Breathing Room (24 page)

"Very nicely." She kicked off her sandals, determined not to let him take over. After she'd dropped her shawl on a straight-backed chair, she set down her purse, pulled out a condom, and marched over to place it on the bedside table. Naturally, that made him laugh.

"Not too optimistic, are you?" He took off his glasses and tossed them aside.

"I have more."

"Of course you do." He turned to lock the door. "And so, by the way, do I."

She reminded herself that tonight had nothing to do with love or permanency. It was about sex, the predictable outcome of being around Lorenzo Gage. And right now he was her personal plaything. Oh, he did look delicious.

She tried to make up her mind where to start. Should she undress him first? Unwrap him like a birthday present? Or did she want to kiss him?

He set the key on the dresser and frowned at her. "Are you making a list?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Because you have that list-making look on your face."

"Makes you nervous, doesn't it?" She slipped across the carpet, wound her arms around his shoulders, and drew his head down far enough so she could reach that great mouth.

Then she took a small nip at his bottom lip– "Hey!" –just to let him know he had a tiger to contend with.

She grinned, hugged him tighter, and gave him a big, sloppy open-mouth kiss to heal that little wound, all the time making certain it was her tongue that stayed in the driver's seat.

He didn't seem to mind.

She snaked one leg around his calves. He gripped her bottom and lifted her off the ground, which was perfect, because it made her taller than he was, and, oh, she did love a position of superiority. She put a little more of herself into the kiss and slipped one foot between his legs.

He definitely enjoyed that move, and he started walking her backward toward the bed, already trying to take over. "Strip first," she said into his mouth.

"Strip?"

"Uh-huh...and make it slow."

He set her on the edge of the bed and gazed down at her, all dangerous sex and raunchy intention. Those chiseled lips barely moved when he spoke. "You sure you're woman enough to deal with it?"

"Fairly certain, yes."

"I don't want you to get ahead of yourself."

"Give me your best shot."

She could tell he was enjoying himself, even though he didn't betray it by so much as a flicker of those dark, spiky eyelashes. She also knew there wouldn't be any muscle flexing or cheesy calendar-boy posing. He was the real thing.

Slowly...languidly...he unbuttoned his shirt. Taking his time, freeing each button with the barest twist of his fingers. The shirt fell open. Her whisper was husky. "Excellent. I do love having my own private movie star."

The shirt slithered to the floor. He dropped his hand to his belt buckle, but instead of opening it, he cocked an eyebrow at her. "Inspire me first."

She reached under her dress, pulled off her panties, and tossed them aside.

"Excellent," he said. "I do love having my own sexy guru."

By the time he'd cast his belt aside, lost his shoes and socks, and dragged his zipper down the first few inches, she was dry-mouthed. This was definitely a two-thumbs-up performance.

She waited for him to tug his zipper the rest of the way, but he shook his head. "A little more inspiration."

She reached behind herself and dragged her zipper down a lot farther than he'd opened his. Her dress slid off one shoulder. She unclipped her earrings.

"Pathetic." He discarded his slacks and stood before her in a pair of silky, midnight blue boxers, 190 pounds of rough trade, all for her. "Before you see any more, I'm going to require another dose of inspiration."

He was trying to take charge again, but what would be the fun of that for either of them?

She crooked her finger in a come-hither gesture she'd never used in her life, never thought to use, and yet she wasn't a bit surprised when he came hither.

She leaned back into the pillows and held out her arms, so ready for him she felt as if she were melting into the covers. He reached down and flicked up her skirt. Not all the way, just to the tops of her thighs, which was far enough to make her skin steam. The mattress dipped as he settled over her. He braced his weight on his forearms so their chests weren't touching and dropped his head.

It was so tempting to answer the invitation of his kiss. But the idea of exerting her own kind of power over this dark-haired beast was too exhilarating to give up, so she scooted out from under and gave him a good push. He obliged by rolling to his back. "This just keeps getting better and better," he said.

"We aim to please."

When she settled on top of him, he couldn't quite keep the devil from his eyes. "Happy?"

