Born Wild (21 page)

“Don't make any excuses for me, Billy,” she interrupted, her expression suddenly stern, her blue eyes boring into him. “I won't be able to stand it if you start making excuses for me.”

Okay. So he wouldn't make any excuses for her. At least not aloud. But inside himself he felt a categorical change, a shift in paradigm, in perception and—

“You should've been my first,” she said abruptly.

What
the—

His brain turned to mush and slid out through his ears. His ringing ears. They must be ringing, right? Because he couldn't have heard her correctly. “Huh?” It was the most astute question he could formulate.

“I've always regretted missing that chance.” And what was that expression on her face? Confusion, doubt…
hope?
All of the above? For some reason, probably because his brain was puddled on the mattress and stars were spinning in front of his vision, he was having trouble processing.

“Huh?” And there he went again, being all witty and clever, but really. He couldn't think straight. Or crooked. Or any other way. He just couldn't think. Period. Because if he wasn't mistaken, Evelyn Rose Edens was propositioning him.

He must've been quiet for too long, because she rushed ahead. “I know how you feel about me. And I don't blame you. I wouldn't trust me either after what happened. So, I don't expect this to lead anywhere. But I'm okay with that. If…if you're okay with that, I mean. I…I just…” She stopped, rolled in her lips, and through the pinpoints of light dancing before his eyes, he could make out her imploring expression. “I just really want to see what it's like to be with you. Even if it's only this one time.”

And what did a man say to something like that?

Well, even with only a partially intact cerebral cortex, and despite the fact he was pretty sure it would undoubtedly blow up in his face, he knew what to say. Because what was that line from
Catcher
in
the
Rye
? Something like,
In
my
mind, I'm probably the biggest sex maniac you ever saw?

Well, when it came to Eve, no truer words had ever been written.
So, yeah
. He knew what to say. One thing, and one thing only. “Okay.”

***

Okay.
Just that one word.
Okay.
Then, full stop.

Eve wasn't precisely sure what she'd expected from Billy. Perhaps a rebuff, or maybe a flying leap on top of her. But certainly not…
okay
. Just…
okay
.

What did that even mean?
Okay
to the way he felt about her?
Okay
to the part where she said she realized he could never trust her again?
Okay
to the sex?
Okay
to the sex not meaning anything?

Which
part, dangit? Which part is
okay?

“Uh…Billy?”

“Huh?”

Was it just her, or had his vocabulary shrunk? And, for Pete's sake, she could really use a little help here. Was he purposefully
trying
to humiliate her by just sitting there, brown eyes intent and blinking?
Sheesh!
Her cheeks were so hot she wouldn't be surprised to see flames shooting out of her face. “Wh-what do you mean by…um…by
okay
?”

And his response?
Blink. Blink.

All right, that was it. She couldn't stand it a second longer. “Because I'm not really the sexpot, vixeny sort. I can't tell if that means,
okay
, you want the sex. Or
okay
, you know it'd be meaningless. Or
okay
, I'm right in that you won't be able to trust me again. When you say
okay
, do you—”

“Come here, Eve,” he said, gently reaching to take the half-eaten sandwich from her nerveless fingers. She watched, breath lodged in her throat, as he placed it on top of the remaining PB and J. And after he bent to set the plate on the floor, he straightened and patted the mattress beside him.

Gulp.

All right, and she'd officially lost her nerve…

“Billy, I—”

“Come here, Eve,” he commanded again. Yes,
commanded
. And silly, weak-willed woman that she was, that authoritative tone went all through her, zinging up her spine and fizzing through her heated blood. It was all about the
I'm the big, tough man, so you
will
obey
me.

She wasn't supposed to like that. She wasn't
supposed
to…

Heaven help her, in
this
situation, she did.

But she needed to know what he meant before she went and made an even bigger fool of herself than she already had. Swallowing, she bit her bottom lip and said, “So…so by
okay
, you meant—”

“Sweetheart.” When he used that endearment, she felt like flying. “Come. Here.”

The softly glowing lights overhead danced through his chocolaty hair and highlighted his steely, stubbled jaw, and the gleam of determination and…was that
hunger
she saw in the depths of his eyes?

For some inexplicable reason, she thought of that sage bit of advice:
don't poke the bear
. Well, if she wasn't mistaken, she'd just poked. And for the life of her, she wasn't sure she could handle the beast once he'd been provoked.

“I…I th-think—” she sputtered.

