Any Way You Want It (17 page)

He was helping her get over her past. Well, maybe a little. Assuming that he, emotionally broken himself, could ever heal her completely was conceited to the max.

But he could assure her that he found her amazingly beautiful and sexy and fascinating.

His hand moved on her cheek again, brushing the velvety swell of her cheek with his thumb. She leaned into the touch, seeming to take strength from him. He allowed her to, allowing some of his life force, or rather, his stolen life force, into her.

She shivered at the sensation, desire flaring in her sea-green eyes. He shuddered too. There was something strangely intimate about sharing himself with her this way. Almost as intimate as being deep inside her. Almost.

“You know how attractive I find you. Surely last night showed you that?”

She nodded, closing her eyes, nuzzling his hand. The sight fired up his desire even more. She had to know what she did to him. He felt as if his need for her snapped in the air around them.

Alive, perceptible.

Her hand came up to cup his, pressing his palm closer to her. She opened her eyes, their depths filled with her own longing.

“I do,” she said, although there was still an uncertainty in her voice. “I-I just feel different doing all this outside of a bed. And you know…vertical.”

He laughed, pulling her tight to him, kissing her hair. “You’ll like it. And believe me, before this week is over we’ll do it in a lot more places than just the bed.”

“Really?” Now she sounded more intrigued than worried.

He didn’t answer her, but instead kissed her.

Soon their clothes were coming off, although, much to his dismay, she had far more on than he did.

“I shouldn’t have even pretended that I was going to let you go.”

“No,” she agreed, “you shouldn’t have. Maybe we should both stop pretending things, like ignoring each other, like not wanting to be together.”

“Good point,” he murmured, nipping her ear. She shuddered, her fingers digging into his bare shoulders.

He continued to nibble her earlobe and the sensitive skin below, loving every shiver and shudder of her body against his. His fingers worked on her bra. He wanted that same reaction, but with no barriers between them.

The hooks unfastened, he moved back to peel the pink lace from her body. Then he just studied her. Steam now swirled around them, making the whole situation feel a tad surreal, like the best dream he’d ever had.

She didn’t cover herself. She didn’t even knot her fists. She just let him look. They were making headway.

He moved back to her, but this time, he didn’t just touch her. He picked her up. Like the last time, a squeal escaped her. Actually it was more a small squeak—they were making headway with this too.

“Why do you feel the need to pick me up?” she asked as he stopped by the shower, balancing her against his chest so he could test the water.

“I don’t know. I just like to.”

“It’s your seduction style, huh? Making the woman feel tiny and protected?” Her tone was teasing, but the humor didn’t quite reach her eyes.

For a moment, unease nearly made him set her down. Why should she care what his seduction style was, as long as it worked for her? Why think about what he did with other women? Her train of thoughts could reveal something dangerous.

But then he disregarded the idea. She just wanted to be special—that was human nature, which had nothing to do with love.

“No, it isn’t,” he answered, realizing it was true. He couldn’t recall carrying any other woman.

Well, he’d carried Nancy. But only when she’d been too sick to walk on her own.

Why did he feel the need to pick up Maggie? He did feel the need to be strong for her, protective of her. Weird.

“Well, you picked the wrong woman to start this with.”

He frowned at her, not understanding.

She glanced down at herself. “You should have gone for willowy to start this whole Rhett Butler thing.”

He frowned, further confused.

“Chubby,” she said, giving him a look that stated she thought he was slow.

But it was his turn to give her an incredulous look. Was she calling herself chubby?

He stepped into the shower, the warm water raining down on both of their heads. She started to make another startled noise, but he caught the sound in his own mouth.

After they devoured each other with the water pouring over them, he broke the kiss and set her down, letting her wet, silky body slide down his.

“Let’s get one thing straight, right now. You are gorgeous. You are sexy. You have curves that are exactly where they should be. And you drive me mad.”

Maggie couldn’t deny the resolute tone of his voice or the look of blatant desire in his eyes. Her gaze drifted down—to the lust evident in other parts of his body.

