Читать книгу Unwrap Me - Susan Lyons - Страница 10

On Saturday, Nick rose late. Yesterday he’d driven to Whistler and skied all day, running into some friends and staying to have a beer and a burger before driving the couple hours home. Today he’d do some chores and look forward to a night with Jude.

A cup of coffee in hand, he plugged in the lights on his Christmas tree and then sat down to call her. “We still on for tonight?”

“Yes, please. Last night was terrible.”

“Was that the office Christmas party? Karen mentioned it.” Jude hadn’t invited him, which was great by him. Proof she meant what she said about not wanting strings.

“You’ve been talking to her?”

“You figured she wouldn’t call about the Secret Santa thing?” At her groan, he said, “Relax. All I said was I liked you and we were going to see each other again. How about you?”

“The same, but she had this gleam in her eye and didn’t want to leave it alone.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s my sister-in-law. So what was so bad about the party?”

“I’ll give you an example. They had those fancy crackers you pull apart, with toys and paper hats in them. Imagine a room full of grown-ups in evening dress wearing paper hats.”

“Sounds kind of fun.”

“Your idea of fun is different than mine.”

A leading line, if ever he’d heard one. “That’s not how I remember it,” he said suggestively.

She laughed. “Yes, that was fun. And nary a paper hat in sight, I’ll remind you.”

Her musical voice was turning him on. If he had his way, he’d head over to her place and they’d hit the sheets. But, hey, she was female, which meant he had to show a little finesse. Besides, it was the holiday season, with great stuff happening in town. “Want to bundle up and go out on one of the carol ships? Or we could take a drive. There’s a neighborhood where they do terrific lights and decorations.”

“No.” The word came over the phone flat and heavy as a lead weight.

“Uh…”

“I’m not into Christmas.”

“’Scuse me?” Then he snapped his fingers. “Sorry, I get it. You’re Jewish?”

“No. I just don’t like it.”

Had he heard right? “How can anyone not like Christmas?”

“It’s a long story. Nick, I want to see you, but let’s do something that’s as far removed from Christmas as possible.”

“Like what? Go to a movie?”

“We could.” She paused. “What I’d really love is a beach picnic.”

He imagined the local beaches. English Bay, Second Beach, Spanish Banks. Nice for a brisk walk on a blustery day, but a picnic? The woman was nuts. On the other hand, the carol ships would go past, and they could snuggle up with a blanket and a thermos of one of his holiday favorites, peppermint hot chocolate. “Okay, I guess we could—”

“A sunny beach,” she broke in, a touch of humor in her voice. “Not a cold, gray Vancouver beach with the carol ships going past and the trees all lit up.”

Okay, she could read his mind, but he didn’t do so well reading hers. A sunny beach?

“I know, it’s just wishful thinking.”

Her voice sounded so wistful he wished he could fly her to Mexico. Then he had an idea. “Or imagination. Dig out your bikini, make a pitcher of margaritas, and leave the rest to me.”

“An imaginary picnic?”

“Nah. A real picnic on an imaginary beach.”

“I love it.” Now her voice sparkled with excitement.

When he hung up, he dialed Karen. “What’s up with Jude being anti-Christmas?”

“That’s her story to tell.”

“So it’s for real? She really isn’t into it?”

“Not one bit. She didn’t even want to do the Secret Santa thing.” A wicked chuckle came over the phone line. “Though I gather she won’t be returning my gift.”

“Don’t think so.”

“Come on, Nick. You can give me more than that.”

“No can do.” He hung up.

Refilling his coffee in the kitchen, he glanced at the calendar. Nine days to the twenty-fifth. So many fun things happening in town, and he’d hooked up with the one woman who didn’t do Christmas.

On the other hand, she was hot in bed and interesting, too. How could a guy complain?

The radio was playing “The Twelve Days of Christmas,” and he sang along. Then he realized a funny coincidence. He’d met Jude twelve days before Christmas.

An idea struck him. That night, she’d received a Secret Santa gift: him. Grinning, he figured that made him the partridge in a pear tree. Yesterday would have been two-turtle-doves day—but he hadn’t seen her. Except in the hour after midnight—when he’d given her two orgasms and she’d cooed—well, groaned and cried out—her release.

His smile widened. Maybe she hated Christmas, but perhaps he could sneak it into her life without her catching on. It’d be his private joke.

So today was three-French-hens day. He’d use poetic license and get Cornish game hens for their picnic. Now, what about four calling birds for Sunday? He snapped his fingers. His dad was a bird-watcher and had CDs with bird calls. All Nick had to do was make sure he stayed at Jude’s past midnight tonight.

