Читать книгу The Dare Collection 2018 - Taryn Leigh Taylor - Страница 11

“HOW’S ITALY?” MELINDA ASKED in her concerned voice, which was exactly like her usual bossy voice, only with a nominal attempt at softness. “More to the point, how are you?”

Maya deeply regretted answering her mobile.

It was another lazy afternoon on the Amalfi coast. She sat out on her terrace in the uncertain, moody weather, wrapped in a whisper-soft throw to ward off the bite of the sea air from below. There was espresso and a selection of freshly baked biscotti and anginetti before her. She had been engaged in a rousing debate with herself—should she slip into her infinity pool, always kept comfortably warm to encourage its use even in a changeable, chilly December? Or stay where she was, tucked up cozily with a deliciously fat paperback at the ready and nothing at all to do?

She really shouldn’t have answered the phone.

“I’m fine,” she said, trying to drag herself out of the sweet daydream she’d been riding for days now, where this was her life and there was nothing for her to do but gaze at the sea, smell the flowers, watch the rain and pay no mind as one hour rolled into the next. “Good, even.”

“You don’t need to put on an act for me, Maya.”

“I’m sitting on a balcony gazing out at the Amalfi coast, which is even more beautiful than it looks in pictures. There’s no acting involved.”

Melinda heaved a sigh, and all the ugly things Maya had been doing such a good job barring from her mind since she’d left Toronto squirmed back out and crouched there in the light, disturbing and uncomfortable.

She should hang up, she thought. Right now.

But she didn’t.

Maya had spent far too many years being responsible. Available. The sort of person who suffered through whatever conversation someone wanted to start with her, regardless of whether or not she wanted to have it. She’d always assumed that was part and parcel of being a responsible adult.

Today she couldn’t recall why she’d ever thought such a thing.

“I didn’t want to bother you with this, but I thought you should know.” Her sister’s voice took on a familiar, faintly officious tone, because Melinda always functioned best when she was in charge of something. And clearly she felt she was in charge of Maya. Or what life Maya had left behind in Toronto, anyway. “Ethan is resisting moving out of the condo. He says you and he found it together, it’s as much his as yours, and you’re a single person now anyway, so why do you need all that space? I’m quoting, obviously.”

Maya didn’t want to think about Ethan. Or the condo she’d called home for the past few years despite the fact she’d seen so little of it, because she was always at work. She didn’t particularly want to think about any of the things she’d left behind in Canada. It seemed too far away. Like a bad dream she couldn’t quite shake off when morning came, but nothing real.

She’d been in Italy for five whole days now and it felt like a lifetime. As if she’d never truly existed before but had sprung into life the moment her feet hit the endless stairs that made up this village of hers high on its cliff, cascading down to the sea. What concerned her was whether or not it rained. The steepness of her chosen staircase. How many stairs she needed to walk a day to counterbalance all the marvelous food she indulged in with the same appetite and greed she’d applied to Charlie the handyman.

Every time she thought about him—and she thought about him a lot—she shivered the same way she had when he’d been inside her.

But she didn’t think her prim, proper sister would appreciate that anecdote, even if she’d felt like sharing it. Maya sat up straighter on her comfortable chaise and frowned until she remembered herself.

She’d wanted to hold on to the condo because it would irritate Ethan. Because it was the only revenge she’d been able to come up with a week ago, however small and silly. But now she was in Italy and there had been Charlie and the idea of fighting with Ethan about a condo, of all things, made her feel...tired.

She was a woman of action, she reminded herself. Not asinine little games of spite.

“You can tell Ethan he has two choices,” she said briskly, sounding like the highly trained lawyer she was. Even if that persona—her persona—didn’t seem to fit her anymore. Or not here. “He can move out and find his own little love nest for him and Lorraine. Or he can stay in the condo, but if he does, he needs to find me a different one—and not in any building where I could conceivably run into him and Lorraine. Ever.”

“Why would you let him choose a place for you to live?” Melinda sounded baffled.

“I barely live in the condo we have now. I’m always at the office.” There was something about the way she said that, so flat and matter-of-fact, that made something in Maya shake a little. She tried to shrug it off. “Either way, when I come home, it needs to be to an Ethan-and-Lorraine-free space. Feel free to quote me in return.”

There was a faint silence, and Maya could hear the far-off sounds of her former life. She could imagine Toronto in December all too well. Dark, cold and snowy.

At the moment, she couldn’t think of a single reason to return.

“Are you really going to stay there the whole month?” Melinda made a faint clucking sound. “I know you’re stubborn, but this is pushing it.”

“There’s a reason people talk about Italy the way they do, Melinda. It’s magical.”

“I’m sure it is, but it’s a fantasy world.” Her voice turned kind, and that was much harder to take. “Back here in the real world, your broken heart is waiting for you. You’re going to have to deal with it. Why would you put that off?”