He did want her. She didn’t doubt it. And she had to learn to let herself revel in his desire for her, instead of looking for there to be a flaw.

She had a week. She wasn’t blowing this with her own self-doubt.

She reached up and touched his chest, testing the texture of his chest hair, wet on hard muscle.

He hissed as she leaned in to lick his nipple, catching the steamy water on the tip of her tongue.

“And you say I run hot and cold,” he muttered roughly. “Vertical seems to be agreeing with you.”

She smiled against his skin, then licked him again.

He only allowed that for a few moments, then he caught her tight to him, his lips finding hers, his hands stroking the wet skin of her back and bottom.

Then he was walking her backwards, her back connecting with the cool tiles. The combination of cool and hot, the rub of his damp skin against her aroused body was heaven. Absolute bliss.

Her head fell back against the wall as his lips left hers, moving down her body. He suckled her breast, tugging at the sensitive point with his lips, grazing her with his teeth.

Her hands tangled in his wet hair, the long strands sticking to her fingers, creating a web around her, mimicking the desire surrounding her, pulling her tighter into its grasp.

She watched, her body boneless against the wall, as he slid down her body, pressing nibbling kisses over her stomach, her thighs.

Then his amazing tongue was parting her, finding the sensitive nubbin of her sex. His tongue flicked and swirled as hot water ran over her aroused skin.

She gripped his hair tighter, feeling like that was the only thing keeping her anchored to her body.

Ecstasy snapped in her veins, alive, vivid, pulling at her until she wasn’t aware where his tongue ended and she began.

“Ren,” she moaned, her fingers clutching him.

He groaned in response, and continued laving her aroused flesh, licking her in long, slow sweeps only to speed up, his tongue flicking over her in rapid, darting swirls.

Just as her orgasm rushed through every fiber of her body, tensing her muscles, making her cry out, he rose, lifting her. In one powerful movement, he pinioned her to the wall and thrust himself into her, filling her totally, intensifying the release to the point that she screamed.

He didn’t give her overwhelmed body time to adjust. He began to move, hands anchored to her bottom, holding her as he filled her again and again. The spread of her legs, the angle of his hips made each stroke full and complete, his pelvis grinding wonderfully against her.

His body dominated hers. Filled her totally. She stretched and strained against him as another violent orgasm shook her.

She cried out, arching into him, impaling herself over and over. Her body convulsed around him, squeezing him, taking all he had to give.

Vaguely, she was aware of Ren’s own orgasm, his taut strain of muscles as he released deep inside her. His own ragged breaths were clear over the rush of water all around them.

Then they were both limp against the wall, her body still trapped between the wall and his tall, hard body. She realized she still clutched his hair, the locks twined through her fingers. She released them, stroking out the knotted tangles.

He moaned against her neck, then kissed her. “I love it when you touch my hair.”

“I love your hair,” she admitted. Then they stared at each other for a moment, as if they both realized they’d used the word love. The off-limits emotion. But surely not when applied to body parts.

He eased her down, holding her as she found her bearings, her muscles like jelly. When she was stable, he turned and reached for the soap.

He began to suds up his chest, and Maggie couldn’t help feeling like he was pulling back. She didn’t want that. She would leave when the week was over, and she knew he’d let her go. But for now, he was hers. Totally.

She picked up the white bottle of shampoo in the corner of the shower stall. She opened it, immediately recognizing the scent. Squirting a dollop into her palm, she stepped behind Ren. She set aside the bottle, then she massaged the shampoo into his hair.

At the first touch, he froze, then as she worked the lather into his scalp, then down the long strands, he let his head fall back. He groaned as she continued to wash him.

“That feels so good,” he murmured, his voice low and husky with pleasure.

She smiled and kissed his shoulder. As she moved his hair aside, she noticed for the first time a tattoo centered between his shoulder blades. In vivid black and red ink, the image depicted a dealt hand of cards, fanned over his spine.

