile straight to her throat and her heart was beating like it might come through her chest at any moment. And he really was a first-class asshole.

“Y-you asshole!” Claire fought to replace the breath voicing the words cost her, but her throat felt like it was collapsing in on itself. The wind seemed impossibly heavy as it whipped her hair across her cheeks. The sun against her back was hotter by the second.

Wildly, she glanced at the door. It was four feet away at most. Too damned far. “I—I…”

“Shhh…” Sympathy in his eyes, he pulled her into his arms and pressed her cheek to the groove between his shoulder and neck. “No one’s going to hurt you, sweetheart. Everything’s going to be all better real soon. I promise.”

She knew this soothing voice. Recognized it as the same one that had spoken to her in her bedroom last night. He was the one who’d kidnapped her. The one whose balls Hot Stud hadn’t managed to sever given she’d felt the stiffness of his cock moving against her less than a minute ago. And she’d wanted it. Wanted him bad. Believed he’d wanted her as well, when he turned back and pulled her into his arms, kissed her until she was grinding against him in an attempt to ease the heavy ache in her core. But all he’d wanted was to speed her fast-forward into a nightmare.

Ew! If she could move, he would be in such pain.

Claire couldn’t move. Her limbs felt solid, her bare feet frozen in place on the pebbled walkway beneath them. His embrace was meant to comfort, she knew. But all it did was smother her, stole what little air she was managing to take in, and pitched her stomach to the heaving point. “Let go. I-I’m going…to puke.”

His arms released and, for a second or two, she felt calmer. Then it all just grew worse again. Because she still couldn’t move from this damned crippling spot just outside his door. Wouldn’t move without his help.

As if he knew her thoughts, he nodded at the door. “Help yourself, Claire.” Steely determination filled his eyes. “Get inside. You can do this.”

Yeah, she could. Because it was so freaking easy. Maybe for him.

Fury pushed through her, tangling with the panic. She fought to shake her head. Fought and won. And immediately regretted the move as her mind filled with a pounding haze.

God, she was so helpless. So stupidly helpless. Maybe if Erin saw her like this, she would understand when Claire said she couldn’t attend functions outside of her apartment. Maybe she would quit trying to fix her. “Can’t. Move.”

“Yes. You can.”

“N-no. I—” Her stomach clenched as the bile rose up once more. Heat came along with it, fanning upward and outward from where the sun scorched her back to consume her chest and head and vanquish her thoughts. Tears burned at her eyes as she heaved out a dry, gagging cough.

“Do it, Claire,” he commanded. “Get inside the cabin. Now!”

Can’t. Can’t. Can’t.

Can’t think. Can’t talk. The pounding intensified, splintering pain through her skull and hammering at her temples. Shudders racked her body as the heat increased until her skin felt it would be forever blistered.

He spoke more words, maybe even shouted them. She couldn’t tell. Could barely even make out his face as it swam before her as a flesh-colored fog. Could barely even see the ground as it came at her as a blur of grass and walkway.

Ooh…this was going to hurt.

“Help,” a thin voice Claire loathed to think was hers cried out.

He said something else. A curse she could tell, as she closed her eyes and waited for impact, going only by the intensity of his voice. Another of the same followed, and then his hands were there. His mercifully strong hands grabbed hold of her arms and brought her descending body to an abrupt halt. One of those hands came behind her knees and he swung her up into his arms, holding her gently against his solid chest as he had last night. Then he’d moved her toward her greatest fear. Now he moved her to safety. He took them so goddamned easily into the cabin that she would have wept with envy if tears of terror weren’t already streaming down her face.

He laid her on the couch and moved into the kitchen, returning with a damp washcloth in seconds. She could mostly make out his face now. Sympathy was back, brimming in his pale blue eyes as he sank down on the edge of the couch and applied the cool cloth to her forehead. “You’re okay, sweetheart.”

A hysterical laugh rolled out of her at the irony of his comment. She wasn’t feeling sweet, not by a long shot. She was feeling furious as hell and like her body would go up in flames. At least the tears had stopped.

“Not okay. Burning.” Strength slowly returning, Claire forced her hands to the hem of her sweater and pulled it up to her neck. The inside air wasn’t exactly cool but even the moderate temperature was a relief to her fevered flesh. He brought the washcloth a couple of inches above her chest, wringing out the excess water, and she sighed with the blissful contact.

Smiling, he moved the cloth over her skin, tracing the contours of her breasts above her bra. “You’re fine. Just like I said you would be.”

Damn that smile. She could see his face picture perfect now, and the last thing she wanted was him breaking out that sexilicious chin cleft. It made the idea of closing her eyes and giving herself into his care far too appealing. She couldn’t trust him like that, not when he’d been the source of her misery.

