Hoodwinked (11 page)

His own thought irritated him. He let go of her hand. “You're right. Something could happen, and it's too soon.” He got to his feet, stretching lazily. “I'm sorry I couldn't make our bowling date,” he said suddenly. “So how about tomorrow night? We'll have Chinese food and bowl afterward.”

She felt her heart leap. “Tomorrow night?”

“Yes.”

Her face brightened. “I'd love to.”

“I'll pick you up at six.” He curved his hand over Bagwell's sleepy head and ruffled it affectionately. “He's getting used to me.”

“It does seem that way.” She smiled.

He glanced down at her. “Are you getting used to me, too?”

“I'm afraid so,” she said, her voice husky with feeling.

He moved toward her, his big hands catching her waist and pulling her gently against him in a nonthreatening way. “Don't brood about things at work,” he said, bending his head. “Everything's going to be all right. Kiss me.”

She did, loving the feel of his hard mouth moving against hers, because she'd been aching for this ever since he'd walked in the door. But if she hoped for violent ardor, she was disappointed. It was a brief kiss and very chaste. He drew back immediately, leaving her bereft. She wanted him to kiss her as hungrily as he had the last time he'd been in her apartment. She wanted him to touch her, to look at her. But he smiled gently and put her away from him. It took all her willpower not to beg him to kiss her again. But he released her with a warm smile and moved away. “I hope you like Chinese food,” he remarked as he moved to the door.

“I love it,” she said breathlessly. She did, but she'd have loved cultivated alfalfa in wine sauce if it meant eating in Jake's company.

“Good.” He studied her quietly. She looked frustrated, all right, as if she'd wanted far more than that teasing kiss. So had he, but it was the wrong time for what it might lead to. She wasn't ready for any kind of commitment. In fact, neither was he. And the thought of turning her helpless longing for him into a one-night stand was distasteful. He wanted her, but the thought of seducing her disturbed him, made him
ashamed of even considering something so underhanded with a woman like Maureen.

He didn't really understand the effect she had on him. She wasn't pretty. She was really rather shy under her bubbly exterior. She didn't know how to kiss and she'd probably faint if he tried to undress her. His heart began to beat heavily at that thought. She was virginal, and all her responses to him would be new ones; all her repressed hungers would find their satisfaction in him. It made him faintly dizzy just to consider the pleasure of initiating her. He opened the door, hoping that the cool night air would bring him to his senses. They were worlds apart. He couldn't afford to seduce her. She was the kind of woman who equated sex with a wedding ring, and he didn't want to get married. He didn't have room in his life for a woman full-time.

“Lock the door behind me,” he said, because he felt protective all the same.

“I will. Good night,” she said, her voice soft. But he went out without another word, solemn and quiet.

She felt solemn herself when he'd gone. She didn't know what to do. She had an insane urge to run. He was going to seduce her. She knew it, and she wasn't sure how she was going to live with herself. She wanted him desperately. Incredible—to be her age and so stupid about men.

She got into her pajama top and climbed into bed, but all she did was toss and turn, long after Bagwell had sung himself to sleep.

Finally, in desperation, she got up and went into the kitchen to make herself a cup of hot chocolate. But even after she'd swallowed it down, she was still
restless and nervous. She went to bed at last, exhausted, and fell asleep almost at once.

But her mind was working even in her sleep, dreaming about Jake. In her dreams, he was undressing her, very slowly, as he kissed her. She felt the impact of his eyes on her body, looking at places she'd never let any other man see, putting his mouth on her so hungrily that even now she could feel the warm moistness over her breast.

She groaned in her sleep.

The dreams were so vivid that she could feel his big hands on her body, gently probing. He touched her ardently as his tongue went into her mouth and she stiffened at the power of a surge of pleasure so sweeping that she cried out loudly. The sound shocked her awake and she sat up in bed, drenched with sweat and trembling from the fever the erotic dream had kindled in her.

She got up, shaking a little as she went into the kitchen and looked at the clock. It was only five, but she knew that she'd never get back to sleep again. She'd forgotten her glasses and she couldn't even see to make coffee without them, but when she started back toward the bedroom, a sharp knock on the door halted her in her tracks.

