She laughs. “Jealous? Imagine that. Asshole Craig finally met his match. Can’t handle it when someone blows
you
off. I’m supposed to sit at home pining away for you while you get on with your life? Screw you.” She pokes me in the chest.
That’s it. I catch her wrist and pull her into my body. She hits me with a grunt. My arm wraps around her tiny waist like a steel band. I tip her chin up. “I can’t get enough of you, baby.”
I capture that filthy little mouth with mine—ramming my tongue between her wet lips.
Mine.
My blood boils. If I ever see her with another guy…She punches my shoulder. I ignore it and deepen my kiss, laying claim to her body. Then she moans. Her frame slackens in my grasp. I caress the soft curve of her hips and tug her closer. I grind my crotch against her. I’m rock hard. I can’t leave any doubt in that obstinate brain of hers. None. I’ll kill the next bastard that touches her.
She sucks in a breath. I pull back to give her some space to recover. Her eyes flutter open. “I hate you.”
“No you don’t.”
“I do.” She’s trying to convince herself, not me. She closes her eyes and sighs. Then licks her kiss-swollen lips.
“Tell me you want me.” I’m on her again—I cup her ass with both hands.
She stares up at me. “Never.”
I give her a firm shake. “Don’t lie, Marisela. You win. I’m jealous as hell. I can’t handle seeing you with another guy.”
Laughter mixed with something more arousing escapes her lips. She clings to my arms. “Make love to me,
now.
”
I roll over. Marisela is sleeping, snoring lightly. After she demanded I make love to her last night, I half carried her to the Radisson lobby and we checked into a room. What followed is indescribable. Her sex is still all over me.
I lean over and sweep her hair aside. I love the curve of her jawline. I trace it with the back of my hand. My heart aches.
Damn it.
Why now? Why not three or four years ago, before I fucked up my life? She doesn’t move. She had too much to drink last night. I kiss her cheek and slide out of bed. Checkout time is noon, but I’ll ask for an extension. Half the rooms are occupied by Macey’s friends. The hotel should be more than happy to extend a simple courtesy.
I walk to the bathroom, turn on the light, then shut the door. I take a quick shower, then head downstairs to grab coffee and a couple of bagels. The hotel serves continental breakfast until ten thirty. I barely make it in time.
Macey and Wesley are sitting in the breakfast room. “Craig?” Macey calls. There are three glasses of orange juice on the table in front of her.
“Good mornin’,” I say. “Feeling the aftereffects?” I laugh. She looks hungover.
“Have you seen Marisela?” she asks.
“Yeah.”
“I’ve been worried. She disappeared last night. And with her ex in town—”
“What’d the bastard say this time?”
She runs her fingers through her disheveled hair. “Nothing,
yet.
But I talked to him on the phone—more or less challenged him to come here and find me.”
“I told you
not
to do that,” Wesley growls in disapproval.
Not sure when women started to act like men in that regard, but it pisses me off. “You should listen to your boyfriend,” I concur. “Leave the asshole to me.”
“Frankly,” she says, giving me a
shut the fuck up look
, “I’m not sure you’re any safer than Estevan.”
I cast her a scathing look. “That’s stupid, Macey. I’d never hurt her.”
“That’s nothing compared to what that…” She doesn’t complete her sentence.
And now I know. What I suspected from the beginning. The heated conversation I overheard in Garrick and Robyn’s kitchen. The history of abuse. Marisela’s odd behavior. Her disconnectedness—spontaneous outbursts of rage. At some point Estevan forced himself on her. I hate thinking about it. “I’m not going anywhere, Macey. She spent the night with me.”
“What happened to Justin?” she blurts.
Wesley shakes his head. “Don’t know when to stop, do you?” He glances up at me. “I never liked Justin, anyway. I’ve got your back.”
I nod, appreciative of his support. “I’m going to grab some food and head upstairs. Take care.” I don’t give Macey a chance to say anything more. I walk away.
I’m wide-awake, surprisingly with no headache. Not sure where Craig is, but I smell his musky cologne—and imagine his hands all over me. I sit up and stretch like a cat. That man is an amazing lover. He knows how to gyrate like a stripper. And his tongue…I tingle all over. Then I curse myself for allowing one argument to make me fall into his bed again. It’s too late now. I think my heart had something to do with it, too. He’s made his position abundantly clear. We’re exclusive. And I’m not even sure how that happened.
