Entangled (Serendipity Adventure Romance Book 2) (11 page)

“He’s leaving.” Tobin nodded, or maybe growled.

She cracked her eyes open and looked out. Back into the real world, where Alfonso sauntered off into the jungle as if there weren’t a dozen angry tribesmen ready to aim their blowguns at his back. She could swear his look said,
I’ll be back,
Terminator-style. His rifle bobbed with every step until the foliage swallowed him up.

“God, I wonder how often they have to deal with him.”

Tobin shook his head sadly. “Too often, I’d say.”

She shivered and he hugged her tighter. Like a cat who’d finally wandered home after being lost, she snuggled right into her old spot. Nose to his neck, ear to his cheek. Right there where problems fled and everything felt peaceful and safe. All the more when Tobin rested his head on top of hers and slowly let his stiff muscles loosen up.

“Mmm,” he hummed.

“Hmm?”

“Nothing,” he sighed. “Just mmm.”

She looked up and found him smiling at her.

She flicked her fingers along his forearm. “You’re wet.”

“You’re wetter.”

She laughed. A good, resounding laugh that felt like a million bucks. “Am not.”

“Are too,” he scolded. “It’s all this hair.” He ran his fingers through her locks, sending warm tingles through her body. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the feel of him, that close. His fingers massaging her scalp, tucking her hair back into place.

“God, I’m a mess.”

“I like you a little messy. It’s cute.”

Her heart skipped into a happy little dance. Maybe there didn’t have to be anything complicated about loving him. About letting him love her all over again.

“Only you would find this cute,” she murmured.

He looked at her, and his eyes danced.
Yes. Yes, I do.

Chapter Seventeen

Tobin reached behind her. “Better dry you off.”

He dabbed at her with the towel he’d found. Gently, carefully, he chased the rivulets of water that streamed over her face and down her neck. When he rubbed under her chin, she couldn’t help but lean into him.

The rain tapped on the roof in urgent little bursts and splattered in the puddles building outside the thin walls. The whole rain forest hushed under the deluge.

She leaned closer and closer as he worked the towel over her shoulders and down her back. The sound building in her throat was part purr, part lusty growl, and the lean became more of a squeeze as she pressed her chest to his. Tobin’s hands were magic, just like his voice. Just like his smile, his touch.

Then she wasn’t just warm, but hot. Hungry. She smoothed her hands over his chest. Ran her fingers down until they found the hem of his shirt and worked it up. The wet cloth rolled reluctantly, and she could relate. If she were plastered that tight against his body, she wouldn’t go without a fight, either.

“Let’s get you out of these wet clothes,” she whispered, peeling the shirt away. Underneath was a wall of taut, tanned skin, and part of her sighed, being this close to him again. This intimate. No banter, no jokes. Just a couple of lovers pushed by the same primal desire.

“Cara.” His hands closed around hers, but she pulled free. Another inch of shirt gave way, revealing a flat, hard nipple backed by solid muscle. With it came the hot memory of the time they’d holed up in a Colorado ski hut and—

“Cara.” His voice was low and a little rough.

I want this, Tobin. I need this.
She almost said it, but caught herself just in time. Tipped her forehead forward to his shoulder and took a couple of deep breaths.

Me, me, me.
God, when had she become so selfish?

His hands massaged her shoulders, telling her it was all right. That was the problem: Tobin made it easy to take, and take, and take. He gave everything, asked for nothing.

“I’m so sorry, Tobin.” She shook her head against his shoulder — the next best thing to crawling into a hole and hiding in shame. Fighting back the tears welling up.

“Sorry for what?” he whispered. The man’s warmth was a drug, but she knew she had to resist. Had to finally get this out and get it right.

“Sorry for everything,” she mumbled. Truly everything. “Making you come out here to help me,” she started.

He smiled, and her hair shifted under his cheeks. “You could be in Timbuktu and I’d come for you.”

He meant it. God, he really meant it. She blinked, and the first tears made their escape.

“Not just that.” She clutched his shirt tighter. “For everything. For not believing you. For yelling. For saying all those terrible things.”