She paused at the door, hesitating. “Who is it?” she called in a high, nervous voice.

“Oh, for God's sake, who does it sound like?” came a deep snarl from the other side of the wooden door.

She fumbled the chain off, forgetting that she was wearing nothing except the long, sexy pajama top, and opened the door.

If she was underdressed, so was he. Despite her lack of glasses, she could see him very well because
he was barely a foot away when he stepped into the kitchen and shut the door behind him. She stood there staring helplessly, unable to speak or even move.

He was wearing light slacks, nothing else. He was barefoot, and there were acres of broad, bare chest in front of her. He was very dark, and powerfully built, with bronze skin and thick hair that ran from his collarbone down his broad chest to his narrow waist and into the belt of his slacks. His arms were muscular. He was built like a professional wrestler and she knew that she was gaping, but she didn't even care. He was delicious.

He noticed the blank stare and attributed it to the fact that she wasn't wearing her glasses. He knew how nearsighted she was. He sighed heavily. “Well?” he asked shortly.

“Well, what?” she mumbled, disoriented.

“I heard you cry out.”

She went beet red as she stared up into a broad, hard face with bloodshot eyes that were faintly hostile. “I, uh, was dreaming,” she faltered.

He noted the blush. “It must have been some dream.”

The blush got worse. “It was.” She dropped her eyes to his chest, but that only made matters worse. She wanted to get close to him and jerk open her pajama top and rub her skin against his. The unfamiliar thought shocked her.

“I thought you were having a nightmare,” he murmured, watching her. “But passion and fear sound very much alike, don't they?”

“I don't know much about passion…”

He moved closer so that he was right up against her, his big hands warm and caressing on her upper
arms. Her breath sighed out against his chest and she wanted so badly to lay her head against him and push close, so that her breasts would flatten against the hard muscle of his stomach.

“Tell me about the dream,” he said at her forehead. His lips smoothed over her temple and down to her closed eyelids, her nose, her cheeks. “Tell me why you cried out.”

“You…you were…touching me,” she choked, beyond lying as his hands moved down to her waist and pulled her gently against him.

His heart began to beat heavily. His fingers splayed, feeling the softness of her skin under the thin fabric. “Touching you where?” he whispered.

She pressed her face against his chest, savoring the thick wiriness of his chest hair, the scent of his body. “I can't!”

“You smell of roses, Maureen.” His hands hesitated, and then moved slowly lower, to find her hips and pull them very gently against his.

She gasped as she felt his aroused body and she tried to move back, but his hands were gently firm.

“This, for a man, signals his vulnerability to a woman,” he said at her forehead. “It's not so much a statement of masculine capability as it is a sign of helpless attraction. So why does it frighten you to feel me this way?”

“I've never…felt any other man this way,” she replied, stiffening a little.

“Not even in that hot little dream you just had?” he whispered huskily.

Her eyes closed tightly. “I've never had a dream like that before,” she confessed.

“I heard you through the bedroom wall,” he whispered. “You cried out.” His hands gently lifted her hips into an even more intimate embrace and he felt her body tremble. “I can bring those sounds out of you again, for real. I can make you feel the pleasure you felt in the dream, with my hands and my mouth.”

She shivered with the remembered pleasure of the dream. Her nails bit into his big, warm arms. “It's too soon,” she managed, even though her body was in torment to know his touch.

“Are you sure?”

She swallowed and gritted her teeth. Her legs were trembling against his, and he could surely feel it. “I'm sure,” she choked.

He let her put a fraction of an inch of space between them, and his hands slid up to her waist. He was breathing unsteadily, and she thought she could hear his heartbeat.

“No, you aren't,” he mused, smiling. “But I'll let you off the hook this time.” He looked down at her pajama top, where the outline of her breasts pushed against the fabric. “Even though I know how badly you want me to touch you.”

Her eyes met his shyly. “How…do you know?” she whispered through her faint embarrassment.

