Читать книгу Wild Revenge - Сандра Мартон, Sandra Marton - Страница 14

JAKE KICKED the door shut behind him.

The interior of the house was dark and cool; the silence of the empty rooms was all around them. There was a scent in the air—her scent. The scent of flowers he hadn’t been able to define.

“Addison,” he said softly.

She turned her face up to his. Her eyes filled with him, and a rush of something primitive and possessive swept through him.

“Be sure,” he said in a rough whisper as he tunneled his fingers into the silken darkness of her hair. “Because once we start—”

She rose to him and pressed her lips to his.

“Make love to me, Jacob,” she said.

Jake groaned, drew her hard against him and claimed her mouth with a deep, possessive kiss.

Just that quickly, last night’s hunger blazed inside him again. His big body shuddered; his blood beat hot and heavy in his ears. The driving need to make Addison his was all that mattered….

No.

She was all that mattered.

He wanted more than her body.

He wanted her.

In bed. Naked. Her dark hair spread over the pillows.

He wanted her needing his touch, pleading for it, as desperate for him as he was for her.

Teeth gritted, fighting hard for control, he caught her up in his arms.

“Hold on to me,” he whispered.

She wrapped her arms around his neck. Buried her face against his throat. He could feel her heart thundering against his, her breath on his skin.

The stairs were just ahead. Another couple of minutes, he told himself as he climbed them.

He could last that long.

Only one door was open on the second floor. Jake shouldered his way past it. He knew this old house, its gray rooms and dark walls, but this room—Addison’s room, without question—had been transformed.

Polished wood floor. Shiny brass bed. Brick fireplace, neatly stacked with wood. White walls, white curtains, white bed linens and duvet—and the faintly mingled scent of flowers and fresh paint.

The room was a reflection of her.

Honest. Elegant. Beautiful.

He lowered her to her feet beside the bed, did it slowly so she could feel how hard and ready he was, so he could feel all her lovely, soft curves.

She was trembling.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said in a gruff whisper. “This will be different, I swear it.”

Her eyes, pools of liquid silver, lifted to his.

“I’m not afraid. Not of you, Jacob, never of—”

He kissed her. Parted her lips with his. Feasted on the exquisite taste of her.

She caught his collar in her hands, lifted herself to him, sucked the tip of his tongue into the heat of her mouth.

He groaned with pleasure.

His hands cupped her breasts. He could feel her nipples tightening, lifting even through the heavy cotton of her shirt. Groaning, he slipped his hands under it.

Ah, God!

She was naked. No bra. Nothing between his calloused fingers and the silk and satin of her skin.

“Jacob,” she whispered. “Jacob, please …”

The one word, so filled with need, almost took him to his knees. He pushed up the sweatshirt, bent to her, sucked at her nipples, pressed them against the roof of his mouth with his tongue.

She tasted of cream and honey.

“You are so beautiful,” he said thickly. “So very beautiful …”

His thumbs rolled over her nipples. She moaned; he watched her face as he caressed her, saw her eyes go dark with pleasure.

Sweat beaded his forehead as he tugged her sweatshirt over her head and tossed it aside.

He could see her breasts more clearly now. They were high, rounded, just right for his mouth and his hands.

He kissed them. The curves, the slopes, the apricot nipples. He couldn’t get enough of their silky feel, their delicate flavor; he couldn’t get enough of watching her face as he brought her closer and closer to orgasm from this, just from this.

She began undoing the buttons of his shirt. He helped her. Then he swore softly and the remaining buttons went flying.

His shirt landed on the floor, and she went into his arms.

Skin against skin. Heat against heat.

He knew he couldn’t last much longer.

He drew back. Hooked his thumbs into the sides of her sweatpants, pushed them down …

And went still.

She was wearing panties.

White cotton this time, not lace. They were simple, innocent, dotted with tiny blue flowers.

An equally tiny blue bow rode just below each hip bone.

Jake went to his knees.

Kissed her belly. Her navel. The little blue bows.

And drew the panties down, down, down.

They pooled at her ankles. He cupped her hips with his hands. Brought his face closer.

She gasped.

“Wait,” she said in a shaky whisper. “Really, I don’t think—”

He put his mouth against her, at the apex of her thighs. Her dark curls were silken against his lips.

