Falling for Her (29 page)

Although he’d held endless fascination for her, she’d never allowed herself to dream he would one day say he loved her. Only minutes ago, he’d held her while she cried for a father she’d lost the day her mother died. It would take time to deal with losing her daddy before they had a chance to reconcile, and she wasn’t ready to talk about it. When she was, though, Jamie would be there for her, to listen and hold her if she cried again, and she was sure she would.

At the moment, the man she loved had a hungry look in his eyes, and it was for her. She was no longer alone, and that was all that mattered. That and loving her man back. She pressed her cheek against the hard length of him, needing to feel his desire for her for a few seconds.

“Sugar.”

She turned her face into his jeans, hiding her smile. The man did love to growl. Knowing she was milliseconds away from being tossed on her back—which she really wouldn’t mind at all—she lifted her head. After she’d unzipped his jeans, he pushed them and his briefs down his legs and stepped out of them.

“Now what?” she asked, eyeing the appendage jutting out at her, already a bead of moisture on the tip. Without waiting for an answer, she leaned forward and licked the pearly drop. His taste made her think of the sea, and with his hands fisted at his sides, he let her explore him with her tongue. He grew thicker and harder as her mouth devoured him, and when she wrapped her hand around the base of his shaft, he dug his fingers into her hair.

“Enough.”

It took only one blink of her eyes before she was flat on her back, and Jamie was between her legs. There was an intensity in his expression she’d never seen from him before, as if he was fighting some kind of internal battle. As he stared at her, the taut lines around his eyes smoothed out, and his lips softened.

“Tender,” he murmured. “You need tender from me today.”

She wasn’t sure she could bear tender without turning into an emotional mess of more tears. No, it wasn’t what she needed. Not then. Grabbing his hands with hers, she pulled herself up so that she knelt in front of him. His erection brushed against her already slick folds, and she pressed her thighs together, capturing the hard length of him.

“Not tender,” she growled, surprised she could even make such a sound. “I want you, Jamie, the real you. That’s what I need from you today.”

Blue eyes bored into hers. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

She clamped her teeth down on his shoulder and bit him. A hiss of air escaped his lungs as she rubbed her breasts over him, the springy dusting of his chest hair teasing her nipples. Other than the quickening cadence of his breathing, he didn’t so much as twitch a single muscle. The man was entirely too self-contained, and she wanted him so lost in her that he couldn’t remember his name.

“Damn it, Jamie, I want—”

“What? What do you want, sweetheart,” he whispered, his mouth near her ear.

“You. The real you, the one you’ve tried to bury so deep that you almost forgot he existed.” To put an exclamation point on her demand, she sucked his bottom lip into her mouth, nipping at it with her teeth. His arousal, held tightly between her legs, throbbed in time to her little bites. He grew harder, heating the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. She rocked her hips and discovered if she moved just right, she could slide her clit across the top of his erection.
Oh, God.
At her moan, he fisted her hair and took control of her mouth. He licked at her inner cheeks, then scraped across her teeth to tangle his tongue with hers.

Blood heated her veins and pulsated through her, making her breasts ache and her groin throb in a primitive beat as if drums pounded out a mating call ages old. One she had to answer, or she just might lose her mind. While he was busy devouring her mouth, she reached down and circled his shaft with her fingers.

With a grunt, he grabbed her hand and pulled it away. “No. Wrap your arms around my neck and hold on.”

She did, and he slid a finger into her curls, then two fingers. They moved over her as if sliding through oil. Drenched already from desire more intense than she’d ever known, she felt almost embarrassed at how damp he’d made her.

“You’re so damn wet for me, Sugar,” he said, his voice sounding strangled.

“Don’t cuss or I’ll think I’ve corrupted my very own special saint.”

He buried his face into her hair, his chuckle vibrating though her. “If I’m corrupted, I come to it willingly. Speaking of coming . . .”

Holding on to him for dear life, she closed her eyes and buried her face against his shoulder. Pressure built in the very core of her, a place she’d never known existed before Jamie. Little dots of bright white lights flashed on her eyelids, disappeared, then flashed again.

Suddenly, his thumb stayed on her clit—teasing it, toying with it—and the flashing stars grew in brightness and intensity, then exploded, looking as if someone waved a thousand sparklers in front of her eyes. The breath left her lungs as she tightened her muscles around the fingers still moving inside her, the feel of them now almost unbearably exquisite, a kind of pleasure-pain.

“Jamie, oh God, Jamie.”

He rocked her as she floated back down to earth, safe in his arms. When her breathing returned to some semblance of normal, his mouth found hers. He gripped the cheeks of her bottom and pulled her against him, trapping his erection between their lower stomachs. His kiss was hot, hungry, and demanding.