“By this,” he whispered back, and holding her eyes, he rubbed his thumb gently over a hard nipple, feeling her body jerk as she gasped in unexpected pleasure. “Feel it?” he asked gently. “Is this what I did to you in your dreams?”

“You…you took off my shirt…” she said on a shuddering breath. Her green eyes were enormous and misty, dazed with sensation as his thumb moved again.

“Like this?” he asked in a slow, normal tone, and his fingers slowly eased the big buttons out of their buttonholes until she was standing vulnerable in front of him, with the jacket on the floor and her soft, pink breasts only a little paler than the pink silk briefs she was wearing under the pajama top.

T
he impact of his eyes on her body was shattering. Her cheeks were blazing with heat at her own wantonness in letting him see her this way, and her hands trembled as they tried to push at his hair-roughened chest so that she could retrieve her top.

But he pulled her, so gently, against his big, warm body, and made her watch as her taut breasts vanished into the thick pelt of hair over his hard muscles.

“I can hold you like this all morning without losing my head,” he said quietly, watching her face, “so don't panic and start fighting for your honor. I know you don't want raw sex and I'm not offering it to you. Put your arms around me. I want to feel the softness of your breasts against me for a few minutes, and then I'll go.”

She colored at the sophisticated statement. He made her feel utterly green, which, of course, she was. She slid her arms shakily around him and pressed close, as she'd longed to do for so many lonely nights. She moaned softly at the exquisite sensation of skin on skin, of his arms holding her, of the faintly abrasive and sensual hair of his chest and flat stomach against her bare breasts. She shuddered as she laid her cheek against him.

“Another first?” he asked over her head, and she managed to nod. He moved her lazily against him, laughing softly with pure delight at the way she gasped, at the feel of her body.

“Jake!” she cried out, shaking.

His hands slid from her waist to just under her arms, his thumbs sliding softly against the swell of her breasts. “We'll stop in a minute,” he said reassuringly. “Don't faint…”

As he spoke, his hands moved, and they were suddenly on her, swallowing her as his head bent. “Lift up to me, baby,” he whispered, his mouth open. He felt her shaky, helpless movement, and then he had her under his mouth, in his mouth, enjoying her silky skin with feverish pleasure. He felt her shiver at the faint suction he created, and his big hands lifted her into the aroused contours of his body as he enjoyed her for minutes that stretched on erotically.

But his resolution not to let things get out of hand was becoming shakier by the minute. She was making noises that made him stiffen with need. Her hands were in his thick dark hair, pulling his mouth even closer against her breasts, and she was moving rhythmically, in time with the caresses of his mouth—until, finally, his need became too urgent to ignore. He'd promised her that he could do this and not lose his head. In fact he had, a dozen times in his youth. But this was different. This was like no other time for him, and he knew that it was going to be agony to stop at all.

He lifted his head to look at a face he didn't even recognize. Her head was thrown back, her long hair spilling almost to her waist in a glorious dark tangle,
her eyes slitted with pleasure, her face flushed, her mouth swollen and vulnerable.

His own eyes were black with desire, and his hands had a faint tremor as they held her waist firmly. “I need you,” he said huskily. “And you need me. Let me take you to bed.”

“I could get pregnant, Jake,” she whispered fearfully. Her need for him was no lie, but years of conditioning made her panic and she pushed at his hard chest. “Let me go! Please, I can't…!”

“Stand still, for God's sake!” he groaned, shuddering from her unknowing provocation. He held her firmly, stilling her movements, and stood shivering, with his head bowed, trying to breathe, trying to stop the raging urgency from bending him double with frustrated pain.

“I'm sorry,” she faltered inadequately.

He shuddered again. His head lifted and his eyes held hers relentlessly. “I can prevent a child,” he said roughly. “I've got something in my wallet.”

She wanted to. She wanted him. But there were barriers in her mind, put there by her strict upbringing, kept there by her own beliefs and values. He didn't want commitment, she knew that, and she couldn't go to bed with him without it. A one-night stand was the last thing in the world she wanted, even with Jake.