Читать книгу Sexy SEAL Box Set - Tawny Weber - Страница 11

5

EVERYWHERE BLAKE LOOKED was desert. Weapons fired around him, shots flaring like fireworks, bright and loud. Their quick in-and-out rescue had taken a left turn. Not a problem. SEALs were always prepared. He radioed in to report the ambush while Phil and Cade pulled the rocket launcher out of the pack.

“Knock knock.” Phil grinned.

Blake jackknifed into a sitting position. One fist rose in fury, the other slapped to his hip for his sidearm. But his hip was naked.

Just like the rest of him.

Shuddering, he swiped his forearm over the sweat trickling off his brow and took stock.

Naked. In bed. Sexy female body curled in the sheets next to him. Sunrise was peeking through uncurtained windows. Other than a long dresser and a stack of moving boxes, them and the bed, the room was empty.

Alexia’s condo. Where he’d been for two incredible, sex-filled, erotically intense days. He turned his head. She was splayed across the satin sheet where she’d collapsed after their last round. Facedown, vivid red curls curtaining her face and shoulders, so only a hint of her rose tattoo peeked out, she was totally zoned. Given that they’d slept maybe a sum total of six of the last fifty-two hours, he wasn’t surprised.

But he was grateful.

Wanting air, needing space, he carefully slid from the bed, grabbed his jeans and left the room. He skirted packing boxes, still lined and neatly labeled against the living-room wall. She hadn’t been kidding when she said she’d just moved from New York. Most of her stuff, except a few large pieces of furniture, was still packed.

He was pretty sure she’d been here a week or two. Wouldn’t most women have hit the boxes, hung the curtains, filled the space with doodads by now?

Not that they’d talked much, but he’d got the impression during one of their between-sex rest breaks that she wasn’t in any hurry to settle in. Why? Missing New York? Not a fan of the California sun? He knew she’d lived here before, but not when. What’d made her leave? Was the job going to be enough to keep her here this time?

And why did he care so much?

Caring, wanting to know she’d be here long-term, curiosity about her past, her present, her future. Those were all off-limits. Bad ideas for a man who played Russian roulette for a living.

He crossed the cool living-room floor, his feet silent on the Mexican tiles, around the dining table and into the nook of a kitchen. A coffeepot, a single pan and a pair of wineglasses were all that were visible. He skipped the glass and stuck his head under the faucet, letting the cold water wash away the remnants of nausea his dream had caused.

He hadn’t used sex to numb the memories, but if he’d been the type to do that kind of thing, it sure as hell hadn’t worked. He shook the water off his hair, grabbing a paper towel to dry his face, and stared out the small window at the smaller garden beyond. Bright tropical-looking flowers bloomed, innocent and welcoming.

He felt happy and alive and filled with the weirdest sort of contentment with Alexia. She made him laugh. Watching her the few times she’d slept had filled him with a scary sort of peace. Her body was a wonderland, one he wanted to explore and lose himself in over and over again.

He didn’t belong here.

He didn’t do relationships, for one. And even though she’d made sounds like she wasn’t looking for one either, she was the relationship kind of woman. Or maybe just the kind of woman who meant relationships to him.

He was due back on base the day after tomorrow. Most likely out of the country before the end of the week. And she didn’t do navy guys. At least, Blake winced, she didn’t when the guy was honest and up front before she’d done him.

Time to cut it short. Say goodbye, get back to real life. His gaze dropped from the view to his hands. Hands that just hours ago had been all over Alexia. Had touched, explored every inch of her delectable body. Hands that were as competent with a weapon as they were at bringing her to a screaming orgasm. Hands that were weapons.

He remembered the devastation on Phil’s mom’s face at the service. Blake’s only comfort had been that nobody would be that torn up if he ended up in a flag-covered box. His only relation was his mom, who probably wouldn’t sober up enough to attend. It was better that way.

Better not to get involved with someone. Not to ask them to risk caring, to risk being hurt.

Easier.

* * *

ALEXIA WOKE with a slow, moaning sort of sigh. Every muscle, every inch of her body was soaked in satisfaction. She could barely move, and wasn’t even sure she wanted to wake. Except in sleep, she’d miss out on the fun and games. And she really, really liked fun and games with Blake.