“Open for me,” he said thickly, and she shifted her legs, shifted again …

And screamed in ecstasy when he found her with his mouth and tongue.

She tasted of passion and of woman, and when he licked at her, her cries rose into the stillness of the morning.

Jake got to his feet, kicked off his boots and jeans and took her down onto the bed with him.

He caught a fistful of her hair. Bent to her. Kissed her. He couldn’t stop kissing her, couldn’t get enough of that soft, sweet mouth.

Her hands were on him.

Cool. Soft. They swept over his back, his chest; they framed his face as she lifted herself to him and kissed him.

“Addison,” he said, and she said yes, oh, yes, and he moved over her, knelt between her thighs, slid his hands under her …

“Look at me,” he demanded.

Her eyes went to his face.

And he entered her.

She moaned.

His breath caught.

She was wet and hot, tight as a silk fist closing around him as he went deeper, deeper …

She cried out his name. He was shaking.

But, somehow, he held himself still.

Waited until her muscles took all of him in.

Then, slowly, he drew back. Not all the way. Just enough. The sensation, so exquisite, so exciting, made him shudder.

She went wild beneath him.

He caught hold of her hands, brought them to her sides, moved faster, faster …

“Jacob.”

Her voice was low. Breathless. She said his name again and lifted to his thrusts, her body an arcing bow of pleasure as his arrowed into her.

The world blurred.

Sweat glistened on his skin.

“Now,” he said, and she came, sobbing his name, her legs locked around him, her hands clutching his shoulders.

He gave one long, rough groan.

Then he flew with her into a rainbow of color and light.

He lay sprawled over her.

His body was solid. Hard. He outweighed her by who knew how many dozen pounds.

His weight pinned her to the mattress….

And, oh, it was a lovely feeling.

When he moved, she gave a little mmm of protest.

“I’m too heavy for you,” he whispered.

“No,” she whispered back. “You’re not.”

She felt his lips curve against her throat.

“I am,” he said.

She sighed. “I don’t care.”

No. Neither did he. He could stay exactly where he was, forever.

Still, after a minute or two, he rolled off her, wrapped her in his arms, drew her against him so that her head was on his shoulder and kissed her.

A pleased sigh eased from her lips. She felt his mouth curve against hers in response.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice low, a little hoarse. “I think so, too.”

Was sex supposed to be like this?

She couldn’t ask him; no way would she expose her ignorance but the truth was that even though she had a reputation that would have given Salome a run for her money, this was all new.

She’d had only three prior lovers. One had been a virgin, like her. It had happened in college. The other two had been when she was in law school.

Nice guys, all of them.

But the sex …

It hadn’t been memorable.

This—this experience with Jacob … Okay. Both experiences with Jacob …

Memorable.

Incredibly memorable.

Although today might even have been better, Addison thought, repressing a little shiver of delight.

For one thing, the rain had stopped. Daylight was streaming through the windows.

She could see Jacob.

He could see her.

She tried not to blush at the thought.

Plus, last night, escaping his arms, putting space between them, had been what she’d longed for.

Not today.

She wanted to lie here forever. Just like this. Her head pillowed on his shoulder. With his hand stroking the length of her body.

He was doing it in a way that sent just the tips of his fingers over her breast, over her nipple …

She was blushing now. She could feel the rise of heat in her face.

And he knew it. Just look at how he was grinning.

“Whatever you’re thinking,” he said, “how about sharing it with me?”

“That was …” She cleared her throat. “It was … nice.”

“Nice? Nice?” He scowled, rose up on one elbow and looked down at her. “You know how to hurt a guy, McDowell.”

He was teasing her. And she loved it.

Who’d have thought sex could involve laughter?

He grinned. Rolled her on her back. Caught her wrists, pinned her hands high over her head.

“Admit it.”

Oh, the feel of him against her. All that hard, lean muscle …

“Admit what?” she said breathlessly.

“Admit this was better than nice.”

“Maybe,” she said, teasing him back.

“Maybe, the woman says.” He shifted a little. She bit back a moan. He was becoming aroused. She could feel him against her belly.

