Storming His Heart (4 page)

Storm asked herself for the hundredth time why she couldn’t settle. She awkwardly left the bed, awash in pain, self-pity, and dangerously close to tears. As she hobbled into the bathroom, took care of her needs and left for the kitchen, she tried to convince herself that Hank might have been okay if she’d given him a chance.

“He’s got a good job. He’s a decent man, nice, handsome enough.”

And he does whatever I want him to do.

Why couldn’t she simply control herself on a date? She huffed as she limped to the coffee pot and prepared it.

In her professional life, having nothing whatsoever to do to with matters of the heart, Storm controlled her abilities. Yet when it came to dating, to trying to find someone with whom to share her heart, her yearnings got the best of her. Every time.

At first it had been exciting. Boys wanted to date her. Men would treat her exactly the way she wanted to be treated. Then she’d notice the lack of excitement in furthering those relationships. They held no zip, no challenge. The few men she hadn’t been able to control had been utter slimeballs.

Once the coffeepot beeped, she poured herself a cup. Hell, the only somewhat normal person who hadn’t fallen under her spell was that arrogant Westlake
prick
.

He’d made her blood boil, both with anger and with a sensual heat she found hard to believe. She tried to convince herself she’d made more of their association than there was. Hell, Storm couldn’t remember the last time she’d had sex. No wonder she’d responded so readily to him. Then too, being sexually dominated by a stronger man had always been a fantasy of hers. Was it any wonder he’d made her go off like a rocket?

“He’s Westlake. They’re not to be trusted,” she repeated aloud the words she’d heard since she’d started working for her uncle. Her brothers and fellow investigators had an aversion to Westlake types. Business was business, and the more Westlake took away from them, the harder they had to work to keep their jobs. What none of them realized was that her distrust was personal.

The doorbell rang, scaring the crap out of her. Hell, that was all she needed—one of her overprotective brothers to see her bruised after a date. She ran her fingers through her tangled hair in an attempt to look less rumpled.

“Hold on,” she shouted and limped to her bedroom.

Her sleepwear exposed her bruised leg, so she put on a blue silk robe that hit her mid-calf and made her way to the door. It was only nine o’clock—a little early for Luc if he had indeed gone out with Belinda.

She started to grow angry. Couldn’t she at least
try
to have a love life without one of her brothers checking up on her? What if she’d invited Hank to stay the night? She yanked the door open expecting one of her siblings.

The sight of her visitor stopped her tirade before it had begun.

“May I come in?”

A chocolate brown gaze swept over her thin robe and rose to stop at her mouth. When Storm made no move to allow him entrance, Rafe closed the distance between them. He lifted her out of the way and moved past her.

Before she knew it, he stood in her house, the door shut firmly behind him.

“What’s for breakfast?” Rafe asked, all the while skimming her features. She didn’t look any the worse for wear, so perhaps last night’s odd happenstance had just been a dream. But dreams didn’t leave him feeling sick and dizzy. He normally controlled his visions though, and last night had hit him squarely between the eyes.

“Wh—what…why…?” Storm continued to stare, obviously thrown by his untimely appearance. “What are
you
doing here?” She crossed her arms over her chest and glared.

“Storm Buchanan, I’m Rafe Savage. It’s a pleasure to
officially
meet you.” He turned on the charm and she blinked in bewilderment. Without asking, he reached for her limp hand and brought it to his lips.

Touching her made him hard as a rock. Thankfully, she continued to stare into his eyes, as if searching for answers there. He smiled, and her eyes widened. Her ripe lips parted on a breathy gasp.

He wondered if he’d gone overboard on the charm when she continued to say nothing. Then he noticed the rough abrasion on her palm. He turned her hand over, his heart racing.

“Where’d you get this?”

She pulled her hand away and moved to her sofa. Her movements were slow and clumsy, and he watched with suspicion as she carefully lowered herself to sit.

“I don’t know. Must have happened when I tripped the other day.” She settled into the cushions and gave him a wary look.

Not believing her in the slightest, Rafe followed her. He scooped her up into his arms, ignoring her protests, and moved as gently and quickly as he could.

“What the hell are you doing?” She didn’t try to leave his hold, conscious of her injury, no doubt.