With a soft, purring sort of moan, she rolled onto her back, shoved her hair out of her face and scanned the bed. The wide, empty expanse of bed.

She frowned. Where was Blake? His belt was still draped over her dresser handle, and his shoes there by the door. She should go look for him, but she needed a break. Time to figure out why she felt so empty waking without him next to her.

That was stupid, she told herself. He was a one-night guy who’d simply extended the party a little. She wasn’t going to be a cliché and start wishing he’d ask for more. They’d both made it clear that wasn’t what they wanted. And she’d be damned if she’d be the one to renege on that. Of course, if he happened to have changed his mind, she wouldn’t say no, either.

Shoving her hand through her hair again, she tugged the curls a few times, hoping it’d shake loose some of the confusion. That her thoughts would line neatly up into nice, manageable rows the way they were supposed to.

Maybe if they talked?

But she’d noticed that Blake wasn’t much of a talking kind of guy. Maybe because his mouth had been so busy doing other things. Delightful things. Deliciously wonderfully sexual things.

Whew. Alexia waved her hand in front of her face. Shower time. Hopefully the cool water would chill down her thoughts, and her body, so she could focus.

Climbing from the bed with less grace than usual, she winced at the delicious soreness between her thighs. Clearly, her gym workouts didn’t address toning hot, wild sex muscles. The few feet to the bathroom sent new tingles of pleasure through her. Her body a vivid reminder of why she was on them, she took her birth-control pill. As she reached for the spigot in the shower, she caught sight of her reflection.

Her hair was a red halo, framing a face that almost glowed with residual ecstasy. Her lips were swollen, eyes heavy. Whisker rash spread over her entire torso and lower, below the mirror’s view, like a sunburn. Proof that there wasn’t an inch of her body that Blake hadn’t kissed. Worshipped. Pleasured in ways she’d only read about.

With a shuddering breath, she flipped on the spigot, not bothering with the hot water.

Thirty minutes, and not a few shivers, later, she made her way down the hallway with a frown. Why hadn’t Blake come in? Not that she thought she was so irresistible that he couldn’t keep his hands off her for the time it took to shower, but still...

She stepped into the still-unfamiliar living room. Tension she hadn’t even realized was knotted in her shoulders unraveled. There he was at the table, reading the paper with his bare feet propped on a chair. Bare feet didn’t scream time to run away, did they?

“Hey,” he greeted. He folded the newspaper and smiled. Friendly enough, but Alexia suddenly felt as if she was under the icy-cold shower again. “I figured on letting you sleep awhile. You must be pretty worn-out.”

“That’s sweet,” she decided, belting her robe tighter and moving into the center of the room. Did she give him a kiss? Just act casual? She wasn’t sure. “But you haven’t had much sleep, either. Aren’t you tired?”

“I’m used to going without.”

For his job? Because he didn’t like to sleep?

“Why?”

He got to his feet, offered a half shrug and a smile, then reached out to pull her into his arms.

“Good morning,” he murmured just before his lips covered hers.

Alexia forgot her question—hell, she forgot her name—as his mouth took hers in a slow, decadent morning dance of delight.

“You hungry?” he asked against her lips.

“Hungry?”

“Yeah. I’m starving. I figured I’d wait to make us both something. You ready to eat?”

“Um, sure.” She stood there, a little confused, as he pressed a quick kiss to the tip of her nose, then released her to head into the kitchen.

Food was good. It was a nice, nonsexual way to spend time together, she told herself, wandering after him into the kitchen.

Her toes barely touched the linoleum when he turned and waved her back.

“Have a seat, relax. Read the paper. I’ve got this.”

A guy who cooked and didn’t expect—or want—help? Well, well. Too surprised to protest, Alexia turned right back around and made her way to the couch. Once there, she still didn’t know what to say. He’d booted her out of her own kitchen. To cook for her. Should she be irritated or thrilled?

For a woman who prided herself on her communication skills, she was having some definite issues figuring out how to converse with Blake. Of course, the fact that she couldn’t figure out how she felt about any single thing probably didn’t help.

Might as well quit worrying and just enjoy the experience, she finally decided.

As delicious as two days of naked romping, rolling and rocking were, even rabbits had to take a break from time to time. Knees a little weak as she recalled their last naked, rolling romp, Alexia snuggled deeper into her silk robe and watched Blake scramble eggs.