“Lots better than nice,” he said in a low, sexy whisper.

She wanted to say something clever, but all she could manage was a soft moan.

He kissed her mouth. She returned the kiss.

He moved. She did, too.

The engorged head of his erection was between her thighs. It brushed against her sensitized flesh.

“Please,” she said.

“Please, what?” he said, and then he was inside her, moving inside her, and the world tilted and spun away.

This time, after he withdrew, he wrapped them both in the duvet.

Then he drew her into the warm shelter of his arms and kissed her temple.

“Sleep,” he said softly.

She couldn’t. She was lying on her right side, and she never—she never—

When she woke, there were long shadows in the room, and a fire leaping in the hearth.

Jake, wearing only his jeans, squatted beside it, feeding wood to the flames.

Addison sat up, the duvet clutched to her chin.

He looked around, smiled when he saw her.

“Hey,” he said softly.

She shoved her hair back from her face.

“What time—” Her voice was hoarse. She cleared her throat, started again. “What time is it?”

He looked at his watch.

“Almost five.”

Her eyes widened. “Almost …”

Jake rose. His beauty made her heartbeat quicken. His skin was tanned, his muscles the kind a man got from hard work, not from a gym. His jeans were zipped but unbuttoned; she couldn’t keep her gaze from going to the arrow of dark, silky hair that disappeared behind his fly.

“Don’t tell me,” he said, as he came slowly toward her. “You have an appointment with a can of paint.”

“A can of …” She laughed. “You can still smell it.”

“Uh-huh.” He sat down next to her, leaned in, gave her a long, lingering kiss. “You painted this room all by yourself?”

“I’m a painting expert. Do you have any idea what painters charge in New York?”

“A frugal woman.” He clapped a hand to his chest. “Be still, my heart.”

“A broke woman. Tuition loans. A condo mortgage.”

“According to Caleb, all lawyers are rich.”

“I’m an indentured servant, in my second year at Kalich, Kalich and Kalich.”

He grinned. “An imaginative name for a law firm.”

“Especially,” Addison said, “when you consider that the last Kalich toddled off this mortal plane twenty years ago.”

Jake laughed, leaned in and kissed her again. This time, she sighed and sank into the kiss.

“So,” he said, curving a hand around the side of her face, “you went to Home Depot—”

“Sears. They had paint and stuff for the floor and all the other things I needed.”

He shook his head. “Old man Chambers would be horrified.”

“Horrified? That I cleaned up this—this—”

She was indignant. Jake tried not to laugh.

“Keeping the place a disaster area was a point of pride with him. The summers I worked here, I used to offer to deal with more than the fences and the horses. He’d always get this look on his face and tell me to mind my own business.” He shrugged. “But I don’t think he really let it all go to hell until the last few years, while I was … away.”

Away. Addison looked at him. Away seemed a strange way to describe being in a war, getting wounded, doing something heroic enough to win an important medal.

“How long were you away?” she said softly.

A muscled knotted in his jaw.

“Too long,” he said, after a minute. “And maybe not long enough.”

He turned away from her … and her breath caught. A series of vicious scars pocked his right shoulder. Without thinking, she reached out and touched her fingers gently to the raw-looking flesh.

He jerked back, grabbed his shirt from the floor, shrugged it on and reached for his jeans.

“Oh, Jake, I’m sorry. Did I hurt—”

“I’m fine.”

Addison reached out to him but his posture was unyielding. Instinct warned her not to touch him.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“I just don’t want to talk about it.” His words were clipped as he rose to his feet. “I’m going to make coffee.”

“Jacob. Wait—”

“I said I don’t want to talk about it, okay? Go on. Get dressed.”

Moments ago, they’d been part of each other. Now …

Now, she grabbed the duvet and dragged it to her chin.

She was entirely naked. Not just her body. Her soul. Her heart. In less than twenty-four hours, she’d become terrifyingly vulnerable, something she had spent most of her life avoiding.

She must have made a sound. A whimper. Something, because he swung toward her.

“Goddammit,” he said. “Honey, I’m sorry.”

She shook her head without looking at him.

“No. No, that’s okay. I just—I just—”

Jake cursed, strode back to her and gathered her tightly into his arms.