He went still, then rubbed his chin over her head. “I’ve heard worse.” He tried a little smile, but it didn’t fool her. What could be worse than what she’d said and done to him? All that, plus the things she hadn’t said. Like
sorry
and
I love you
and
I never should have doubted you.

“I’m sorry. So, so sorry.” She was babbling a little now, caught in a mudslide of emotions that she’d locked away so long ago that she almost forgot they were there. Until Tobin brought them all back. The love, the laughter, the regrets. So many regrets.

God, if only she could go back and start all over again.

She looped her arms behind his neck and cried into his shoulder. Cried enough to put the rain cloud outside to shame, babbling the whole time. “I’m sorry, Tobin. So sorry.”

“Shhh,” he whispered, holding her close.

She shook her head. Six years, she’d denied him those words. It was time to make it up, or start making it up. Trying, at least. If only she could find something more powerful than words.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, running a hand over her back.

She shook her head. “It will never be okay.”

“It will if you let it.”

She looked up, jaw a little slack. There it was — one of those little tidbits of Tobin wisdom that popped out of nowhere and walloped her over the head.

He cupped her face with both hands and looked into her eyes. “It’s okay, Cara. Let it be okay.”

Was it really as simple as that?

Deep blue eyes promised her it was, even as her soul continued to wrestle with the idea.

He sighed a little, then brought the towel up to dab her cheek. “Now you’re wet all over again.”

She put her hands over his. “You are a prince. A true prince.”

He threw his head back and laughed. Laughter like a ray of sunshine in a very dark place. “No prince.”

“A prince. A gentleman,” she insisted. Because there she was, clinging to him like a child to a teddy bear, while Tobin held back. She could feel the restraint, feel him quivering for more than just a comforting kind of hug. He’d been exactly the same, their very first night. One thin strand of valor tried desperately to put on the brakes while desire poured off him in waves.

His smile faded. “I’ve given up on gentleman. It just doesn’t pay.”

Her chest tightened, hearing the truth in his words. Doing the right thing had only gotten him stung, again and again. But even so, he didn’t give up. That was the thing about Tobin: easygoing teddy bear on the outside, knight in shining armor within.

She nuzzled up, her cheek to his, and rubbed back and forth against the stubble.

“Mmmm.” A happy humming sound came from his chest. “Nice.”

Very nice, so she did it some more. Eased up on her death grip of his shirt and slid her hands across the intersecting layers of muscle on his back. The happy hum was coming from her now. She nosed his ear. He smelled so good. Felt so good to have him this close again.

“Beware, m’lady,” he whispered. “There be dragons in there.”

Her heart thumped harder. “You want me to stop?”

“Only if you want to stop.”

Like that was going to happen.

He looked at her more intently than she ever remembered him doing before. A new and different Tobin. Wounded, even if he didn’t admit it. Wary. She’d done all that to him.

But maybe, just maybe, she could undo parts of it again.

She rapped her knuckles gently against his brow. “Knock, knock. Let the other Tobin out.”

His eyes were closed, his whole body still. Only his lips moved. “What other Tobin?”

The one who loves me
, she almost said, but settled for something more neutral. “The one who knows just how to touch me.”

The hand he’d left against her chest twitched, and a whole cheering section went off in her mind.

“The one who kisses me, over and over and over again,” she whispered, running her lips along his jaw.

His cock jutted against her stomach. He nuzzled his chin along hers in a long, sensual scrape that left every nerve in her body humming. His defenses were crumbling — and hers, too. The regrets were still there, but the burning need for more contact was shouldering them aside.

She nibbled his ear just above the lobe. Was that still his favorite spot?

His head tilted to her lips; his mouth opened in a silent sigh of pleasure.

A trail of happy sparks went through her, kindling the desire for more. Much more. To make this man not just sigh for her, but sing and cry and dance. Like she used to do for him, and he for her.

“Touch you where?” he whispered.

She wiggled her butt against his hand. “Here,” she whispered. “And there,” she added, breathing deeply enough to make her chest rise into his hand.