At seven that night, Nick was on her doorstep, bare calves goosebumped below his heavy coat. Juggling bundles, he freed a finger to ring her bell.

“Hi, Nick.” She let him in, eyes widening as she took in his bare legs and feet in thongs. “You braved the elements on your way to the beach.”

“Hey, there, beautiful. You’re worth it.” He thrust a flashy beach towel and wicker picnic basket into her arms and then dropped a kiss on her lips. Man, she smelled good. That peach-rose scent, but something tangy, too, like limes. “Hope you have a bikini on under those clothes.” She wore a sage-green T-shirt and white shorts, and her feet were bare.

Oh, yeah, he remembered those long, shapely legs wrapping around his waist. He remembered the rest of her, too, naked in the firelight, and his chilled body was heating up now.

She winked. “You’ll find out. Once we’re, uh, at the beach.”

He kicked off his thongs and followed her. In the living room, the fireplace was burning.

“Think of it as a beach fire,” she said, tossing him a grin.

“Good idea. After all, the sun’s setting.” He turned off the lamp. “It’ll chill off if we don’t have a fire.” He put his bags on the coffee table, then shrugged out of his coat. Between the fire and his arousal, he was burning up.

Jude took in his getup. “Let me guess: you’re into surfing.”

“Yeah. I like most sports.” He’d chosen his most colorful board shorts, bright green with a pattern of yellow hibiscus flowers. He’d picked them up on holiday in Hawaii, along with the tee that proudly proclaimed, I SURFED THE BANZAI PIPELINE—AND LIVED!

“I should’ve made piña coladas rather than margaritas,” she joked.

“Nah, ours is an eclectic beach. A little Hawaii, a little Mexico, a little California.” He pulled a Beach Boys CD out of his backpack and handed it to her. He’d borrowed it from his parents’ oldies collection.

“Fun.”

While she put it on, he spread the beach towel over the Oriental rug in front of the fire. Then he held his hand out to her, singing along with the sixties band, “Let’s go surfing now.”

“You’ll have to teach me how.”

He tugged her over to stand on the towel and rested his hands on her shoulders. “You’ll be a natural.”

“Oh, yeah?” She kinked an eyebrow.

“As I recall, you have a great sense of rhythm.” He slid his hands down her back and eased her body close to his. The room grew ten degrees warmer.

“Mmmm. I do remember a certain…pleasing…rhythm.” She drew the words out, voice low and sexy, and her stomach rested against his hard-on. “Tell me what I need to do.”

Strip off your clothes and spread your legs. He swallowed hard. Yeah, Jude sure as hell fired him up, but hadn’t he promised himself he’d show a little finesse? “Bend your knees, feel the rhythm, ride the waves.”

“I think I can do that.” Her hips gave a suggestive wriggle, increasing the pressure against him. “If you can create those waves, surfer boy, I’m happy to ride them.”

Waves. The only waves he wanted to ride were those of a mutual orgasm.

Damn, he’d figured on a picnic, a couple drinks, a slow seduction. Now all he wanted was to jump her bones. Now being the operative word.

When his lips touched hers, he knew she felt the same way. There was nothing hesitant or slow about her kiss; she opened right up and welcomed him in. Mmmm, she tasted of lime, a hint of salt. Who needed a margarita? He could get drunk on this woman. His tongue swept her mouth, and hers met and matched it.

She reached up, swiping her fingers through his thick hair and grabbing on to his head, holding him just where she wanted him as her tongue thrust into his mouth. As they kissed fiercely, he fumbled at the waist of her shorts, finding the button, unzipping the fly. He yanked them down and felt the silk of her skin, broken only by a small patch of fabric.

He broke the kiss so he could pull her shirt over her head and then stepped back to take her in. Her bikini was skimpy and printed in a green and brown jungle pattern that made him think all sorts of primitive Tarzan thoughts.

“You like?” She twirled to show him the rear view.

Nick’s eyes bugged out at the sight of her firm, sweet ass. “A thong?” he choked out. “Oh, god, you wear a thong bikini?”

Jude’s chuckle was throaty. “Only at our private beach. I bought it today. You wouldn’t believe the price of bathing suits in the middle of winter.”

Price? She was talking about price? He could barely focus. Ninety-nine percent of the blood in his body filled his cock, and that Tarzan guy inside him wanted to beat his chest. She’d bought a thong just for him.

There was only one thing to do.

Get naked.

He yanked the tee over his head and dragged his shorts down and stepped out of them. No underwear. Who the hell wore undies at the beach?

Her eyes widened and gleamed with heat. “Oh, so it’s a nude beach, is it? My new purchase was wasted.”

“God, no. It’s hot. You’re hot. Wear it later.” Normally he could string words together in a coherent sentence. Normally his fingers could undo a one-hook bra, but right now he wasn’t having much luck.