“It isn’t you. It’s me, honey. I don’t talk about it. What happened. I don’t talk about it to anybody.”

She nodded. “I understand.”

He almost laughed.

She didn’t. She couldn’t. Hell, he didn’t understand it, and he lived with it.

“I flew Blackhawks,” he said. “Do you know what they are?”

“Helicopters?”

“Yeah. Big, bad birds. They can carry damned near anything to a battlefield. Troops. Equipment. Anything.” His voice roughened. “And they can carry things off a battlefield. They can do medical evacuations, provide cover and get men who’ve been pinned down, men who are dying, out of harm’s way.”

“Jacob, don’t.” She put her fingers lightly over his mouth. “You don’t have to—”

“Sometimes things went right. I was lucky. Sometimes, I wasn’t.” His mouth twisted. “After a while, you start keeping score, you know? Two saved. Two lost. Two bastards taken out, permanently. That kind of thing.”

“It must be awful. To lose men. To have to wonder what will happen next.”

“Yeah. But, like I say, you keep count. As long as your numbers stay ahead, you stay sane.” He paused. “And then,” he said, in a low voice, “then, one day …” He shuddered. “I can’t talk about it. Just—just leave it alone.”

“Whatever you want,” she said softly.

He stared at her while the seconds swept past. Then he groaned and wrapped her in his arms.

They sat that way for a long time. The fire in the brick hearth burned down to cinders.

Finally, Jake sighed.

“That’s more than I’ve ever told anyone,” he said softly.

He hadn’t told her anything, not really, but she knew what he meant. He’d let her see beyond his wounds, to his pain.

“So,” he said, and she could see how hard he was searching for something to lighten the moment, “so, one confession deserves another.”

She smiled. “You think?”

“I know.” He smiled, too; the smile was almost real but it still had a way to go. “For instance … it’s late, we haven’t eaten all day. So, I’ll let you in on a Wilde secret.”

She sat back and widened her eyes.

“You turn into a werewolf at midnight.”

He laughed.

“I know how to cook.”

Addison clapped her hand to her chest.

“Be still, my heart.”

“Just tell me what you want for breakfast, or lunch, or whatever in heck this meal is, and I’ll go down to the kitchen and put it together.”

“Hmm. How about pancakes?”

“How about Jake Wilde’s famous scrambled eggs and onions? Or Jake Wilde’s dee-licious fried cheese sandwiches? See, the real confession is that I can cook, but only those two things.”

She laughed.

“Okay, your turn. You have to confess something to me.”

You’re wonderful, she thought, but she didn’t have the courage. Besides, she knew it had to be something that would make him laugh.

“My name isn’t Addison.”

Jake touched the tip of her nose with his finger.

“No?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Huh. What is it, then? And how come you changed it?”

“If I were to tell you what it is, you’d understand why I changed it.”

“What’s this ‘if’ stuff, McDowell? You’re supposed to be telling me something here, not just telling me your name isn’t Addison.”

“My lips are sealed.”

“They are, huh?” His smile turned masculine and sexy; he pushed her back on the bed and kissed her mouth. “Well,” he said softly, “I guess I’ll just have to find a way to unseal them.”

She let him do just that. Then she smiled and linked her hands behind his neck.

“Okay. You’ve worked your magic. Bend down so I can whisper my secret.”

Jake complied. He put his ear against her lips … and, suddenly, what she was about to tell him didn’t seem so funny anymore.

Nobody knew her real name. Why would she admit it to him?

“You don’t have to tell me,” he said.

“No?”

“No. Because I figured it out. Your real name is Rumpelstiltskin.”

That did it. She laughed. And said, “My name is Adoré.”

Jake didn’t laugh.

“Adoré,” he said softly. “Adoré,” he said again, as he gathered her to him. “It’s a beautiful name, sweetheart. Almost as beautiful as you.”

She blushed.

“You think?” she said with girlish delight, and he tumbled her back against the pillows.

“What I think,” he said gruffly, “is that food can wait.”

“What am I going to do with you, Jacob Wilde?”

Jake bent his head, tongued a tender pink nipple. Addison’s laugh became a gasp of pleasure.

“I’ll help you think of something,” he whispered.

And he did.