Seduced and Betrayed (20 page)

Without taking his mouth from hers, he slid one hand between them and released the two gold buttons on the front of her chic St. Laurent suit, then put his hands on her shoulders, blindly forcing her arms down from around his neck as he pushed the jacket off. As soon as it slid over the ends of her fingers, she put her hands back on his chest and slid them up and over his broad shoulders, under his jacket, pushing it down his arms to the floor. Catching his hands in hers, she lifted them to her lace-covered breasts, unable to wait another minute for him to do it on his own.

He cupped her breasts in his palms, squeezing gently. She moaned and bit his bottom lip, not quite as gently. He kneaded her through the lace of her bra, drawing his fingers together around the tip of each turgid nipple, making her gasp with pleasure against his lips. And then doing it again. And again. And again.

It was too much... too much. And not nearly enough. The heat in her was furnace hot now, intemperate and needy. So very, very needy. Mindless with the heat, she reached down and placed her hand over the hard bulge beneath the fly of his elegant Armani slacks.

He groaned and thrust himself into her palm, reaching down to press her hand more firmly against him for a moment. She curled her fingers beneath his and squeezed. Zeke stiffened and pulled her hand away, fighting for the control that was rapidly slipping away.

He had meant to use all the finesse at his command. He had meant to seduce and captivate and delight her with prolonged kisses and soft, lingering caresses. But her bold, hungry touch had pushed him over the edge. He was on fire. His heart felt like a blast furnace in his chest, burning up his brain, sending his blood sizzling through his veins, racing headlong down a path that led directly to his groin. And there was only one way to put it out. He had to have her. Now.

"I hope to God you're ready for me," he murmured raggedly, reaching around her for the zipper on her skirt.

But he needn't have worried. Ariel—cool, calm, collected Ariel—was already yanking at the plain gold buckle on his snakeskin belt. Clothes fell around them like leaves in a high wind. Her skirt. His shirt. Her bra. His pants. Shoes were kicked off, socks and stockings and underwear peeled down and cast aside without a thought for modesty or decorum.

Naked, they came together, heat against heat, body against body, straining, eager, hot, sinking down onto the cream brocade sofa without regard for the costliness of the fabric beneath them. He kissed her neck and the soft curve of her shoulder. She kissed his chest and the hard curve of his biceps. And then he slipped his hand down, between her legs, unable to wait a moment longer, and found her. She was soft and wet, as swollen as if the foreplay had lasted long, maddening hours rather than just a few heated moments. She whimpered and shifted under him, tilting her pelvis up like an offering. He groaned and shifted on top of her, settling his hips between her thighs. There was a moment's fumbling intensity, a tentative probing, a gentle stretching, and then he was seated to the hilt.

She moaned.

And he moaned.

And then they both began to move. It was hard and fast. Primitive. Basic. Powerful. Frantic. Muscles straining. Nerves screaming. Every feeling raw and exposed. They rolled off the sofa and onto the thickly carpeted floor, still holding tight, still thrusting against each other, still wild with the need to get closer. And then closer still.

He couldn't thrust hard enough.

She couldn't take him deep enough.

And then they came suddenly, explosively, within seconds of each other, splintering apart like the crystal paperweight, shattering, thousands of shards of heat and emotion hurtling through them at breakneck speed.

Ariel's whole body bowed under the strength of her climax. Her back arched, high and taut, the muscles in her neck and chest and abdomen strung tight with voluptuous tension. She dug her heels into the carpet, thrusting her pelvis upward in a mindless effort to force him deeper. She gave a high keening cry and sunk her manicured nails into his taut buttocks to hold him close.

Zeke roared like a wounded beast as his orgasm claimed him. His upper body arched up and away from hers, the muscles of his arms and chest and shoulders bulging and straining with the exquisite pleasure of release. His hips pressed down, driving her deeper into the carpet. His fists clenched in the hot, silky strands of her hair. It seemed to go on... and on... and on, keeping both of them balanced on the very pinnacle of sublime, intemperate, torturous feeling, wringing every last drop of passion from them.

And then Zeke collapsed against her, muttering hot, breathless hosannas to satisfaction and passion, and wrapped his arms around her, crushing her slender body to his sweating, heaving chest. And she slid her arms around his back, holding him tight as hot tears of spent passion trickled from the corners of her eyes.

There was a moment's quiet as they held each other, the silence filled only with their soft panting breath and the rapid pounding of two hearts. And then Zeke raised his head from the curve of her neck and smiled down into her eyes.

"I've always said it's better when you're in love," he whispered.

Chapter 11

For a moment it was as if she had been catapulted back in time. Suddenly, it was twenty-five years ago and she was eighteen and desperately in love, hearing those hoarsely whispered words for the very first time. Everything was so much the same as it had been then. The heat and hardness of his lean, naked body above hers. The trembling, unfamiliar weakness of her own. The warm, panting sweetness of utter completion. The big, hard hands tenderly brushing back the tendrils of hair from her damp face. The soft, caressing, awestruck look in his eyes as he smiled, oh so tenderly, into her eyes.

For a moment—just a sweet, painful, exquisitely delicious moment—she let herself believe it completely. Let herself luxuriate in the fantasy that he truly meant his softly whispered words of love.

And maybe he did.

For the moment.

But the moment wouldn't last.

It hadn't then and it wouldn't now.

No matter how much she wanted to believe it would.