Maya rubbed her free hand over her face, trying to rub away the creases in her forehead, and did her best not to sound as irritated as she felt when she spoke again. “My heart is right here in my body, thank you. It goes where I go and it prefers a lovely seaside holiday to freezing cold, horribly dark and depressing Toronto.”

And her heart didn’t feel broken. Bruised, sure. But not broken.

But she was afraid to admit it. She was afraid to say it out loud. Because didn’t that say terrible things about her?

“Maya...”

“An Ethan-free, safe space,” Maya repeated, with more calm than she felt. “If you want to help, that’s what I want.”

She sounded smooth on the phone—the way she should, she’d practiced it so much in all her years as a lawyer—but when she poked the button to end the call, she couldn’t deny that she was agitated.

Maya tossed her mobile aside. She contemplated tossing it over the balcony’s railing so she could be done with it, but restrained herself. Barely. She stood up, suddenly restless and noisy inside instead of happily lost in that same sweet Italian daydream of the past few days.

She wanted to blame her sister for that, but it was her fault for answering the phone, wasn’t it?

Maya moved over to the railing, settled her elbows against the metal scrollwork and looked down. It was a long, long way from her balcony jutting out from the highest level of the hotel to the slumbering sea far below. The village was a jumble of brightly colored buildings, houses and shops and ancient structures dating back centuries, as if someone had tossed them there against the steep cliff walls to see what stuck. It had rained yesterday and in the night, and the wind whispered of the kinds of winters she’d left behind on the other side of the world and all the things she’d left there that she didn’t want to think about. Not here. She concentrated on the scent of flowers on that same wind instead. The bursts of sunshine. The salt in the air that reminded her of Charlie.

She had seen him only once since that insane first day. And only from a distance.

He had been doing something deliciously physical down by the hotel’s big communal pool while she’d been eating in the sunny breakfast room on the main level. He hadn’t looked up, and she’d enjoyed that a little too much—because she’d been able to determine that he was not, in fact, an Italian daydream she’d had after running up all those village stairs for the first time. He wasn’t something she’d made up out of oxygen deprivation and too much cardio.

He was all too real. Mouthwateringly real, with the tattoos and those old jeans and that body.

At the table next to her, a trio of older British women had tittered among themselves, and a glance had confirmed that they were all sharing the same view. Charlie in nothing but those jeans of his, hammering away at something with a sledgehammer. She couldn’t remember what.

No one had cared.

She hadn’t seen him since. Or really, it was more precise to say she’d gone out of her way not to look for him.

Instead, she’d glutted herself on the sun when it shined, the rain when it fell so much softer and warmer than in Canada, and the sea in all its hues from blue to gray and back again. She’d read books that she found in the library off the hotel lobby. A murder mystery that had kept her up late into the night, her heart pounding. A sweet, tender romance that had made her chest feel heavy and her eyes damp, though she’d refused to give in to all that emotion. And just this morning she’d finished a detective novel, all intellectual shenanigans and arch, clever conversations.

She’d drunk enough espresso to swim her way back to Toronto. She’d eaten—Oh God, had she eaten. Fresh fruit and produce by the armful. Pasta so fresh it redefined her idea of what pasta ought to be, bearing as it did so little resemblance to the stuff she boiled in her own pot back home. Fish, cured meats of every description, olives piled high... She was in food heaven.

She was glutted and besotted, and she didn’t let herself think about the mess back home at all. When her mind strayed in that direction, she forced it back to right here, right now. This stunning stretch of coastline in the off-season that felt more and more like hers every day.

And still, when Maya’s gaze dropped down to the man standing at the very edge of the hotel property, right there next to the shed where she’d betrayed herself in every possible way and still didn’t feel the slightest shred of guilt about it, everything in her...hummed.

She had convinced herself, as one day rolled into the next and she’d had only that one sighting of him, that she’d exaggerated that rough, masculine beauty of his. That she was making it over into some kind of fantasy daydream inside her own head when he was just a man. A pretty one, but nothing more astonishing than that.

To make herself feel better, maybe. Not that she felt bad—now. But it was always possible she might feel guilty or ashamed later. It was possible she was doing what she could to minimize it before she was tempted to care too much.

But when she gazed down at him, she understood that, if anything, she kept undermining how truly—astonishingly—beautiful the man really was.

He was so physical. She wasn’t used to it. All the men in her life, from her austere father to Ethan, were...attractive enough, she had always thought, but not like this. Not so raw. Not all that leashed power and strength, which was as much the kind of energy that burned in him as it was those muscles. Or those tattoos that peeked out from the sleeves of the white T-shirt he wore. None of Charlie’s tattoos were trendy. None of them were tribal or vaguely Hawaiian. His looked particular. Specific to him, not something a tourist could pick up on a vacation somewhere. More Sons of Anarchy than generic bro.