She let his ministrations continue another minute as she regained full control of her body. Anger surged higher with each step toward normalcy. Her mind finally clear and the heat mostly gone, she jerked the washcloth from his hand. “Don’t you touch me, you dick. And don’t you ever kiss me again.”

He came to his feet. No quick bolt off the couch, but a leisurely stand that was accompanied by the broadening of his smile. “I take it the sex is off?”

The sex?

How could he even think about sex at a time like this? When she was lying on his couch with her shirt pulled up to her throat, her nipples taut from the stroke of the cool washcloth and pressing hard against her bra cups. And he was standing next to her with only his jeans on, probably sporting a semi from that little impromptu grinding she’d done outside his door. Both of them breathing hard…

Claire’s nipples tingled as the decadent image painted itself in her mind. She sighed in understanding. He sighed back, a sound as amused as it was rough with arousal.

All the fight drained out of her as the truth of the guilty party returned. Erin’s fault. All of this was Erin’s fault. He was only doing his job by trying to desensitize her to the outside world. Whoever he was.

Ah, God. She’d almost slept with him and she didn’t even know his name. During those first couple of crazy years of college, she wouldn’t have cared. Now she didn’t find the thought of sleeping with a virtual stranger—one who presented himself well, at least—to be desperate or slutty; rather, it was one more awesome step for Women’s Lib. Still, a first name would be nice.

Pushing her sweater down, she swung her feet to the floor and moved into a sitting position. “What’s your name?”

“Chris.”

“Well, Chris, what happened to talking to your boss?”

His smile vanished. “Right. I should get to that.” He went into the bedroom. He emerged a few seconds later, pulling a navy sweatshirt over his head.

Claire mourned the loss of the stellar view of his chest and torso even as she told herself it was a good thing. After what happened at his door, she could totally see him using her lust for his body against her for the next three weeks.

Going to a closet near the door, he grabbed a pair of tennis shoes and shoved his feet into them. Twisting the front doorknob, he glanced back at her. Her belly fluttered with the idea he would already try more of that desensitizing crap. Then her sex gave a fluttering of its own with the idea that he would use another sex-her-up approach.

In the end, he didn’t do either, just tossed out a teasing grin. “I should be back in a half hour or so. Don’t go too far without me.”

Chris started down the quarter-mile stretch of beach that led from his cabin to Ecstasy’s main office area. The trail through the woods would have been a lot quicker, but it also would have been devoid of the breeze, and his body needed a thorough cooling. His claim to Claire about talking to the boss had been just that; a claim for the sake of escaping her “murderer” comment. The truth was Treah had taken off for the Pacific opening yesterday morning. Even so, Chris was hoping this venture to the office would pay off as more than a reprieve for his mind and body.

Typically, at least one of the guys could be found hanging out in the meeting room, which doubled as a rec center for everything from Texas Hold ’Em tournaments during their off week to more intimate gatherings when the women were on the island. None of the men seemed liable to be stealing money from the resort, so Chris would start in on his covert interrogations with the most available of them.

Chris reached the set of docks that harbored the boats used both for bringing clients to the island and taking them out on pleasure cruises during their stay. Once the weather grew a little warmer, cabanas and a volleyball net would be placed in the sandy stretch of land in front of the docks. The beachfront was deserted for now, a fact he took comfort in as he veered toward the office, set thirty-plus yards off from the water to help ensure safety during hurricane season.

Arriving at the tan, two-story building—the second floor of which Treah, and lately Gwen, called home—he pulled open the meeting-room screen door. Ted Henner, one of the more recent healing recruits, was inside. The young blond guy sat kicked back in a folding chair, feet on the seat of a chair at the table across from him and his attention on the golf tournament playing on one of the wall-mounted TVs. Since Treah figured doing without certain luxuries meant they’d have more desire to stay focused on their clients, the lower-seniority coaches lacked for televisions in their cabins.

Chris went to the coffeemaker on the opposite side of the room. Shelley kept a fresh pot on throughout the day and, while he’d never been much of an afternoon coffee drinker, he helped himself to a cup. If nothing else, it would be something to do with his hands instead of fidgeting like an idiot when he attempted to search out Ted for information via the small talk he’d always sucked at.

He pulled out a chair at the table next to Ted’s and straddled the back of it. “You get shorted a client, or what are you doing hanging out here this time of day?”

Ted glanced over. “I’ve got one. She works nights, so her schedule’s off. She’s sleeping right now.” He looked back at the television, asking in a humdrum voice that said he could give two shits about the answer, “You?”