He leaned back on one elbow, snagging her wrist and tugging her to the edge of the bed. The teakwood slats of the sailboat's flooring were cool beneath her socked feet when her legs dangled over the side of the mattress. But Billy's half-naked body was generating so much heat she felt a sheen of perspiration slick her skin. At six feet, he wasn't
that
much taller than she was. But he had the kind of shoulders, the kind of zero body fat muscles, that bespoke of his last dozen years as a hardened soldier, which meant, to put it simply, he was
big
.

Big and manly and delicious. And he made her feel dainty and womanly by comparison. He made her feel—

“Are you sure?” he asked, playing with her fingers. And even that small touch, that should've-been-nothing touch had desire igniting low in her belly.

“Uh…” When he looked at her like that, his dark eyes sparkling and discerning, his high cheekbones slightly flushed, and the muscle in the side of his jaw ticking, it made it hard to think. “Wh-what was the question again?” she managed. And who the heck had shoved a wad of cotton down her throat?

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

This? Did he mean the sex? Is that what his
okay
was supposed to convey?

“Y-yes,” she said, although the word rose an octave at the end, making it sound more like a question than a statement.

“Okay,” he nodded, and she was really beginning to hate that word. From this moment forward she was going to ban it from her own vocabulary and…and what had she been thinking?

She didn't know. Because Billy leaned forward until she could feel his warm exhalation whisper across her lips, until she could smell the peanut butter and jelly on his breath. “Well, come on then,” he said. And she was left to close that last inch separating them.

He wanted to plow her like a wheat field.

It was crude. But it was true.

Thankfully, good sense and good manners prevailed, and he managed to refrain from grabbing her shoulders and throwing her back on the mattress, tugging the leg of her bikini bottoms aside and plunging into her. But,
Jesus
, it was crazy how the mere smell of her, all that expensive lotion and fresh shampoo could make his head spin. Could make him instantly start to swell. Could make him picture the hot, wet place between her legs. Could make him imagine his fingers there…his tongue…his dick so deep inside of her and—

Okay, and now he hadn't just
started
to swell. He was swollen. Fully engorged. Throbbing and pounding and feeling as though he might just split his skin wide open. Which brought him back around to the part where he had to mentally and physically hold himself back from grabbing her shoulders and tossing her back on the mattress, tugging her bikini bottoms aside and…

But that would come later. Much later. Because Eve wanted him. And forgetting the fact that he wanted her too, the reality was there was a part of him that needed to show her what she'd missed when she'd chosen to cave to her father's wishes, when she'd chosen Blake over him. There was a part of him that'd spent the last twelve years waiting for this very day.

Which meant he had to make it good.

And to make it good, he had to take it slow. He knew enough about women to know Eve was the kind to like it slow. Slow and hot and a little bit dirty, which, praise be, just happened to be his specialty.

And maybe,
maybe
after he showed her what she'd missed, maybe after he got it out of his own system, he could begin to move on. Begin to break free of the past. Of her. Of his seesawing thoughts and feelings in regard to her.

Of course, when she leaned in close, opening her mouth to him—sonofabitch, she had the most amazing mouth, the softest lips he'd ever kissed—he stopped thinking altogether. Tentatively, she slipped her tongue between his teeth. And the taste of her—the taste of peanut butter and jelly and…
Eve—
went straight to his head.

Or his groin.

His erection was now aching like a bad tooth, hammering against the dampness of his swim trunks. And his blood was running so hot he was surprised steam wasn't billowing up from his crotch.

“Mmm,” she purred in that way he'd grown to love that summer—in that way he'd missed every day since then. It was a husky little growl at the back of her throat. And when he sucked on her tongue, rolling his up and down, she moved toward him.

Just slightly.

But oh, she was sweet when she softly, carefully placed her hands on his shoulders, when she softly, carefully returned the favor and sucked on his tongue.

The carefulness was one-hundred-percent pure Eve, and, in a little while, it'd have to go. In a little bit he'd demand no-holds-barred abandon. But, for right now, he'd take her tentative exploration. He'd revel in her soft exhalations, and just imagine all the things he'd do to her, do to push past any reticence, to make that little purr turn into a full-on groan of pleasure…

Slipping one hand around the back of her neck, placing the other on her hip, he pulled her closer. Until they were hip-to-hip, thigh-to-thigh. Until he could feel her pressed so soft and graceful and…quintessentially
female
all along his side. He opened his mouth wider, pushed his tongue deeper, taking everything up one notch, and letting her know that,
yes
, she'd been right on the money about him still wanting her.