My phone rings. I finally assigned Estevan a ring tone a couple of days ago. It’s a music clip from
The Hunger Games.
I roll over and grab it off the nightstand. “What!” He’s instantly belligerent. “Yes. I. Have. A. New. Boyfriend.” The door opens. I look up; Craig is holding a tray of food. “I don’t care if you know where I work, live, or play. I’m done listening to you. Done accepting your phone calls. Get a life, asshole.” I hang up.
“Glad to see you recovered,” he says, placing the tray on the big table across from the bed. “Estevan’s usual tirade?”
“He claims he knows where I work now.”
Craig’s lips curl into a sneer. “I welcome him with open arms,” he says, picking up a bagel and pouring a packet of honey over it. I climb out of bed. “The minute—”
His mouth snaps shut. Suddenly I realize I’m naked.
Craig’s heated gaze sweeps over me, his chest falling and rising rapidly. He drops the bagel. He comes at me.
“What?” I know very well what he’s thinking—wanting. He’s fluent in two languages: English and sex. There’s a savage look on his face. I look up, licking my lips. Wondering who’s going to make the first move. Alcohol emboldened me last night. The memory of taking him in my mouth for the first time is directly linked to my snatch—I’m wet. My body jerks. He presses me back against the bed, his expression so intense I’m twitching. I deserved his anger last night. Maybe even today. Seeing me with Justin…I know how I felt only
hearing
about Desire.
His hands are braced on either side of my face, his gaze focused on my eyes. “Let me reiterate what I told you last night.” He doesn’t try to mask the ferocity in his voice. He reaches down and unbuttons his fly. I’m wide-eyed and squirming. I want him. His shaft is beautifully shaped, thick and smooth. “Never test my patience like that again, darlin’.” He flips me over.
My face is buried in the sheets, my stomach flat on the mattress. His cock glides between my butt cheeks. He pushes my hair aside and nips the back of my neck. “I need you in my life, baby,” he says. Pleasure ripples through me. He bites me again. A tiny prick of pain makes me gasp. He laughs. His hands burrow roughly underneath me, kneading both breasts. Then he pierces me. I scream—and he’s only halfway in. Whenever he’s fully encased, I can hardly move. He groans, then thrusts again.
“Craig…please.” I hold my breath.
He nuzzles close to my ear, kissing his way up my neck. “So tight, baby. So fucking perfect.” He picks up momentum—plunging and withdrawing. My emotions are spiraling out of control. There’s no beginning or end with this man. Only now. I’m reaching levels of pleasure I’ve never dreamed possible. He jabs punishingly. “Tell me,” he whispers wickedly. “Do you still want
Justin
?”
I strain to look over my shoulder. That’s a strange question to ask in the middle of sex. Or is it? I catch a glimpse of his lasting rage.
“No.”
He pounds into me again. I feel the rush of his release—hot and pulsing. Seconds later, I reach my own.
My God,
what’s happening to me?
Marisela is still on her stomach. I’m curled next to her, running my fingers up the valley between her butt cheeks. “Did I tell you how much I liked what you said to your ex when I came into the room?”
“You did?” She faces me.
“I also like a girl who fucks on command,” I say nonchalantly. I can’t help myself; she’s so easily taken in sometimes. She smacks my arm. I hate to take away from the happy moment, but there are important things to discuss. “Before we leave this room, I think we need to reach an agreement about our relationship.”
“Is that what it is now?” She inclines her head.
I laugh, but then grow serious. “After last night I would think my intentions are clear.”
“Our sex is fantastic, Craig, but we haven’t even gone on a real date yet.”
She’s right. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m a selfish asshole sometimes. Every man is entitled to make one mistake, right?”
“As long as you recognize that I reserve the right to change my mind.” The bite of sarcasm in her voice worries me.
“Are you saying you want to give
us
a try?”
“Maybe.” She thinks about it, whether seriously or to taunt me, I can’t say. “I don’t ever want to feel the way I did the night of my guest dance again. I accept your past for what it is…as long as those women stay there. It’s not easy for me to trust anyone.” The muscles in her jaw twitch.
I know we’re broaching a subject she’s very uncomfortable with. But I can’t overlook her history any more than I can forget my own. “I’ll never hurt you, Marisela. And if Estevan ever shows his face, I promise to protect you.” She doesn’t need to know how much I know. She’s skittish. I stroke her face gently. I don’t want her to relive her nightmares—I want to help her forget them. Forget the bastard who stole her innocence. Even when she’s smiling, there’s a hollow look about her. “Will you trust me?”