She grinned. "Pretty much."

A nicer, more sensitive man would simply have let her do this on her own terms, but he wasn't a nice man, and he nipped her shoulder, biting just hard enough so she felt it, then sucking on the spot. "You shouldn't play with fire unless you're ready to feel the burn."

"You're scaring me." She slid her leg over his hips. "And when I get scared, I get a little hyper." Drawing up her knees, she settled on top of both him and his silky midnight blue boxers.

He sucked in his breath.

She wiggled. "Do I need to slow down a little? I wouldn't want to frighten you."

"Uh...no. Stay right where you are." He pushed his hands under her skirt and curled them around her bottom.

She'd never imagined how exquisite it would be to have both her mind and body so aroused at the same time. But she wanted to laugh, too, and the contrast made her dizzy.

"Are you going to sit there all night," he said, "or are you going to...get moving?"

"I'm thinking."

"About what?"

"Whether I'm ready for you to excite me."

"You need moreexcitement? "

"Oh, yes..."

"That does it!" He pushed her off him and flipped her to her back. "Never expect a woman to do a man's job."

Her skirt flew to her waist. He shoved her thighs apart. "Sorry, sweetheart, but this has to be done." Before she could object, he plunged down on her and buried his mouth.

Rockets shot off inside her head. She let out a low, hoarse cry.

"Hang on," he muttered against her wet flesh. "It'll be over before you know it."

She tried to clamp her legs together, but his head was there, and her knees wouldn't have shut anyway, because it was all too exquisite.

His tongue delved, his lips stroked, and wild shards of sensation made her feel as if she were floating up off the bed. He could have teased her, but didn't – and she flew.

When she came back to herself, the midnight-blue boxers were gone. He rolled her on top, then pushed inside, not quite all the way. His expression grew tender, and he reached up to brush a lock of hair from her face. "It was necessary."

To her astonishment, her voice worked, although it croaked. "I told you I didn't want you to do that."

"Punish me."

Oh, she wanted to laugh, but he'd stretched her full, and she was languid and hot and ready for more.

"I'm only wearing one." He tilted his head toward the condom wrapper on the bed.

"You'll have to hope for the best."

"Go ahead and make fun of me, lover boy. You won't be laughing for long." She crossed her arms over her body and pulled off her dress, conscious of the feel of him embedded inside her, almost – but not quite – all the way.

He drew her fingers to his mouth and kissed them. Now she wore only a black lacy bra and her gold bangle withBREATHEengraved inside. Slowly, she began to move, reveling in her power, feeling every inch a woman who could satisfy a man like this.

His hands didn't stay still for long. They flicked open her bra and tossed it aside so he could claim her breasts. Then he gripped her bottom and stroked her where their bodies met. Finally he drew her down so he could have her mouth. His hips thrust beneath her, and she wanted it to be as wonderful for him as it was for her, so even as their mouths mated, she forced herself to hold back, move slower and slower, ignore her own body's fierce demand.

His skin gleamed with sweat. His muscles quivered. She moved slower... Slower still...

She was dying, and so was he, and he could have driven into her to finish off, but he didn't, and she knew that the effort was costing him. Costing her... But she went even slower.

Slower still. Barely moving.

Only the slightest friction... The smallest contraction...

Until even that...

...was too much.

Chapter 15

The bells of San Gimignano rang softly through the morning rain. The hotel room had grown chilly during the night, and Isabel huddled deeper into the covers, warm and safe, sheltered by the ancient watchtowers and ghosts of the faithful.

Last night had been a pilgrimage for her. She smiled into her pillow and rolled to her back. She'd been in control, out of control, mindless and mindful, and every bit of it had been wonderful.Ren had been an indefatigable lover – no surprise there. The surprise had been that she'd kept up with him.

Now she was alone in the room. With a yawn, she threw her feet over the side and made her way to the bathroom. She found his backpack lying unzipped on the floor beneath her black fringed shawl. Inside she located a toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste missing its top. He'd planned ahead, something she always appreciated.