Want…

That didn't even begin to cover it. It was a
need
. A bone-deep, gut-wrenching, soul-shattering
need
. And it'd always been this way with her. Bigger. Heavier. Deeper.
Better
than with anyone else. And sweet Mother Mary, he hoped and prayed that after he'd satisfied that need, after he'd finally,
finally
quenched his thirst for her, he'd be able to move on. Because in all honesty, the sheer breadth of his desire frightened him. Frightened him now just like it'd frightened
her
all those years ago.

He wondered if it
still
frightened her…

So he was slow when he moved his hand from her hip, softly sliding it around to her silky thigh. Carefully caressing his way underneath the hem of her T-shirt to the edge of her bikini bottoms. He was gentle when he fingered the elastic band, running his thumb along the perimeter of the lycra.

And she shivered. Just ever so slightly.

But it wasn't a shiver of fear. It was a shiver of desire. And that's all he needed to know.

That timid eighteen-year-old was gone, replaced by this woman whose blood ran as quickly and as hotly as his own. She knew where he was leading her this time around, and she was eager to get there. And, just like that, it was go time…

***

It was just like she remembered. And then again, it was so much better.

She wasn't scared this time. She wasn't nervous or thinking too much. She wasn't worried she'd do the wrong thing. There
was
no wrong thing. Because what lay between them was primal and basic. But, above all else, it was
real
. Real in a way it'd never been real with anybody else.

“Eve,” he growled her name against her lips, nipping the bottom pad before releasing her mouth to leave a string of hot kisses across her jaw and back to her ear. He sucked the lobe into his searing mouth and her toes curled inside her socks.

“Billy,” she sighed, palming the back of his head, tunneling her fingers through his warm hair. Desire didn't wash through her when he pulled back to tug her shirt over her head, it'd already pooled hot and heavy between her thighs. And when his gleaming eyes landed on her, garbed in nothing but that itsy-bitsy-teeny-weeny bikini, she was amazed her entire body didn't spontaneously combust. Just
poof!
A fireball of lust and passion.

“Sweet Jesus, you haven't changed a bit. You're perfect,” he said, his low, guttural growl filled with masculine appreciation.

Perfect?

No. She was far from perfect. But she sure as heck wasn't going to point out the fact that, at thirty, she had cellulite at the top of her thighs that no amount of jogging managed to budge, or that her breasts weren't quite as perky as they'd once been. If he wanted to look at her and see that eighteen-year-old body, if he wanted to look at her and see perfection, far be it from her to disillusion him. Especially not when he hooked a hand behind her neck, dragging her forward for another mind-blowing kiss.

She didn't realize he'd untied the strings at her neck or the ones behind her back until she felt the cool cabin air brush across her nipples. Then…
oh, holy cow.

Because Billy gently laid her back on the mattress, leaving a trail of wet, hot kisses down her throat and over to her right nipple. He thumbed it once, and it sprung to instant attention, pouting and puckering and begging.

“These haven't changed either, have they?” he grumbled appreciatively, the sound rumbling through his big chest. “Such a pretty, delicate pink, and so very easily aroused. Are they just as sensitive?” he asked, his eyes managing to be simultaneously laser-sharp and bedroom-lazy.

She bit her lip. “Why don't you find out?” she breathed.

And, okay, where the heck had
that
come from? She wasn't the sexpot, vixeny sort, remember? But that was exactly the type of thing a sexpot vixen would say.

It obviously shocked Billy as much as it shocked her, because he choked on a laugh, then instantly sobered, that muscle ticking in his jaw again. The look in his eyes was so hungry, so carnal, she shivered. “Don't mind if I do,” he murmured then sucked her beaded nipple into his mouth, tonguing it slowly and languidly at first, then more quickly.

“Uhnnn,” she moaned, digging her nails into his shoulders. “God, that feels good.”

“Mmm,” he hummed, doing some sort of simultaneous suck/flick thing that made her feel as if there was a string tying her nipple to her clitoris. Her sex throbbed heavily with each pull of his lips, with each wickedly erotic flicker of his tongue.

Oh, she
ached
. And when he turned slightly, gently pressing himself against her hip, it was like she was plugged into an electrical outlet. Because his erection was rock hard, sizzling hot, and so beautifully alive. Pulsing forcefully against her thigh. Burning her even through the damp fabric of his swim trunks.

She wanted to touch him. Palm the whole hot, rigid, silky flesh-covered length of him. Her fingers literally twitched with the need. But with his mouth still working on her breast, and his free hand gently tweaking her opposite nipple, she was a thing of pure feeling. Pure pleasure. Pure lust. And it was hard to get her mind to work, much less her muscles.