She raises herself up on her elbows and stares at me, as if debating what to say. “I
want
to.”
Half her trust is better than none. “It’s a start,” I say. We can only move forward from here. And for the first time in my life, I’m determined to put a woman’s needs above my own.
I postpone my plans to move in with Macey because Craig invited me to San Antonio this weekend. It saves me from breaking the news to Robyn. She’s so high-strung, overly protective—irritatingly mother-like. She won’t like it, and I’m not looking forward to the conversation. But I’m excited to get out of town. We’ll visit the River Walk, the Alamo, maybe catch a concert. I don’t care what we do. I’m meeting Craig at his house. If I can convince him to ride on the back of my bike…
I pull into his driveway, hopeful. His Mustang looks freshly waxed. I roll my eyes. That car is his mistress. I know the feeling; I love my bike. Craig’s shiny set of wheels kills my idea for a long bike ride with him. I climb off, then remove my helmet. I look around. John is watering his lawn. He smiles and waves. I can only imagine what he’s thinking. I give him a quick hello and head for the open garage.
“Craig?” I step inside. “Anyone home?”
“Inside¸ baby,” he calls.
He’s in the kitchen, putting drinks in a small cooler. “Hey,” I say, walking toward him.
“Right on time.” He looks me over. “Did you park your bike in the garage?”
“Not yet.”
“Where’s your suitcase?”
“You mean duffel bag?”
He grins. “I’ll be done in a second. Need anything?” He dries his hands on a towel, drops it on the counter, and then opens his arms. “Come here.”
I’m eager to feel those strong hands on me again. We hug—sigh—nuzzle. We haven’t made love since the hotel. My idea. I wanted to spend some
quality
time together first. We’ve been on three dates. Dinner, a movie, and tennis in the park.
“How are you?” he asks.
“I’m good.” I really am. I haven’t heard from Estevan and I’m starting to get into the groove at the Den. “Where are we staying?”
He lets go. “The Hilton Palacio del Rio.” I’m thrilled. “Don’t worry,” he says, “I have everything planned. Let’s go.”
San Antonio is a two-and-a-half-hour drive from Corpus. We make it in two. Traffic is heavy on Loop 410, but we arrive at the hotel in under forty-five minutes. Everything is within walking distance. The hacienda-style hotel skirts the San Antonio River. It’s beautiful today, bright sunshine and a slight breeze, 80 degrees. We grab our bags and head to the lobby.
Craig deals with check-in. “Craig and Marisela Hanson,” he says, offering his ID and credit card. “I know we’re early, but if we can get settled…”
I’m stunned that he made reservations for us as a
married
couple. Further demonstration of his willingness to
try.
He gets the key cards and we take the elevator to the third floor. He opens the door. It’s a suite. We drop our bags on the floor. The living room has a big-screen TV, a chair and ottoman, and a leather sofa. French doors open into the bedroom. There’s an oversized king bed and a balcony with a river view. It’s stunning.
I step outside. I could get used to this. He slinks behind me and wraps his arms around me. I lean back, resting my head against his chest.
“Happy?” he asks.
“Completely.” I check my watch. It’s ten thirty in the morning on Friday. I’m sure there’s a ton of things to do before nightfall. I’m thinking shopping at the boutiques for stylish clothes. My wardrobe still needs some help.
“Brunch?” he asks.
We hit the River’s Edge Café and Patio. Like the hotel, the restaurant is hacienda-style, with beige and green stucco walls and Saltillo tile. I’m surprisingly famished. I drink three cups of coffee and eat a fruit salad and toast. Craig is watching me closely while he polishes off his eggs and bacon. “What?” I ask, dabbing my mouth with my napkin.
“Nothing.” He smiles seductively. “I enjoy watching you eat.”
I feel a tiny stir between my legs. Here we go again. With one look this guy snags me. I swear I’m losing it. I gaze into his caramel-colored eyes. He has the prettiest, longest eyelashes I’ve ever seen on a man. And perfect teeth. I squirm in my chair.
“Something I can help you with?” He knows.
Damn him.
He’s been with so many women nothing escapes him. Nothing.
I smirk.
“Maybe.”
The formal courtship is over—I want to make love.
Instead of following through, Craig throws two twenties on the table, stands, walks over to me, pecks my cheek, and says, “Let’s take a walk.”