“Where’s the bedroom?”

“The bedroom?” Her eyes flickered to the left. “Are you on drugs?”

He walked with her down the bright corridor to a bedroom that had to be hers. Done in soft blues, the room had feminine touches but wasn’t overly frilly. Her queen-size bed, to his disappointment, sported rumpled cotton, not silk sheets. He lowered her to the mattress and waited for her to try to escape.

She didn’t disappoint him.

He stopped her awkward attempt, pulled her to the edge of the bed and opened her robe.

Ignoring her stunned silence and his own heated reaction to her short nightshirt, he examined her first with his eyes, then his hands, conscious of her sudden stillness. Rafe felt the same curves he’d touched just Thursday night and shifted to relieve the building ache in his groin.

She flinched and he froze. A glance at the flesh under his hand told him the unfortunate truth. A large, purplish bruise covered her upper left thigh.

“We should get you to a hospital,” he murmured, still looking at the bruise. A surprising anger filled him. Storm had been hurt, and he was taking it personally, which made little sense. Conscious of what had to be extreme pain, he wanted to take it away, maybe kiss it better. His cock throbbed and he swore to himself, trying to get a handle on his suddenly whacked-out libido. This was no time to be lusting after the woman.

He wondered if she’d broken anything.

Storm wondered if she’d been hit on the head, or worse, maybe suffered from some strange delusion. She hadn’t moved a muscle while a near stranger—albeit a darkly handsome one—groped her. She wanted to attribute most of her response to shock, to deny the fact she actually liked the sensual pleasure of his touch.

She swallowed as his large, callused hands left trails of heat in their wake. She prayed he hadn’t noticed she wasn’t wearing any underwear. But if he inched her shirt up any more, he’d see an eyeful.

“What are you doing?” she asked, wishing she didn’t sound so breathless. He crouched beside the bed, on the floor between her thighs, and studied her bruised leg. “And who gave you my address?”

Rafe ignored her. He grasped her leg at the knee and slowly pushed her thighs apart. Her hip protested, but the pain wasn’t so bad if nothing directly touched her skin. He ran a hand over her leg to the bruise. The sensation gave her goose bumps until he reached the injury. When she sucked in a breath, he stopped and trailed his hand back to her knee.

His gaze met hers. “I don’t think it’s broken, but I’m no doctor. You should see someone.”

Storm took a calming breath, trying to sound relaxed and not horny as hell for a Westlake agent. “First of all, my leg is fine. It’s a little bruised. Okay, a lot bruised,” she amended at his raised brow. “But who the heck do you think you are, busting into my house, issuing orders, touching me…” Her world centered on the large hand still covering her leg. His fingers stroked her knee and she had trouble breathing.

God, he is making me so hot.

He forestalled her next comment with a finger across her lips. It was all she could do not to taste him.

“I’m glad you’re all right.” He looked away from her face and examined her nearly naked body with burning interest.

Storm knew she was pretty but didn’t consider her looks anything out of the ordinary. Thanks to good genes and a steady exercise regimen, she had a slender build and long, toned legs. The thought of them wrapped around his waist made her wet, and she prayed Rafe wasn’t a mind reader. Talk about embarrassing.

His eyes darkened and he traced her lips with his thumb. “I’d love to know what you’re thinking right now.”

Thank God. Not a mind reader. But— She gasped when he slid his other hand to her uninjured leg.

“Hmm. Does it hurt here?”

“N-no.”
Move, Storm. Tell this guy to take his grabby self and leave.

“How about here?” Rafe’s hand slid between her thighs. He teased closer and closer to her clit while subtly pushing her legs farther apart, careful not to hurt her. By now her lack of undergarments had to be apparent.

“I’m okay,” she rasped. Her nipples beaded under her shirt, needing to be touched.

Rafe glanced up at her face with a concentrated hunger. “Like I said, I’m no doctor. But I really think you need to be looked at.” He shoved her shirt up, exposing her from the waist down. She’d completely shaved for her date with Hank, on the off chance she got lucky. She couldn’t have imagined Rafe Savage’s indrawn breath would be her reward.

He eased his fingers along her folds, spreading her arousal over her responsive flesh.

“Does it ache?” he rumbled in a low voice.