What was sexier? A man in the kitchen whipping up something delicious and nutritious? Or the sight of him, jeans unsnapped and slung low on his slim, tanned hips. Oh, baby. Alexia sighed, propping her chin on her fist. The man’s body was a thing of beauty. Pure muscle, with not an ounce of fat anywhere. His shoulders were wide, his skin golden in the morning sunlight that streamed through her kitchen window.

“I didn’t even realize I had eggs in the refrigerator,” she said, her brain starting to awaken from its sexual stupor. She tore her gaze off his body to look at the counter between the condo’s living room and kitchen. Orange juice, toast, a bowl of grapes. “Did you go to the grocery store?”

“Just next door,” he said. “I borrowed some food from your neighbor.”

Then he turned, frying pan in hand, to face her. Alexia actually felt her brain sputter as it sank under the waves of sexual heat again.

“I’m sorry. I should have had something here to feed you. A guest having to forage for his own breakfast fixings? That’s a loss of major hostess points.” She felt guilty as she slid to her feet. His eyes narrowed, locked on her body, then heated. Suddenly aware that her robe was gaping open, Alexia adjusted it with trembling fingers. Her breath hitched. Her pulse raced.

She’d lost count of the number of orgasms they’d shared, the multitude of ways they’d pleasured each other’s bodies. She shouldn’t be reacting like this. So hot, so easy. Shouldn’t she know more about him before feeling so much more than desire? Shouldn’t they have spent a lot more time together, clothed, before she started wishing he’d be giving her Halloween orgasms and Christmas orgasms and oh, please, Valentine’s orgasms?

“I like cooking. Besides, you fed me dinner last night,” he said with a shrug, dismissing the guilty apology she’d almost forgot she’d issued before diving down the emotional rabbit hole of worry.

He divvied eggs onto two plates, added toast and pushed them across the counter. Alexia frowned at the unspoken command—the guy was good at that—but picked them up and placed them on the table anyway. She came around the counter to get silverware while he carried juice and fruit to the table and sat.

“I fed you leftover fettuccine and steamed vegetables out of a freezer bag,” she said with a laugh as she added forks to their plates. She pulled out a chair, but before she could sit, he grabbed her by the waist and swung her onto his lap.

Giggling, delighted, Alexia wrapped her hands behind his neck and tilted her head to the side. Her still-damp hair was chilly against her bare skin where the robe gaped yet again.

His eyes darkened to a midnight hue, narrowed with desire. She knew that look now. Knew the promise of it. Blake was demanding in bed. And in the shower. And on the balcony at two in the morning. Wherever their lovemaking took place, it was as if he grabbed inside her, took every bit of pleasure she could offer and then found a way to give her even more.

“I’ll bet eggs would taste good eaten off your belly, too,” he said, his voice low and husky against the sensitive curve where her shoulder met her throat. “Those noodles were pretty tasty that way.”

That’s what a woman got for not having a supply of chocolate and whipped cream on hand, Alexia thought ruefully. Cold noodles in gooey cheese and butter slurped off her skin.

She wrinkled her nose, ready to remind him what a failure that had been, tastewise, when he kissed her.

Deep, intense. Mind-blowing.

Alexia melted.

Slowly, her lips still clinging to his, he pulled back and arched one brow at his plate.

She wasn’t sure why she didn’t want to. She had no idea where the strength to resist came from, but suddenly it seemed like the most important thing in the world. She needed a little distance, she realized. Some space to get a grip on this...what? It wasn’t a relationship, was it? She didn’t even know his last name. Had no idea what he did for a living. It wasn’t as if the last two days had been silent. They’d shared plenty of words. It was just that most of them were in the form of directions, dirty talk or cries of ecstasy.

“I’d hate to ruin the taste of the eggs with the flavor of my body wash,” she said, giving a little laugh as if it was a joke instead of a blatant excuse.

Blake didn’t complain, though. Nor did he push the issue. He simply smiled, let her go and picked up his fork. He waited until she was seated before digging into the eggs on his plate.

The man was perfect. How was that possible?

It wasn’t.

She settled in her chair, the brush of their knees sending sexual tingles up her thighs to tease her still-quivering flesh.