After a quick bath she wrapped herself in one of the hotel's big towels and looked inside the backpack to see if he'd thought to bring a comb. No comb, but a red lace thong.

He poked his head in the door. "A small token of my affection. As soon as you put it on, I'll share breakfast with you."

"It's not evennine o'clock. You're up awfully early."

"Day's a-wastin'. Things to do." He smiled at her in a way that indicated exactly what those things might be.

"Leave me alone while I get dressed."

"And exactly why would you want to do that?"

Ren had never seen anything as cute as Dr. Fifi all rumpled and damp from her bath, curls everywhere, cheeks glowing, nose shiny with freckles. But there wasn't anything innocent about her curvy body or that bright red thong dangling from her competent little fingers.

Last night had been crazy. She was either ordering him around like a dominatrix or lying limp and pliable in his arms. It had been more fun than he'd ever had with a woman, and he couldn't wait for the fun to start all over again. "Come here."

"Oh no you don't. I'm hungry. What did you bring me?"

"Nothing. Drop that towel."

She twirled the thong on her finger. "I smell coffee."

"Your imagination."

"I don't think so. Pour. I'll be out in a minute."

He shut the door, smiled again, and retrieved the white paper sack containing the coffee and rolls he'd bought. The guy behind the counter had recognized him, which had forced Ren into signing autographs for the man's relatives, but he'd been feeling too good to mind.

The bathroom door swung open, and he nearly spilled his coffee. She stood framed in the doorway wearing only her black fringed shawl and the lacy red thong he'd bought on impulse yesterday.

"Is this what you had in mind?"

"Even better."

She smiled, flicked her shoulders, and let the shawl drop.

By the time they got to the coffee, it was stone cold.

*

"Ilove San Gimignano," she said as they drove home through the rain. "I could have stayed there forever."

He hid his smile and turned the windshield wipers up a notch. "You're going to give me money again, aren't you?"

"Dude, if anybody's handing out money for sexual favors, it should be you, because I was pretty darned good. Admit it."

She looked so happy with herself he didn't even think of disputing her. "You were world-class."

"I thought so, too."

He laughed and wanted to kiss her again, but she lectured when he took his hands off the wheel.

She let one sandal swing from her toes as she crossed her legs. "If you were to give me a number, what would it be?"

"A number?"

"A ranking."

"You want me torank you?" Just when he thought she'd lost the ability to surprise him, she hit him in the head with her personal clapper board.

"Yes."

"Don't you think that's a little demeaning?"

"Not if I'm the one asking."

He was no fool, and he recognized a snake pit when he saw it. "Why do you want this ranking?"

"Not because I'm being competitive – don't flatter yourself. I just want an idea of my current level of competence from the viewpoint of a recognized authority. How far I've come. And – in the interest of self-improvement – how far I have to go."

"That 'coming' part..."

"Answer the question."

"Okay." He relaxed back into the seat. "I have to be honest. You weren't number one. Are you all right with that?"

"Go on."

He took a hairpin turn. "Number one was a highly accomplished French courtesan."

"Ah, well, a Frenchwoman."

"Number two spent her formative years in a Middle Eastern harem, and you can hardly expect to compete with that, right?"

"I suppose not. Although I do think—"

"As for number three, that's iffy. Either a bisexual contortionist for the Cirque du Soleil or a pair of red-haired twins with an interesting fetish. Number four—"

"Just cut to the chase!"

"Fifty-eight."

"Go ahead. Have your fun."

"Oh, I am."

She gave him a cute smirk and wiggled deeper in her seat. "I wasn't serious anyway. I have way too much confidence in myself to care how you rank me. I just wanted to make you squirm."

"I don't seem to be the only one squirming. Maybe you're feeling a little more insecure than you're letting on."

"It's the thong." She tugged at it through her skirt. "Truly a garment for desperate women."

"I enjoyed it."

"I noticed. You understand, don't you, that you have to move back to the villa now?"

Just like that, she'd slammed him with the clapper board again. "What are you talking about?"