That made them hotter.

Or maybe that was just the marvel of his biceps. His forearms. Him.

He shifted where he stood down there by the shed, then looked up. And even though a great distance and towering height separated them, Maya felt his gaze slam into her as if he was still as close as he’d been in that shed. She made a startled little noise that she knew he couldn’t hear.

And still, she was entirely too aware of the way he grinned, crooked and knowing. As if he’d heard it all the same.

She felt...giddy. Silly, almost.

Charlie looked at her for a long while. Then he tilted his head. That was all.

But it might as well have been an engraved invitation.

Maya barely remembered what it was like to date, because she never really had. She had always been too busy, too driven, too focused, which was why meeting Ethan at work had seemed so perfect. And she knew this wasn’t dating. Still, she figured the same rules probably applied. Don’t act too eager. Don’t let him see you care. The person who acts the most disinterested has all the power—

But she didn’t care about any of that. Not now, when she’d already proved exactly how overeager she was and had gotten all those orgasms as a reward.

Maya smiled, big and bright to make sure he could see it from all the way down there. And if there was a part of her that knew she was doing a face dive into this crazy thing that was as far removed from her real life as it was possible to get—

Well. Charlie the handyman was a lot sexier than a pint or five of ice cream and her own tears.

He inclined his head again, then moved out of sight, and she knew he was coming for her.

She knew it.

She pushed back from the rail, surprised to find her whole body felt weak. Shaky.

Ready, something in her whispered.

Maya headed back into her suite, draping the throw over the nearest chair and smoothing her hands over the soft denim of the jeans she wore. She didn’t look in the mirror. She didn’t want to second-guess herself.

It felt like free-falling. Like throwing herself over the side of her own balcony and letting the Italian wind pick her up and carry her wherever it wanted.

Maya wasn’t this kind of person. She plotted and planned. She thought about her future and made sure every step she took in the present led straight where she wanted to go.

She had never done anything like this in her life.

Certainly not twice.

A kind of heat washed over her then, and she knew what it was. Shame, thick and ugly. Lorraine and I fell in love, she could hear Ethan saying. All you’re doing is whoring around.

You were always so judgmental, Lorraine added, there inside Maya’s head where she lived and breathed and commented no matter how Maya pretended otherwise. Now look at you.

And when the knock came on her door, faster than should have been possible, Maya jumped.

Then stared, as if she could make the man on the other side go away with the force of her will.

But you don’t want him to go away, something in her whispered.

Maya was the one who had gone away. She had withstood the humiliation of her wedding day. She had ignored the advice thrown at her from all sides and come here. She had ignored every single instinct she’d ever had about her own behavior and she’d had sex with a stranger in a shed, of all places.

She’d already gone off the rails. Completely.

What was the point of stopping now?

She didn’t let herself think about it any further. She didn’t want the shame in her to win—because it didn’t matter what she did here. She would never do what Ethan or Lorraine had done. She would never ever have broken her promises or compromised her loyalty like that. Never.

It didn’t matter that she didn’t know what she was doing. Hell, it was a good thing she didn’t. What had knowing what she was doing, every step along the way, gotten her so far?

She crossed the floor, let out a breath that felt too hot and too shaky and maybe a little bit ugly, too, then swung open the door to let him in.

Charlie had never missed a woman in his life.

Especially not one he’d already had.

He never found himself awake at weird hours, reliving the encounter. Wondering where she was, what she was doing. Wishing they could do it all over again.

Charlie didn’t know what the hell it was about Maya that got to him.

He’d seen her these past few days, wandering around the small, vertical village. Aimlessly, to his mind. He’d seen her in the piazza, charming the locals with that smile of hers that rivaled the summers here, a comparison he hated himself for making. He’d seen her race up one staircase, then the next, her attention focused on keeping her feet on the old, uneven steps.

She’d never seen him.

She’d also never looked for him.

When she smiled at him today, he felt like some kid. The kind of kid he’d never been, awkward and excitable.

He’d told himself there was no way in hell he was running to her like a dog on a leash—

But here he was, five stories up at her door, as surely as if he was wearing a shock collar.

Maya was as pretty as he remembered. Prettier, if he was honest. Her dark eyes were that soft, ridiculously sweet brown, lit up today with something he couldn’t quite read. But he could feel it all the same. Her hair was that tempting cloud of black curls he hadn’t touched near enough. She wore another long-sleeved T-shirt in an obviously expensive, sleek fabric that only suggested her curves. Her jeans cupped her ass in a way that made his mouth dry, and there was no reason that the fact her narrow, elegant feet were bare should make his chest ache.

She didn’t say anything. She stood in her open door, studying him, and he had the strangest sensation that all the odd things he was feeling were plastered across his face. When he had made a dirty career—and lived as long as he had—by keeping his face like stone.