“Where are you from?” she asked after a few bites. She was suddenly aware that while she knew just how much pressure he liked when she stroked him, and how sucking on his tongue made him crazy, that was about the extent of her knowledge. “Are you a California boy?”

“No. I grew up in South Carolina, but now I’m more of a nomad.”

She waited. But that was it. He didn’t expand, he didn’t explain. He just scooped up another forkful of eggs.

What the hell?

“A nomad, hmm? Does that mean you’re just visiting, or will you be around awhile?”

He finished the last of his eggs, then gave her plate a questioning look. Alexia obediently forked up some of her own while he munched on toast.

“I’m here for a while,” he said. “I like the weather in Southern California.”

“And we have great beaches,” she said with a smile, remembering where they first met. And, she quivered a little, where they first made love.

He didn’t smile back, though. His gaze darkened, then shifted. As if someone had slammed the book shut. The pain she’d sensed in the bar was there again, radiating from him like a silent sob of misery.

They’d spent two days sharing their bodies. Surely he’d share this with her, too.

She wanted to ask him what was hurting him so deeply, why he was hiding from it. Before she could find the words, he gave her a wicked look, then reached one finger into the jelly bowl and scooped out a dollop of glistening orange sweetness.

“Taste?” he asked, offering her his finger. “Your neighbor said it’s plum. Made from her own trees.”

Beneath the amusement in his eyes was a challenge. Purely sexual, totally tempting. She couldn’t resist. Alexia leaned forward, sucking the tip of his finger into her mouth. Yum. The sticky sweetness had a tart edge. As she swirled her tongue around, licking all the way to the knuckle, his gaze deepened. Intensified.

“More?” he asked, his voice husky.

Power, unlike anything she’d ever felt before, filled Alexia. This man had had her six ways from Sunday. He’d climaxed more times than she was years old. And he’d done it on barely any sleep. Yet just the swipe of her tongue, and he was all hot and bothered.

Totally turned on.

She stood, arched both brows, then unbelted her robe.

All it took was a shrug for it to drop to the floor.

“Gorgeous,” Blake moaned in delight. He leaned forward to pull her onto his lap, but Alexia shook her head. Nope, it was her turn to call the shots.

“Strip,” she ordered.

He grinned. Then, proving he was all for equality among the sexes when it came to loveplay, he stood, and in a few quick moves, had that incredible body bared for her pleasure.

Alexia dipped her fingers into the jelly jar, then smoothed them over his lower lip. With a delicate swipe of her tongue, she licked it clean.

“Yum,” she told him.

He grinned, waiting to see what she’d taste next.

She swirled the sweet jelly around his nipples. Then she sucked them clean. They tightened gratifyingly, first one then the other, beneath her lips. She smoothed her other hand down his slender hips, over the rock-hard angles of his sexy butt.

She dipped her fingers in the jelly again, dropped to her knees and kissed her way down his belly. His body was a feast. Every inch delicious. And she wanted to taste him all.

“Nope,” he said with a strained laugh, grabbing her sticky fingers just before they could spread the breakfast preserve over his erection. “That’d get in the way of what I have planned next.”

“But I wanted to taste,” she said with a naughty smile. Her hand still in his, she leaned down to blow a soft puff of air on the glistening tip of his dick.

It jumped.

She slid a glance up at Blake, noting the hazy, almost-stupefied-with-wanting look on his face. Still, though, he didn’t release her hand.

So she tasted without jelly.

First with just her tongue, sipping gently at the tip of his dick. Then she slid it down the hard length, and back up. His fingers, wrapped around her wrist, trembled. She sucked the velvety rounded tip. Just the tip. He groaned out loud.

Before she could take his entire delicious length into her mouth, he used her wrist to pull her to her feet. Her breath shocked right out of her, Alexia gasped. Still holding her hand, he lifted the jelly-smeared finger to his mouth and licked it clean. Then he grabbed her by the waist, flipped her around and pressed her body between his and the table.

“You’re the most delicious woman in the world,” he murmured against the back of her neck, his lips moving along her shoulder in soft, wet kisses. Both hands reached around, cupping her breasts. Fingers tweaked, pulled, swirled the tips until they ached with pleasure. Her butt brushed his erection again and again as her hips undulated, desperate for release. Wanting more, and since his hands were busy, she pressed her own down between her thighs, preparing, readying herself for the delight she knew he’d give.