“Oh, I’ve got one, all right.” Chris packed the enthusiasm into his voice that Ted was missing. The blond guy glanced over again, and Chris gave a smug smile. “Treah pulled her aside for me for fear no one else could handle her—if you catch my drift.”

“That’s why you get paid the big bucks, right?” Ted asked dryly.

Chris was feeling like a jerk more and more. At the very least Ted’s indifferent attitude didn’t seem to suggest Nic had shared his murderer speculation with him. “I’m not exactly hurting for money,” Chris offered in his best Nic-the-bragster imitation. “Stick around a few years, pick up some tips from us seasoned experts, and you might be working for more than room and board, too, bro.”

Something flickered through Ted’s eyes. Bafflement over the way Chris was acting or annoyance over the assumption he made jack for a wage? Whatever it was, Ted didn’t take the bait to do some defensive bragging of his own, just shrugged and concentrated on the golf tournament.

A half minute of silence passed that felt damned awkward to Chris. He was about to leave when Ted asked, “Treah took off?”

Why did he want to know? Was he hoping Gwen went along for the ride, leaving easy access to Treah’s home and office? “I don’t know, did he?”

Ted frowned. “The Pacific branch opened last night. At the last staff meeting, he mentioned heading down there to see things started up smoothly.” He came to his feet. “I should get back to the cabin. See if Brenda’s up yet.”

Get away from the screwball way Chris was acting: Ted’s frown clarified that much. Did it also say he wasn’t guilty of stealing money? Hell, Chris couldn’t tell.

Giving up on the act, since no other guys were around and he sucked at questioning anyone other than his clients, Chris went to the front of the room. After trashing the untouched coffee cup, he grabbed the communication clipboard and pen from the wall ledge. He scribbled a request for one of the other healing coaches to bring their client by his cabin at some point during the week, and then headed home to give Claire the sex he’d earlier denied her.

For a price.

“Ready to take that walk?”

Claire’s heart kicked into high gear with the unexpected sound of Chris’s voice. After he’d left, she’d familiarized herself with her temporary home. Checking out his closets paid off in that she found her laptop and, shortly thereafter, discovered that the island had wireless service. A snippy e-mail to Erin had done wonders for her mood. Starting a review article for the Herald had time slipping away and, obviously, place as well, given how completely his return startled her.

She saved her work and closed her laptop. Setting the computer beside her on the couch, she shot him a get-real look. “I’m ready to go home.”

“No, you aren’t.” He smiled as he toed off his tennis shoes. “The change in venue is exactly what you need and you know it.”

She eyed his feet as he started over. Bare again. Was there any chance his sweatshirt would go the way of his shoes? “Okay, so I don’t hate it. I can’t say as much for the thought of how I’ll get home.”

He didn’t remove his shirt. He did move her laptop farther down the couch so he could sit beside her. Right beside her. Outer thigh rubbing against hers, he brought his hands to her shoulders and turned her upper half until her back was angled toward him. His fingers pressed into her muscles, kneading at knots of tension seven months in the making. “That’s weeks away. Don’t worry about it.”

Claire’s head lolled to the side as a shiver chased through her. Despite trying everything from meditation to masturbation, she hadn’t been able to relieve the knots. But, oh man, he had some fingers. The knots were either unraveling, or the flush of desire caused by his proximity was making it feel that way.

Sensual warmth slipped over her as Chris’s fingers continued their magic. With a happy murmur, she closed her eyes and sank into his touch.

Dare she keep going? Slip right back against his chest and onto his lap? Tip her head to the side so that her mouth could fuse with his and get another sampling of those dynamite lips? Yeah, she’d told him not to touch or kiss her again, but that was when her mind wasn’t functioning on all cylinders. Now she remembered what a once-in-a-lifetime chance spending these next weeks indulging in ecstasy with him could be. The key was to not get lost in pleasure to the point that he could get her outside.

“Why do you call it The Incident?”

Claire stiffened. So much for the magic. She opened her eyes and attempted to pull away from him. He curled his fingers around her shoulders, making the move impossible. Fine. She could be a big girl about it. Maybe. “What should I call it—‘The day that seriously fucked up my life’?”

His fingers returned to their kneading. “You weren’t hurt.”

This time the knots stayed firm, her body tense as never-far-buried memories threatened to surface. Physically, she hadn’t been hurt. Mentally, she’d been blown apart. “Like I said before, you wouldn’t understand.”

“Like I said, you’d be surprised what I understand.” Chris’s hands moved back to her shoulders, and he used his grip to bring her around to face him. Awareness filled his eyes. The kind of keen insight that suggested he really did get what was going on in her head. It had to be a trick of his training.