I’m stunned. He’s turning down an opportunity to have sex with me? Really? The café is located in the hotel lobby. We could be upstairs in under two minutes. “Come on.” He grabs ahold of my arm and makes like he’s dragging me away.
“All right,” I agree reluctantly.
We leave the hotel, cross South Alamo Street, and walk to the Tower of the Americas. I haven’t been here since I was a kid. There’s an observation deck with panoramic views of the city, a theater, and a restaurant. Craig pays admission, then we ride the elevator 750 feet to the top. I smile as we get out. There are kids running around, some shoving quarters in the telescopes. I imagine Robyn and Garrick bustling about, trying to keep up with their future brood. Craig grabs my hand and we stroll around the deck, pausing to read historical plaques and admire accompanying photographs. I stare out the windows, loving the skyline.
“I’m glad we’re here,” I say.
Craig peeks around, then pulls me to a spot with fewer people. He draws me into a deep kiss, his tongue thrusting inside my mouth. I rise up on my toes, my tongue matching the urgent strokes of his. He cradles my face with his hands, then draws back. “Might need to cool down a bit—we’re in public.” His eyes narrow. I understand. My body is on fire, too. We finish the tour by spending two dollars’ worth of quarters in one of the telescopes. Craig tells me where to aim the lens and we take turns looking at notable landmarks.
Half an hour later, we’re at ground level again.
“Shopping?” I ask, hoping he’s the kind of guy who carries bags without complaint.
He shrugs. “Where do you want to go?”
I take a brochure out of my purse and point at the map. “The Rivercenter Mall.”
Three hours later we’re back in our hotel room. I have two bags from Macy’s and one big one from Victoria’s Secret, where I think Craig purchased me nearly every shade of matching bras and panties he could find. I stash the bags in the bedroom closet and join him on the couch. He hands me a chilled bottle of water he must have taken from the fully stocked minibar.
“Drink up,” he advises, “we need to stay hydrated.”
Hydrated for what? Bright sunlight floods through the terrace door in the bedroom and spills into the living room. I shiver, then suddenly register the temperature of the room. It’s not because the AC is set high. Craig is staring again—similarly to the way he watched me eat, but we’re in private now, so his gaze wanders freely down my body. I’m wearing skinny jeans and a form-fitting half T-shirt. My stomach is visible, my tattoo in full view. He’s obsessed with my ink and piercings. His fingertips lightly trace the thorn wreath around my belly button. I inhale sharply. Just the slightest touch from him steals my breath—my sanity. I’m so enraptured I can’t move.
“Lift your hands.”
Startled by the rumble of his voice, I do.
He takes my shirt off. “Lock your hands above your head.” His eyebrows rise. “Your skin is flawless, Marisela.” He growls as he leans in and nips my left nipple through the thin lace of my underwire bra.
Ripples of pleasure permeate my body. My hands instinctively come loose, but he quickly encircles my wrists with one hand and returns them above my head. I want to touch him, bad. He kneels between my legs. Then he angles his head and his tongue swirls around my belly button. It takes every ounce of control I have to stop myself from burying my fingers in his dark hair. My legs quake. Within seconds he’s unbuttoning my pants.
“Up,” he says.
I raise my bottom off the couch a few inches.
He slides them down to mid-thigh. I’m wearing lacey purple panties. I hear him breathing and I see his hands tremor as he removes my tennis shoes and socks, then pulls my jeans off. I stare at my freshly painted toenails—Blazing Red No. 662. I need a distraction.
Shit.
Craig clasps my thighs and pulls me on top of him. He reaches behind my back and unsnaps my bra. It falls off. He buries his face between my breasts. I throw my head back, savoring the sensations that rip through my body with every lick, stroke, and bite he gives. My nails dig into his shoulders as I clamp my ankles behind his back. Even though he’s dressed, I feel heat radiating off his body.
I’m hot and wet for him. I want to move to the bedroom, but he’s not done. I arch my neck, resting the back of my head against the edge of the couch. I think we share an affinity for leather furniture. He lifts both of my breasts to his mouth and kisses them so softly, so reverently, I gasp. My nipple piercings are susceptible to the slightest touch. He knows it. Craig grazes the tips of my barbells with his tongue. My slit tingles instantly. Is there a direct connection? A hypersensitive nerve that runs from my breasts to my crotch? He does it again. My hips jerk. I’m grinding against his stomach. I can’t stop.