She pressed a finger to the lines, tracing the cards.

“What does this mean?”

Ren glanced over her shoulder at her. “It’s aces and eights. The deadman’s hand.”

Maggie frowned. Is that what he’d felt he’d been dealt in life? The idea bothered her, even as she continued to trace the tattoo.

Then he reached behind him and caught her arm, pulling it around his front, his stomach hard and slick under her fingers. She rested her cheek against his wet back.

“It was just an impulsive decision on a drunken night,” he said as if he knew the tattoo, or rather the potential meaning behind it, was bothering her.

She nodded, her cheek pressed against the somehow heartbreaking image. There was more to the story.

They remained still for a few moments, the water cascading over them.

Then Ren turned in her arms. He walked her backwards until the water fell over their heads like a torrential downpour. His lips sought hers.

For a moment, Maggie tasted the same heartbreak on his lips but quickly the kiss changed, filling with intensity, with desperate need. And she was swept away on the tide of the need—all feelings of sadness gone.

Maybe it was never there to begin with.

Suds glossed her lips, and she didn’t care.

R en strolled into the bar nearly an hour late for work.

Both Dave and Johnny had called his cell phone, trying to locate him. But he’d been just a little busy.

He glanced over to Maggie. She wore one of his shirts, a white one with faint white embroidery on the front, knotted at the waist of her jeans. Jeans which, he happened to know, she wore with no panties.

He stared at her ass, imagining her bare skin underneath. He pulled in a breath. Hadn’t the two amazing bouts of sex in the shower been enough?

He looked at her curvy rear end again. Obviously not.

Tonight she wore no makeup, because she’d come with him directly from his place—also the reason for no panties. And her strawberry blonde hair framed her face in a tousled sexy bob. He couldn’t resist giving her a quick kiss before he headed up on the stage.

“Nice of you to make it, buddy,” Drake said as Ren took his place on the stage.

Ren didn’t apologize; he just slid the mic back to his height from where Dave, the bass player, had it. Hell, there was no way he was going to apologize for being late. Not when it was because he had been with Maggie.

He only had a week. He planned to use as much of that time as he could.

The band went into Boston’s “Foreplay/Long Time”; Ren didn’t miss the not-so-subtle innuendo.

Of course, the band would claim they chose that particular song because it had a long intro, to give him time to get prepared. And of course, they all knew otherwise.

He started to sing, watching Maggie find a spot in the back of the bar. Since it was Sunday night, the bar wasn’t as crowded as the previous nights. She took a stool at one of the round high-top tables in the back.

She sat down, then turned her attention back to him. Swaying with the music, watching him.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d found work this interesting, this exciting for him. It was like she was the only one there, his own private audience, and he found himself wanting to perform for her. Exhilaration filled him, as it once had when he’d performed an original piece of his work. As if he was sharing something special and private with her. Even if it was someone else’s song.

He remembered what he’d once loved about music. He saw it on Maggie’s face. He found himself wishing he could play some of his compositions for her. Just the two of them and his piano.

But for tonight, Journey, Boston, and Kansas were going to have to be enough. Then he caught himself. No. Not just for tonight. He was never going to be able to play his songs for her. She was too clever—and she knew classical music.

Maybe even his.

So instead, he jumped off the stage and walked slowly toward her, singing out the lyrics of Journey’s “Lovin’, Touchin’, Squeezin’,” enjoying the way she blushed prettily as he approached.

That was until he thought about the actual sentiment of the song. About how she would have another affair beyond the one with him.

Was that true? Of course it was. It wasn’t as if she’d remain alone the rest of her days, pining for him. And did he want that, anyway? Even he wasn’t that selfish.

Still, some of his high faded. But he forced the sentiment of the song out of his mind and moved around to hold her, his arm around her from behind. His head next to hers. The waves of her hair brushing his cheek. Her body leaning back against his chest.

Then he was just pleased to be performing for her again. But more than that, he was glad he was holding her. That he could hold her. For now.