Somehow she managed, though. And her fingers fumbled with the tie at his waistband.

In just a second, she'd have him in her hands. In just a second, she'd once more know the feel of him, all throbbing and searing and undeniably
male.
In just a second, she'd—

“Cheese and rice, Billy!” she grumped. “Did you tie these things in a triple knot, or what?”

He growled against her nipple, like a dog refusing to give up its most-treasured bone. “I'm serious,” she pushed at his shoulder. “Help me get your shorts off.”

Her nipple popped free of his mouth—oh, she immediately missed the sensation of his tongue—as he leaned up on one elbow, looking down at her with one brow winged up his forehead. “Since when did you get so pushy?” he asked, his plump lower lip quirking.

“Since I stopped trying to please everybody else and started trying to please myself,” she told him in a huff, ducking her chin to glare at the offending Houdini-worthy tie at his waistband.

“And taking off my trunks will please you?” he asked, his voice all low and sexy.

She remembered that voice. It was his Marvin-Gaye-Let's-Get-It-On voice. The difference now was that it wasn't just for show. Because they
were
going to get it on. She shivered in anticipation. Yes, they were going to get it on…if he would just take off his flippin' swim trunks…

“
Yes
,” she scowled up at him. “Unless you can think of another way for me to touch your…um…”
Come
on, Eve. You can do it. Be the sexpot vixen you've always dreamed of being.
“To touch your cock,” she finished triumphantly.

And, damn her fair complexion! Her hot blush ruined the effect.

Obviously it still worked for Billy though, because his gaze sharpened and the skin across his cheekbones tightened. Then he growled, “You first.”

Suddenly, he'd pushed up from the mattress. Standing at the end of the bed, he grabbed one of her ankles, pulling her leg up, and slowly, carefully removed her sock. He ducked his chin to kiss the arch of her foot—his beard stubble tickled and sent a zing of delight up her leg—then he positioned her ankle over his shoulder and reached for her opposite foot. The process repeated until both of her ankles were over his shoulders. Then he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of her bikini bottoms.

And the way he pulled them off her? So slowly, so incredibly, mind-bendingly slowly, as if he was savoring each new inch of skin that was revealed? It made goose bumps erupt all over her body despite the warmth of the air inside the cabin.

Then her bikini bottoms were gone, tossed over his shoulder without a second thought. She settled her heels on the mattress, squeezing her legs together, but he stopped her with his hands on her knees, gently forcing her to spread her thighs wide.

“Let me look at you, Eve,” he breathed, his eyes even darker than usual as his gaze settled on her naked sex. “I never got the chance to just
look
at you that summer.”

Yep. Because the thought of him standing there, eyeing her bare, wide-open genitals would've mortified eighteen-year-old Eve. Heck, even thirty-year-old Eve had to fight to keep a hot blush from searing her from head to toe.

But then he said reverently, his voice all rough like he'd swallowed a spiky sea anemone, “My God. You're beautiful. So soft and pink. So delicate,” and she forgot all about being embarrassed. It helped when he blew out a ragged breath, lifting one brow, adding, “and my regards to your bikini-waxer.”

The ever-so-tiny, and impeccably sculpted landing-strip of inky-black hair covering her pubis had always baffled Eve. But her stylist had assured her, “It drives the men wild,” and she hadn't had the heart to tell the woman, “Don't waste your time. You and I are the only ones who'll see it.”

Now she was happy she'd held her tongue, seeing as how Billy's was nearly hanging out. Obviously, her stylist knew what she was talking about, and the woman was going to get a big tip—
huge—
the next time Eve had an appointment.

“Your turn,” she insisted, her chest raising and falling rapidly, her hot blood racing through her body until her nerve-endings felt super-heated. “Take off your trunks.”

Billy held her gaze, his eyes keeping her a prisoner. But her peripheral vision told her he reached for the tie at his waist.

“Your wish is my command,” he said as his long, tan fingers slowly worked at the knot.

Then he pushed his trunks down his large, muscled thighs, and they hit the floorboards with a gentle
spllff
. She could no longer hold his gaze. Her eyes were drawn down the length of his body as if they were being pulled by anchors.

And talk about
gulp
.

She tilted her head, her stomach doing a series of quick backflips as a surge of blood gushed into her already engorged sex. “Are you…” she shook her head, licked her lips. “Have you
always
been th-that big?”