A slow, soft smile spread across his face. His hands left her shoulders to move down and take hers into them. “It’s not survivor’s guilt. Nah, it’s the small-world complex. It always seemed so big and like no bad guys lived in your tiny corner of it. Then one day you were forced to wake up and realize the world isn’t so big after all and the bad guys live right next door.”

How could he do that—make things feel so intimate between them while speaking of a day that had all but destroyed her life? Claire’s belly tumbled with lust even as her mind sought a defense. “Been witness to a lot of murders, huh?”

“Let’s just say I’ve seen my share of evil. I’ve also seen things that appeared evil but when it came right down to it were little more than an accident at the hands of stupidity and boredom.”

Was the passion in his voice another trick of his training, or did firsthand experience back up his words?

Even if he answered that question, she wouldn’t have any way of knowing he spoke the truth. And even if he did have firsthand experience, what difference would it make in his ability to heal her? Likely, none. Focusing on the feel of his hands in hers, the strength of his body mere inches away, the warmth of his breath as it left his mouth…these things could make a difference. These things could get her through the countless long, lonely days and nights that lay ahead.

Looking at him from beneath lowered lashes, she circled her thumbs against his palms. “The sex doesn’t have to be off.”

“Better to fuck than talk?”

“We’ve been talking the last seven minutes. I haven’t fucked anything more substantial than a vibrator in over seven months.”

Chris released her hands and sat back on the couch. His smile returned, first slow and soft, and then in that broad, wicked way that made the enticing cleft amongst his chin stubble emerge. His gaze journeyed from her face to her breasts, eyes darkening to near gray. “What do you say to a compromise? Every question you answer gets a piece of clothing off me and us one step closer to doing the deed?”

How very tempting to sing out an emphatic yes. But was she ready for the stakes? “What if I can’t answer?”

He met her eyes with a shrug. “A piece of clothing goes back on.”

That didn’t sound so bad. The worst that could happen was she got his tasty man-candy on display only to have it covered up again. The best…the best she would be experiencing in a matter of minutes. “All right. Me first.”

“I never said this was a two-questioner game.”

“But you meant to.” And Claire meant to get this game over with fast and a much more pleasurable one started. First came work. “You know I’m a staff reporter?” He nodded, and she peeled off the socks she’d put on in his absence. “Am I allowed to write an article about my experiences here for the Herald? It’d be a win-win deal. Ecstasy gets free promotion. I get paid.”

“That’d be one to ask Treah, the resort owner. He had to take off after our meeting but should be back on Friday or Saturday.” Curiosity entered his eyes. “Why would you want to write about this place when you’re already convinced your time here will be pointless?”

Smiling, she tugged at the front of his sweatshirt. “Oh, no, buddy. Not without losing the shirt.”

Chris sat dutifully forward and tugged the shirt over his head. Leaving it in a pile on her laptop, he raised a dark blond eyebrow. “Better?”

“A little.” Truthfully, she was feeling a whole lot better and a whole lot hornier now that all that gorgeous, golden brown skin was back on display. Her pulse raced and if her pussy were a mouth, it would have been drooling.

Granting herself the right to touch, she brought a hand to his abs and stroked the lean, firm muscle at the waist of his jeans. He pulled in an audible breath as the muscles contracted beneath her fingertips. Laughing delightedly, she walked her fingers up to a dark nipple. The short white line she’d noticed when she confronted him in the kitchen this morning pulled her attention away from toying with the flat disc.

She ran a fingernail along the mark less than an inch above his heart. Maybe he did know a thing or two about evil and had the proof to show for it. “Is this a scar?”

“You owe me an answer, sweetheart.”

“Right. The article. I don’t think I’ll be cured of my issues when I leave here. I do have every faith that numerous other women have been, or this place would have shut down long ago. Besides, your approach intrigues me. As does this.” Giving the white mark another caress, Claire glanced up at his eyes. They still held plenty of heat, but also now caginess. “What happened?”

“You really want me to put my shirt back on?”

“Hypocrite.”

“I’m not the one still fully dressed.” He took the front of her sweater in hand and gave it a tug as she had done to him.

More than happy to oblige, she sat back and peeled the shirt over her head. She left it on top of his and then impulsively settled herself onto his lap. Mmm…What do you know, straddling a guy’s lap still felt as incredibly good as she remembered. The press of a semihard cock against her ass upped the enjoyment factor by about a hundred.

Chris scooted down on the couch a couple inches. His wariness was gone for now at least. His smile went wolfish as he eyed her chest in that panty-evaporating style he had. “Orange suits you well.”