He brushed the other hand down her ass, then back up, bringing her closer. Danced his fingers over her collarbone, then stroked her neck.

The rain was pelting down harder, but nothing could extinguish the fire inside her.

“Kiss me, Tobin.” She was begging, but that was all right, because she’d long since swallowed her pride.

And about time, too, she decided. Pride only got in the way of passion. And life without passion was like life without Tobin: empty as a desert instead of being as full as a jungle that teemed with sight, sound, sensation. Like the sensation of his heart, beating so close to hers.

He tilted his face closer, and she begged again.

“Kiss me, Tobin.”

The old Tobin would have chuckled and teased. This Tobin was serious. Aching. She could hear it in his whisper. “Where?”

“Everywhere.”

Chapter Eighteen

Tobin forced his eyes open, just to know this was for real. Not a dream, not a fantasy, not a memory.

But it was real. So real, it hurt. Hurt in a way he wanted to go on forever. Cara, wanting him. Needing him.

Six pent-up years of needing him, judging by the way she rutted up against him, making everything in him yowl and roar. If she’d hooked up with other guys since then, they hadn’t done much for her. Not the way he could. That’s what her body was screaming: it was him, only him.

He knew because it was exactly the same for him. He hadn’t been playing monk these last couple of years, but no one had ever managed to produce the high Cara did with just a kiss. A whisper. A fleeting touch.

“Cara,” he said, begging right back. And then he got to work on
everywhere
, just like she wanted.

He slid his lips over hers and got lost there for a while, inhaling her swallowed moans, her sweet Cara scent. Trying hard not to grind his cock against her and let her do the grinding, which was more than enough. Or not quite enough, because he wanted to consume her, take her, have her, all in one bite.

Cara was way ahead of him on that count, though. Her fingers knotted in his hair as she kissed him so hard and deep, his lungs ached. He tried to pretend he had his shit together up until she ran her hands up his chest and went to work on his left nipple, sending fireworks up and down his spine. Cara Leoni, in his arms again. He threaded his fingers in her hair and tried not to squeeze her in too close, lest he break the magic spell.

Holding back, though, was a losing battle. More and more of his weight slid over until he had her up against the doorframe. His hips ground against hers, and Christ, he could picture it already. The door would give and they’d tumble out.
Splat
— right into a puddle of mud. The way things were going, though, they probably wouldn’t even pause. They’d go right on kissing and touching and slopping around like a couple of randy pigs in the mud.

“What’s so funny?” she murmured, catching his chuckle.

“I can just picture this door giving way behind you.”

“Well, then,” she said in a deliberately sultry tone, “time to trade places, hotshot.” She spun a finger in the air.

Her body shifted, and his followed in a slow, sultry dance. When they’d turned far enough for him to have his back to the door, she squeezed him up against it and kissed him.

And kissed and kissed and holy crap,
kissed
. He clamped his hands over her delectable ass and hung on. Her hands were all over him, exploring. Remembering. Holding. She’d speed up, then slow down, and he lost track of all sense of time. All sense of everything, because there was only her, tickling his neck then half ripping off his shirt. Shoving his shorts down then slowly fisting his cock.

She drew back, and his lips worked in thin air for a moment, wanting her back.

“Cara,” he started, then stopped. Her look was pure mischief. Pure desire.

She dropped to her knees in front of him, and his heart jumped half out of his chest.

“Jesus, Cara,” he managed, and damned if his voice didn’t squeak like he was still fifteen and using magazines to get this kind of high.

“You don’t want this?” She looked up with those luminous eyes. Eyes with centuries of passion wrapped up inside, just waiting to be freed.

“I want, I want,” he said, and that came out better. More like a growl.

“Good,” she said, leaning closer. “Because I want, too.”

The minute she said it, want slid over to need and his body screamed for more.

There was a puff of air, then the world’s lightest kiss. Then a wider, wetter touch that could only be her tongue.

He dropped his head back against the door with a heavy thunk and slid his fingers into her silky hair.