“I love you, Jamie Turner,” she said when he lowered her back onto the bed. He sat back on his legs and stared down at her with an intensity that should have unnerved her but didn’t.

As he knelt over her, he studied her, seeming to be unsure of something. As if coming to a decision, he gave a slight nod. “There’s a part of me I’ve done my best to crush, thinking it was part of the reason my life had gone so wrong. It may have been true at the time, but with you, I feel like I can let go and just be me. That part I’m talking about, Sugar, sometimes likes his sex a little rough and dirty. If that scares you, tell me now.”

A thrill—much like cresting the top of a roller coaster and plunging downhill—shot through her at his admission. “Hmm. A little rough and dirty? That sounds interesting.” Actually, it sounded beyond interesting. That he felt free to be who he really was with her, after years of pretending otherwise, sent her heart into ecstasy.

She lifted her hands, palms up, and waved her fingers in a come-hither motion. “Bring it on, tough guy.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

A
rush of adrenaline shot through Jamie’s veins, followed by doubt. Sugar had been grieving the loss of her father and he’d sworn to himself he would be gentle with her. But inside, it felt like a dark and hungry panther resided deep down in a cage, prowling as he impatiently demanded the gate be opened. If he didn’t free the creature, he’d soon be eaten from the inside out.

“I won’t hurt you, baby, but if you’re the slightest bit uncomfortable, say my name. Say
Saint
.” It would be the one word that would penetrate a brain he knew would soon be filled wall-to-wall with nothing but Sugar and his need for her.

“Okay,” she said, her eyes full of trust.

He was so hot and bothered, so turned on that it took every ounce of his willpower not to just bury himself inside her and pound her into the mattress. Her legs were spread around his knees and her sex, glistening in the aftermath of her orgasm, beckoned him. What he craved right now was a taste of her.

Along with that taste, he wanted her at his mercy. Jamie reached up, opened an overhead cabinet, and pulled out a soft cashmere scarf. Although he kept it aboard for days when the weather turned chilly, it was about to serve an even better purpose.

“Give me your hands.” She eyed the strip of material with a mix of uncertainty and interest. “I’ve already promised I won’t hurt you. This,” he let the scarf dangle from his hand, “involves trust. Do you trust me, Sugar?”

That she held such faith in him, willingly offering her hands without questioning his intentions, humbled him. With eyes burning from unshed tears, he wrapped the cashmere in a figure eight around her wrists, then realized there was no place on the bunk to tie the ends.

“This is going to have to be a two-way trust issue, sweetheart.” He lifted her arms over her head and tucked the ends between the mattress and cabin wall. “You’re going to have to believe they’re tied to the headboard, and as much as you might want to, you can’t get loose.”

Her eyes never leaving his, she nodded, then pretended to tug on the scarf. “You’re right, I can’t get loose.”

Love—hot, profound, soul-searing love—filled him, almost overwhelming him. “I love you, baby,” he whispered past the lump in his throat. Then he kissed her lush, inviting mouth. She tasted of berries and exotic spices from her earlier wine, and he knew he’d never get enough of her. Not now, not ever.

He reluctantly pulled away, and trailed his lips down her throat, down to one breast, tasting her all the way. Her low moan, when he caught the peaked tip of her nipple between his teeth, sent blood rushing south, leaving him aching to be inside her. But not yet.

After minutes spent worshipping each breast, he trailed a path down her stomach to the juncture of a vee of curls. He paused to inhale the earthy, rich scent of her, giving way to a moan of his own. Pushing onto his knees, he placed his hands on her inner thighs and spread her legs, and was momentarily caught by the erotic sight of pink skin glistening with dewdrop wetness.

“Beautiful.” A flush of red colored her cheeks, but she didn’t try to close her legs. No longer able to resist, he lowered his face and feasted on her, lapping his tongue over her sex. She tasted of salted honey, uniquely Sugar. He would never get enough of that either. In fifty years, he would still be begging her to allow him to taste her.

When she began to squirm underneath him, he swirled his tongue over her clit, then nipped at it with his teeth. Her pelvis lifted from the bed, pushing against his mouth. She was a quiet one in bed, but highly responsive to his any touch. Still keeping her hands above her as if truly bound, she lifted her head and watched him eat away at her. His gaze rose to hers, and he watched as her eyes turned to an even darker shade of violet, and her irises dilated. Dark pools of desire, he thought as he looked at her.

Her head fell back onto the pillow, and she called out his name as shivers traveled from her breasts down to her legs. Her heaving chest and roughened panting almost had him climaxing.