His hands drop between my thighs. “Unhook your feet, baby.” I lift my head and stare at him. There’s infinite desire in his eyes as his hand invades my panties. I’m fascinated by the large size of his thumb. I watch as he inserts it inside me—warmth spirals up my body.
Oh. My. God.
His fingers tease my clit at the same time. I ride his hand unrestrainedly. He’s ruthless.
“I can’t, Craig. I’m—not—ready—to—come…” My verbal refusal does nothing to constrain my physical response.
He captures my mouth with his. His probing kiss only increases the urgency of my orgasm. I’m on the edge already. A faint pulse starts; body tremors follow. He rips his mouth away from mine as his hand runs up my spine. “I smell you,” he whispers in my ear. That’s all it takes to set me off—a few naughty words whispered in that velvety voice. It’s explosive—a week overdue. And my deprived body doesn’t hold back. I scream. He quiets me with another possessive kiss, biting my bottom lip, thrusting his tongue into my mouth.
He gently removes his hand. I collapse against the couch—completely spent. With a wicked grin he runs his fingers underneath his nose, then licks his thumb. He’s so dirty. So male. “Why’d you do that to me?” I groan.
Craig can’t help himself. He’s arrogant sometimes. “Because I can,
and
I wanted to.” He stands. I see the huge bulge in his pants. It’s his turn. “Turn around, baby.”
He likes taking me from behind. I think he’s in love with my ass. I’m reluctant, because I want to see the satisfaction on his face when he peaks. “Bedroom,” I say.
He shakes his head, already pulling down his jeans. “On your knees, darlin’—you owe me after punishing me for a week.”
Before I can move, he’s naked and beside me. His big hands clasp onto my hips and he flips me over. I’m on my knees, my ass hiked in the air, fisting soft couch leather. I feel so helpless in this position. Vulnerable. He positions himself. The tip of his cock presses the slick folds of my opening. I’m crazy wet with anticipation. I lick my lips. He pushes inside me a few inches. He moans deep in his throat and stops. He’s torturing me.
Inside, now.
Spank.
He smacks my left butt cheek. It stings a little. He taps the right cheek. Again—both sides. “Ouch.” Once more. I glance over my shoulder. He stares at me. “Now,” I say. I love our caveman communication during sex.
His nails dig into my hips again, anchoring me in place. Then he impales me. I love the feel of my insides stretching to accommodate him. I brace for impact by spreading my hands wider on the couch. He pounds into me. Over and over. Minutes later, unabashed pleasure drives us both to completion. After his body quits shaking, he pulls out with a huff. I twist around; I want to see him. He’s sweaty and breathless.
“What are you doing to me?” he asks, leaning against the sofa. He spreads his arms wide. I crawl onto his lap and he cradles me, my head resting comfortably against his chest. “There’s nothing ordinary about this relationship, Marisela.” I feel him shake his head. “Nothing,” he mutters.
I shut my eyes. I love to feel his steady heartbeat against my cheek, the warmth of his embrace. I snuggle deeper. I’m falling—quick. I’m not sure what to do about it. I can’t tell him. And I don’t know if he feels remotely the same. I hope he does—I pray he does. I can’t handle another failure.
I regard the tiny body in my arms. Marisela Gonzalez is the most delectable woman I’ve ever held. Soft in all the right places—except her heart. My feelings are growing exponentially. It feels right—natural for her to be here. Anywhere with me. I know it’s only been a couple of weeks, maybe three. Hell, I can’t remember. Her rhythmic breathing makes me want to fall asleep. I check my watch. I made reservations for us at one of the best restaurants on the River Walk—Biga on the Banks. Three hours until dinnertime. Maybe a quick nap? Is she already asleep? I tighten my hold on her and slowly stand up. She mutters something and I smile. We’re both exhausted. I walk to the bedroom, pull back the comforter and sheets, then lightly deposit her on the mattress. She hardly stirs when I pull the blankets up.
I kiss her cheek, then walk to the terrace door. I close the heavy drapes. The room goes dark except for what light creeps in around the edges of the curtains. I stride to the bathroom, close the door, then flip on the light. I grab a washcloth and turn on the hot water. I take a quick sponge bath, towel dry, then join Marisela. I could spend a year in bed with her. She’s an incredibly eager lover. A beautiful contradiction. Angel and devil woven together to form the perfect woman. I think I’m in love.