Jude reached up to help, and the scrap of fabric dropped away, revealing her full, perfect breasts. Light brown skin, rosy-brown nipples beaded up tight, crying out to be touched. He sank to his knees on the towel and licked one of those buds, then sucked it into his mouth.

Her body arched, thrusting into him. “Oh, yes, Nick.”

His hands cupped her butt cheeks as he teased and caressed one breast and then the other, trying to ignore the ache in his cock. Then he licked and nibbled his way down her body to the top of her bikini bottom while she writhed against his mouth.

A man on a mission, he tackled the last barrier between him and his goal. He hooked his thumbs in both sides of the skimpy bottom and pulled it down so she could step out of it.

Man, was she gorgeous. And hot. Very, very hot.

The curls that decorated her mound were dark, glossy, and formed a narrow strip. Two nights ago, she’d had a neat vee. Jeez, she’d gotten a bikini wax, too. For him.

He blew warm air against those silky curls but didn’t linger. The musky perfume of her arousal drew him to the moist, gleaming flesh between her thighs. He wanted to ram into her, soothe the ache in his cock.

But even more than that, he wanted to eat her up.

Her legs trembled, and she gripped his shoulders tightly. When his finger stroked her swollen lips, she moaned and widened her stance. A couple more strokes, and he slid inside, first one finger and then another, and felt her sheath grip him. Gently he pumped his fingers in and out, then put his lips to her and tasted her sweetness.

Her fingers bit into him, and she muttered something wordless and approving. Against his face, her body tensed, her muscles tightened. He circled her clit with his tongue and she writhed and pressed closer. Then he sucked the swollen bud gently into his mouth, tongue flicking the tip.

She cried out, and tremors rocked her belly, pulsed against his lips and fingers.

Feeling her climax almost drove him crazy. His own body was screaming for release. When she’d stopped shuddering, he eased her down on the towel. From his shorts pocket he pulled a condom. He was about to roll it on when her hand stopped him.

“Let me,” she purred, eyes glittering in the firelight as she sat up.

“Just make it quick.”

“Lie down.” One graceful hand planted itself in the middle of his chest and pushed him backward so he was lying on the beach towel.

God, he hoped she wasn’t going to torture him. Christ, he was twenty-nine—not a teenager who went off like a firecracker—but he hadn’t been so ready to blow in a long time.

She was staring at him, eyes narrowed in concentration. She must’ve read his mind again because she smiled knowingly. “Okay, surfer boy. Time to catch that wave and ride.”

Now she was rolling on the condom, and in the next moment she’d straddled him. Her warm thighs hugged his hips, her damp pussy brushed his balls. Then, thank god, she was lifting herself, a hand grasping his cock and steering it to the one place it was desperate to go.

The moment her body opened for him, he surged up, unable to stop himself. Buried to the hilt in her, he gave a groan of triumph. Of sheer pleasure. Hot, wet flesh surrounded him, and he held still, savoring the sensation.

Jude’s lovely bod looked great, arched back so her breasts thrust out, firelight flickering on her tawny skin. Long black hair cascaded in a sexy mess over her shoulders.

“Feel good?” she asked.

“Oh, man, yeah.” So good he had to move. He gripped her hips and, trying to take it nice and easy, began to thrust in a slow, steady rhythm.

“Easy waves to ride.”

Huh? Oh, right. Earlier they’d been doing the sexual-innuendo thing about surfing.

She picked up the motion, pelvis rocking against him. Breasts jiggling, begging for his touch.

When he cupped their soft, delicious weight, he groaned with pleasure.

Her head tossed, hair rippling.

She’d picked up the pace. Or had he? She looked so great, felt so good, and the smell of sex was hot in the air.

God, he was close. That sweet, irresistible tension was building in his cock, his balls, the base of his spine. Demanding release.

“The thing about waves,” Nick managed to gasp, “is that they build before you know it.”

“I can feel that.” Her voice was breathy, her cheeks and chest flushed. A drop of sweat trickled between her breasts. He caught it with his finger and brought it to his lips.

Now Jude was really riding him, rising and falling, grinding into him so her clit brushed against his shaft. Panting sounds came out of her mouth.

His balls were hard and tight; he couldn’t hold on any longer. He grabbed her hips, pulling her down while he thrust up with everything he had.

She cried, “God, Nick!” and he felt her shudder and shatter.

He let go and surged into a blinding orgasm that almost took him apart.

Dimly he was aware that she’d collapsed on top of him. His chest heaved as he struggled to breathe. His arms were limp as jelly, but somehow he managed to raise them and circle her back, hugging her to him. “Jesus.”