Hell yes.
She closed her eyes, unable to answer.

Then his finger found the heat of her. He pushed inside, knuckle-deep.

“Oh my God.”

“Damn, that’s hot,” he breathed and pulled his finger out, only to push it back in again. “You have to be really hurting here, hmm, Storm?”

She needed to tell him to stop, to demand this man that she didn’t know leave the house and never look back. But everything inside her told her that
this
was the man she’d been waiting for. Never before had she lost control from a man’s touch or been so ready to have sex.

He rubbed her clit with more and more pressure, manipulating her body as if he owned it. The ease with which he mastered her responses bothered her on a distant level. But she couldn’t think past the need to come hard all over him.

“This is insane,” he said, his voice thick. She opened her eyes to see him gazing between her legs. “Fuck me,” he swore, then removed his hand and covered her clit with his mouth.

She cried out and clenched his thick hair, holding on as desire burst through her in a torrential wave.

Rafe sucked and nipped, licking her like a starving man. He shoved one finger inside her pussy, then added another, thrusting them in a rhythmic pace that had her battling her climax all too soon.

“That’s it, baby. Come all over me. Let me eat it up,” he growled and resumed his course.

He drew harder on her clit and pushed deeper into her, sliding against a sweet spot that sparked stars behind her lids. She arched closer to his mouth and pumped her hips, needing what only Rafe could give her.

“Yes, yes,” she gasped as she came hard.

He devoured her response, licking and stroking with a tongue that wouldn’t quit. When the sensations became too much for her to bear, he eased off and planted kisses along her thighs.

Storm opened her eyes, sated, confused and helplessly caught in the rich brown gaze staring back at her with what looked like possession. “I, that, I—” She had no words to express the bewildered joy infusing her tired mind and body.

Rafe wiped his mouth and sucked the fingers that had been inside her, a gesture that had her licking her lips, wanting to know how he tasted. He stood and she unconsciously sought the erection straining his jeans.

In a thick voice, he said, “I’m going to make us some coffee. We need to talk.” He turned and walked stiffly from the room. She heard the hall bathroom door shut, then silence.

Storm didn’t know what to think and lay back on the bed in a daze. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed before she heard Rafe exit the bathroom. The sounds of the kitchen cabinets opening and closing penetrated while she stared blindly at the doorway, her legs wide open, her sex wetter than wet.

Embarrassed she could barely remember her own name, she rose from the bed, grabbed a change of clothes and limped to her adjoined bathroom to clean up. She emerged fresh but no less embarrassed in loose-fitting sweatpants and a T-shirt.

Rafe stood in her kitchen sipping a cup of coffee. He said nothing, but his eyes darkened as he watched her near. When she reached him, he pushed a cup her way.

Baffled by what to say, and more, what to think, she went through the mundane process of fixing her coffee. She poured a cup and stepped toward the refrigerator when he shook his head.

“I’ll get it. Cream? Sugar?”

“Yeah. Sugar’s in the—”

“Top cabinet. Go sit down. I’ll join you.”

Both annoyed at his arrogance yet glad of it, she huffed and left the kitchen for her dining table in the open living area. At least now she felt the same aggravation she normally felt for anything or anyone connected with Westlake Enterprises. For a minute there, she’d confused incredible sex with affection.

He joined her at the table with a tray carrying their drinks, cream and sugar.

She frowned. “Where’d you find that?” She nodded at the tray, which had been missing for weeks.

“Next to the fridge. Drink up.” He downed his coffee like a thirsting man, and she had the distinct notion he wished it was something a lot stronger.

She fixed her coffee the way she liked it and took a sip, then ran a hand through her hair. It didn’t escape her notice that he followed the movement with intensity. She wondered if he imagined running his own hands through it.

Storm stopped that train of thought and cleared her throat. “What are you doing here?”
And why don’t I want you to leave?

Rafe downed more coffee and forced himself to stop looking at her mouth. When he’d jerked off in the bathroom, he hadn’t been able to think of anything sexier than Storm Buchanan on her knees, sucking him off. He had the respite his body demanded, but a glance at those lips took him right back to his fantasies. Not good. Ignoring the return of his hard-on, he focused on the matter at hand—his insane urge to make sure she was okay.