“Mine,” he protested, one of his hands sliding down to cover hers, twining their fingers together so they worked the aching swollen nub in concert.

Alexia moaned, heat swirling, passion building tight in her belly. Before she could climb too high, too fast, Blake bent her low over the table.

Her face nestled in her arms, she let him position her, lifting her hips for his entry. Even with proof so many times over of how big, strong and fabulous he felt inside, she still gasped with shock when, his hands braced on her hips, he plunged deep.

Her fingers dug into the tabletop, the wood cool and unyielding under her. Her hips shifted. Back, forth and back again, meeting his thrusts.

One hand still guiding her hips, he slid the other between her thighs, flicking his finger over the quivering bud there.

She cried out with pleasure.

He thrust again. Flicked once more.

Two strokes, then three. Her body exploded. Stars danced a wild boogie behind her closed eyelids as she gasped, moaning his name over and over. The orgasm rocked her, her body pressing tighter to the table, to his hips, as if she could somehow wring even more pleasure from the climax.

Her moves were all the encouragement he needed. Blake’s fingers dug into her hips, holding her still for his body. With a guttural moan, he plunged again, then once more. Then he groaned, loud and long. His thighs, so hard and strong, quivered against the back of hers.

Spent, totally empty, her body lay across the table as she tried to catch her breath. To find her thoughts. To remember her name.

“I have to go,” Blake murmured, his lips brushing her shoulder, making her shudder as yet another tiny orgasm rocked her body.

“No,” she protested. She wanted to lift her head, to roll over and grab on to him. But she didn’t have the strength. There was nothing left, he’d drained her dry.

She heard him move away but still couldn’t open her eyes.

“Look, I’ve got a thing tonight,” he told her. His voice was distant, as if he was trying to put space between them. A hint of panic flamed in her stomach. Before it could grow, he continued, “But I should be done by eleven, midnight at the latest. I’ll come back.”

Alexia’s lashes fluttered. She forced her head to turn so she could see him. She wanted to protest. To tell him to ask instead of inform.

She might even have plans.

Her brow furrowed.

Wait.

She did have plans.

“I’m busy tonight,” she realized, not sure which she wanted more. To exert herself, proving that this was a two-way street and she’d be calling just as many shots as he would. Or to grab on to an excuse to ditch the admiral’s retirement party and have another bout of mind-blowing sex.

“How busy?”

She sighed. She’d promised Michael she’d be there. And she’d promised herself that if she moved back, she’d make her best effort to get along with her parents.

“Very busy.” Pulling a face at having to climb off the cloud of sexual nirvana, she rolled to her side. Blake’s eyes heated to blue flames. “I’ve got a family thing going on.”

She only hesitated a second before adding, “But I can be back by midnight.”

He zipped his jeans, tucking his T-shirt in and giving her a long, contemplative look. As if he knew exactly what she was offering. Not just sex. Trust. A chance to see where this went. And, she admitted to herself with a sigh, rolling off the table, a boatload of expectations.

She could see the hesitation in his blue eyes. Knew he was weighing all that, probably against how fast he could hit the door. He stepped forward, sliding between her legs again and resting his hands on her bare waist.

Eyes open, staring into hers, he leaned down to meet her lips. Whisper soft, it was a promise, an acceptance. For the first time, his kiss didn’t make her think, Let’s get naked. It made her think, Wow, there goes my heart.

“Midnight, then,” he said, kissing her one more time before striding to the door.

And just like that, she felt committed. She didn’t know anything about him other than his name, that he was incredible in bed and that she’d trust him with her life.

Trust. That was the biggie.

Other than Michael, had she ever trusted another man in her life? Growing up with an emotionally—and often physically—absent father who ruled everything on a need-to-know basis, and a mother who didn’t bother sharing important things like when or where they’d be moving next because she hadn’t wanted to hear the whining, Alexia tended to demand a lot of information from people. Maybe it made her a little bit of a control freak, but she liked to know everything she could, before she made decisions.

And here she was, with a man who hadn’t told her anything.

Alexia pressed her fingers to her lips, still sticky with plum jelly. The front door shut behind Blake.

“It’s a date,” she whispered to the empty room.