He didn’t want to think about that. He didn’t want to let it settle into him, like acknowledging the possibility might make it true.

Instead, Charlie reached over and got his hands in her hair, then dragged her mouth to his, making a noise he might have called desperate if he’d heard it from someone else.

This wasn’t him. He didn’t do desperate.

And still, he was the one moving into the room, kicking the door shut behind him and hauling Maya up hard against his chest.

He was the one getting his mouth on her like he might die if he didn’t drown himself in her taste.

He didn’t do desperate. He didn’t feel those things. Hell, he didn’t feel anything.

But he felt her.

He was already on fire, and she threw gas on it.

She met the scrape of his mouth on hers, that dirty, slick tangle of tongue and teeth. Her hands were like lightning, smoothing down his sides and sneaking back up under the hem of his T-shirt.

And it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t anything close to enough.

He moved her backward, breaking that wildfire kiss only to haul his T-shirt over his head, then throw it aside. He did the same with hers, hissing in a breath at the lacy thing that held her breasts high, then growling a little when he got rid of that, too.

This time when he dragged her close, he hauled her up against his chest again so her legs went around his waist, and still he kept moving.

Her breasts rubbed against him with every step, those dark brown nipples like sweet torture, and she was so smooth, sugar and heat, and still not nearly enough.

He carried her into the other room, moving until they hit the bed, and then he toppled her down onto the mattress. Then came right down with her.

And once they were horizontal, it all got a whole hell of a lot better.

They rolled. Maya was on top, straddling him and sitting up so he could get his hands on her. He filled his hands with her breasts, then jackknifed up to get his mouth on one taut nipple. Then, when she was arching into him and making greedy little noises that made his cock ache, the other.

They rolled again and he was on top, one hand down the back of her jeans to cup that ass of hers. He ground himself against her pussy, making them both grunt each time his cock pressed hard against the crotch of her jeans.

It was more torture.

He rolled away from her when he wasn’t sure his control was going to hold. He kicked off his boots, grabbed a condom from his pocket and then got rid of his jeans, too, never happier in his life that he preferred to go commando.

Until the next second, when she smiled at him, then crawled over to where he’d rolled. That smile widened as she met his gaze, then reached out to wrap a hand around his cock. She tested him, then took him in both her fists.

That was good. So freaking good he almost lost it.

But he thought he might have found religion when she swayed even closer, then took the thick head of him into her mouth.

Charlie’s mind went blank.

There was nothing but sensation. Her hands gripping his cock. That sweet, hot mouth of hers. Her wicked, dirty tongue.

He pulled her away, somehow, and the sound of distress she made was almost too much for him.

“I don’t want to come yet,” he gritted out. “I have plans.”

“Plans are overrated.”

She sounded irritated, cranky and horny, and he liked the combination so much he was tempted to make it worse. Tie her up to the bed. Tease her until she cried, then make her scream. Something fun like that, but he didn’t think he had it in him. Not today. He would have to pick another day, when she could suck him off the way she clearly wanted to and he could take his sweet-ass time with that lush body of hers, making her come over and over, until he was ready to go again.

It occurred to him that he was doing another thing he’d never done before. He never plotted out sex in advance. He had it, then he had more, the end.

But everything with Maya was different. New.

Crazy, something in him growled.

Charlie told himself it was fury that had him reaching for her, stripping those jeans off her and the lacy panties she wore beneath them. He ran his hand along the silken length of her legs, feeling it shudder through him, all that softness and strength.

He wanted to eat her alive.

He moved toward the head of the bed, pulling her with him. Then he set her on top of him until she straddled him. First his chest and then, tipping her forward, he held her thighs open so she straddled his face.

“Hold on to the headboard,” he ordered her.

He hooked his hands around her muscular thighs, pulled her down over him to cover himself in all that sweet, melting heat and ate her like a ripe peach.

She was slippery, made of sugar and need, and the first time she shook apart, he could hear the headboard creak when she gripped it.

But he wasn’t done.

He wanted more, so he took it, his hands moving from her thighs to worship her ass. He ate at her until she was making those wordless little sounds again, the ones that had kept him up at night. He didn’t think he’d ever been this hard or this desperate to get inside a woman, but he kept going. Until eventually she was grinding her pussy into his face, rocking herself against him and sobbing her way into another orgasm.

Only then did he crawl out from under her. He flipped her over so she was on her hands and knees, facing the big window and the sea and sky beyond. He knelt behind her, choosing not to notice the way his hands shook as he gripped his own cock and dealt with the condom. Then—finally—guided it to her swollen, scalding-hot pussy.

She moaned. He felt it, everywhere.

He felt too damned much.

Charlie notched himself in her entrance, gripped her lush hips and pounded his way home.