Heat lashed through her breasts, spiking her nipples and warming her blood. She shook her head in mock disgust. “Men are so color challenged. My bra is coral and you’ve already seen it.”

“Not when I was invited to look.”

Yeah, and the difference was clear. Before, he’d appeared interested in her breasts. Now, he appeared as though he wanted to get his hands on them in a big way. She doubted he was the type to hesitate for long. Since she wasn’t either, Claire tapped her fingernail against the mark she presumed to be a scar. “Tell me about this.”

“My best friend from high school was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” He kept his attention locked on her breasts as he answered in a sober voice. “I got knifed trying to stop him from being killed.”

“Did you save him?”

Long seconds of silence passed before he lifted his gaze to hers. Playfulness glinting in his eyes, he wiggled his eyebrows. “You owe me some jeans.”

Her mind on his friend as much as getting naked, she stood from his lap and quickly stripped the jeans down her legs. Chris let out a wolf whistle. Then he equally shocked and thrilled her by pulling her sideways between his thighs and swatting her butt. “Boy panties. Gotta love ’em.”

Her ass tingling with awesome sensation, she goaded, “Like boys, do you?”

“Nope. But I like the way these ride up into your cunt when I pull on them.” His fingers came around to the front, tugging the crotch of the panties between her labia and tight against her clit.

Moaning with the erotic chafe of the soft cotton, she sank back onto his lap and ground the crack of her ass against his cock. Between his grunt and the impressive feel of his member through his jeans, it was safe to assume he was no longer semihard but fully engaged and ready for action.

“So, did you save your friend?” she pressed before she either forgot or decided she no longer cared.

His eyes went steely. “That time I did. Why do you call it The Incident?”

Claire heard the words he didn’t speak. Once he’d saved his friend, but another time he hadn’t managed. Chris probably had been in her position. Probably did understand her better than most anyone else could. For now, she chose not to question him further on it, instead leaning forward to tug at a nipple with her teeth. The nipple hardened and his cock jerked against her butt. Taking her butt into his hands, he gave a chastising squeeze.

She reclined back to send him a cheeky smile. “According to my mental coach, I have a small-world complex.” Her smile attempted to falter with her next thought, but she forced it to stay put. She got through this one last question and, quite possibly, a nice fat juicy cock steak would be her reward. “I wasn’t blind to crime before—I don’t think any reporter could be—but I wasn’t so aware of it either. Now, every time I turn on the news, someone else is being shot or stabbed. Where there used to be sitcoms on, now it’s all about the crime shows. Death is all around us.”

Beyond her control, her tone went morose on the last words. Somehow that pulled his smile back to the surface. “So is life.”

“Yeah, well, I suggest you get to life.” She pushed to her feet, grinding her crotch against his shaft as she went and feeling a resulting burst of wetness in her pussy. “Off with the jeans.”

“Promise you won’t laugh at my boxers?”

Yep. She knew he was a boxer man. He had his gentle moments, but more so an attitude far too rugged to constrain with briefs. It also should have been too much for him to care if she laughed over his underwear. “Why would I laugh?”

Chris slid to his feet. With a hesitant glance her way, he unfastened his jeans and pushed them down his thighs. Before she’d only been able to see a strip of navy waistband above the rise of his jeans. Now she saw the rest of his boxers were white with a navy cat pattern and a tent pushing out the front of them.

He grinned in a smug way that said his hesitation had been for show alone. “I thought you might be missing Hot Stud.”

Claire’s smile was automatic. There he went mixing up her feelings again. Her sex clenched with the desire to wrap around the object responsible for that tent even as gratefulness for his wearing the silly cat boxers to make her feel more at home warmed her through. “Is there anything my sister didn’t tell you?”

“I’d say she pretty much covered it all”—wicked anticipation sizzled in his eyes—“including what a hellcat you are in bed.”

Way to go, Erin.

No, really, way to go, Erin! She was about to end her sexual dry spell and, for the first time since waking in an unfamiliar bed this morning, she felt nothing but elation. Well, nothing but elation and a major case of lust.

Chris had helped himself to her underwear when he’d grabbed hold of it and jerked it up inside her pussy, so she helped herself right back. If she happened to get a fistful of cock in the meantime, hey, who could blame a girl?

She gave his erection a testing squeeze before gliding her fingers the length of it. His sex thrummed and her own responded in kind. “Will you really sleep with me once we’re both naked?”

“I will,” he vowed in a thick, smoky voice, and then glanced toward the bedroom door. “Out there.”

She frowned as she followed his gaze. “Out where?”

“On the deck.”