"It's never been this way with anyone else," Zeke whispered. His voice was fervent and sincere, tinged with the wonder of his feelings and the magic of the moment.

But he had sounded sincere the last time, too, Ariel reminded herself. And awestruck. And earnest. And look what had happened. Resolutely, she steeled her heart against the hot, sweet rush of emotion that flooded her. Against the desperate desire to believe he really meant what he said. Because to believe again—and have that belief shattered again—would destroy her. Again.

Zeke brushed his lips against her cheek, reverently, sweetly, kissing away the lingering traces of passion's tears. "In all these years, no one has ever made me feel the way you do," he whispered, his voice as soft and sweet and cherishing as his kisses. "Not once in twenty-five years."

"Oh, Zeke," she murmured raggedly, unable to endure another word. "Don't." She clenched her fists against his back, fighting the soul-deep longing to succumb to the almost irresistible lure of his pretty, meaningless words of love. Words she was sure he had uttered a hundred times before, to a hundred different women. "Please don't."

His body tensed, infinitesimally, above hers. "Don't?" he said softly, his lips still pressed against her cheek.

"Don't say what you think I want to hear. I don't want to hear it," she lied.
Not unless you really mean it.
"I don't need to hear it."

"Don't need to hear what?"

"The pretty words. The sweet lies. The—"

"Lies?" He lifted his head to look down at her. "You think I'm
lying
to you?"

"I know you don't think of it as lying. And maybe it isn't, exactly." It was, she supposed, just another part of his roguish charm, a way of making a woman feel special and wanted, his way of saying thank you for pleasures exchanged. "But it isn't the truth, either. It's just—" She closed her eyes, unable to bear another moment of looking into his, afraid the puzzled sincerity in his gaze would make her believe against her own better judgment. "It's just the mood. The heat of the moment. You don't really mean it," she whispered achingly. "It's just the sex talking."

He pushed himself up on his hands to stare down at her. "Just sex?" he said, incredulous and insulted. "You think this is just about sex?"

She opened her eyes and looked up at him. "Isn't it?" she challenged softly.

Zeke stared down at her for a long moment, his biceps bulging as he braced himself above her, his penis still sheathed in her body, his hot, dark gaze roving over her face, taking in the blatant distrust and doubt in her expression. She really didn't believe him! How could she not? How could she lie there beneath him, with their bodies still intimately joined, still damp and heated with the wild passion of their loving, their hearts still pounding with the emotional upheaval of what had happened between them, and think he was
lying
to her about his feelings?

"I love you, Ariel," he said fiercely, willing her to believe it, to accept it. "I've never said that to another woman. Ever."

But she only lay there, looking up at him with tear-bright, disbelieving eyes, and said nothing.

With a strangled oath, he pushed himself up and off her, grabbing her by the upper arms and dragging her to her knees as he reared back on his. He wanted to shake her until her teeth rattled. How could she not believe him? How could she not see the truth of how he felt about her? How could she—

But she had done it before. Twenty-five years ago she had heard his words of love and not believed them.
Refused
to believe them.

"Why?" he demanded, suddenly furious. And suddenly, deeply hurt. No woman had ever made him feel that way before, either, as if his guts were being ripped out while he watched. No woman except Ariel. He shook her once, hard. "Tell me why, dammit!"

But she clamped her lips together and lowered her lashes, refusing to speak.

Her refusal to talk only fueled his fury, reminding him of the day in her mother's office, when he'd been callously informed he was about to become a father and a bridegroom. She had refused to speak to him then, too, making him feel guilty and ashamed for something that should have been beautiful.

"Is it because it's only sex for you?" he demanded, wanting to hurt her as much as she had hurt him. Then and now. "Is that it? A little tumble with the ex-husband to see if he's still got what it takes to make America's sweetheart howl like a bitch in heat?"

She shook her head, still unable to speak through the lump in her throat. Her lips began to tremble, despite the way she had them clamped together. A tear leaked out from under her tightly closed lashes.

Zeke watched the tear trickle down her cheek and felt like an emotional terrorist. "Oh, God, Ariel, don't," he murmured, aghast at what he'd done. "Don't cry, sweetheart. I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. You know I didn't."

"I hate this," she murmured brokenly, reaching up with one hand to dash at the tears on her cheek. "God, I hate this."

Zeke went very still. "What do you hate?"

"Crying. Losing control. Falling apart." She opened her eyes, finally, when she had her tears under control, and looked at him. "Feeling so damned needy and desperate. I've been doing just fine for years. I've had Cameron and my work. A nice tidy social life. I've had everything under perfect control. And then you come back into my life and..." She made a helpless, fluttering gesture with her hands, and her eyes, as she stared at him, were full of accusation."...and, just like that, I fall in love with you all over again, and everything goes straight to hell."

"Ariel," he said, a wide, beatific smile blooming on his handsome face. He looked as if he'd just won an Oscar and the California lottery combined.

"No, don't." She put her hands against his chest, stopping him when he would have pulled her back into his arms. "Don't."

"But you love me. You just said so. And I love you."

"Love isn't enough. It wasn't then, and it isn't now."

"Maybe not then," he agreed, hearing only what he wanted to hear. "Back then we were just a couple of stupid kids who let our insecurities get in the way of what we had. But it will be different this time," he assured her jubilantly, feeling as if he could take on the world single-handedly and win, "because we're different."