Amazing. If he lasted through this bout of lovemaking still knowing his name, it would be a miracle. He reached inside the open cabinet and grabbed a condom. Tearing the foil with his teeth, he rolled it on. Someday in the not-too-distant future, he wanted to see her belly rounded with his child. First though, they needed time for just the two of them. And a wedding needed to happen.

As her watchful gaze followed his movements, one side of her
mouth quirked up. “Next time, you get tied up and I get to be the boss.”

That sounded like more fun than he’d had in years. “Deal. Remem
ber, if anything I do is too much, all you have to do is say
Saint
.”

“Okay, but you won’t be hearing me say it.”

That sounded like a challenge.

An hour later, he had the front of her plastered against the cabin wall, penned in by his body, and her hands held captive above her head by one of his.

“Say it,” he demanded.

She shook her head.

Four times he’d made her come, and he was well on his way to his second release. She had to be sore and tired, but his woman apparently had her pride. He slid out almost to his tip, then back in, all the while massaging her clit with his finger. When he felt her inner muscles tighten around him, he stilled. She tried to rock back into him, but he had her pressed too tight to the wall.

“Say it.”

“No.”

God, he loved this crazy, stubborn woman. “Have it your way then.” He brought her to the peak again, stopping just before her point of no return. “You ready to say it, baby?” He nibbled on her ear, then swirled his tongue around the little pink shell.

“Saint! There, I said it, damn you. Saint. Saint. Saint.”

A roaring noise in his ears deafened him as she clenched down on him and screamed his name. He came so hard and fast that his knees gave out, and he brought them both to the floor with her back pressed to his chest.

“Jesus H. Christ,” he muttered between gasps for breath.

She swiveled in his hold until they were face-to-face. “Don’t cuss. I’ll do all our cursing for us. It’s just not right when you do it.”

Fascinating that it bothered her, a woman who let naughty words slip past her lips without the blink of an eye. “It’s that important to you?”

Her eyes had returned to their lovely blue color. “It is.”

“Then I’ll leave all the cursing to my lady.” He pulled her damp, sweaty hair away from her face and kissed the corner of her eye. Now that his body had its strength back, he lifted them off the floor and returned to the bunk. Pulling the cover aside, he lowered her to the bed and crawled in beside her.

“I love you, Sugar.” He lifted onto an elbow and peered down at her, this woman he needed by his side. He pulled the covers over them. “Go to sleep, sweetheart.”

Sugar put her hand in Jamie’s as he helped her onto the dock. The boat had rocked lazily the night before, and she’d slept like a baby. Or, the reason could have been because Jamie had loved her so hard and so deeply, that her mind was filled with nothing but him. Whatever the reason, she was happy in a way she’d never expected to be again.

“Come here,” he said, pulling her to the back of the boat. “I want to show you something.”

When he let go of her hand and looked expectantly at her, she was at a loss as to what she was supposed to see. There was a pelican standing at the end of the dock, but that wouldn’t put the kind of light in his eyes that said her reaction was important to him. She turned in a slow circle and almost missed it.

Oh, wow
. She froze and stared at the name painted on the back of his boat. When had he done it, and how had she missed it? Although when they’d come aboard the day before, he’d not let her near the back where she could see her name scripted across the . . . what the hell did one call the back end of a boat? Not that it mattered, just that
Sweet Sugar
was there in a beautiful violet-colored script.

“Well, I think I’m fixin’ to cry,” she said, then turned to Jamie and buried her face into his chest.

He circled his arms around her waist, the flat of his palms resting on her lower back. “There’s just one more thing I need you to do, baby.”

It took a minute for his words to penetrate, but once they did, she nodded. “Whatever you need from me, I’ll give you. Today, tomorrow, and forever. I love you, Jamie Turner. You haven’t asked me to marry you but when you do, the answer’s yes. A resounding yes.”

His lighthearted laugh rolled over her. “Impatient little thing, aren’t you?”

They’d both been crippled by events beyond their control, but they’d come through still kicking and screaming. Oh, how she loved the man who’d not all that long ago tried to resist her. Eyes she’d always thought of as angel eyes glanced away as if afraid she wouldn’t understand whatever he was about to ask of her.

“What, Jamie?”

He flicked an uncertain glance at her. “Will you go shopping with me tomorrow, help me pick out new furniture? New stuff just for us?”

This incredible man thought she wouldn’t want any of his parents’ leftovers. Silly, silly man. “No.” He blinked, and she bit down on her smile. “No. Tomorrow, we’ll decide together which items of your parents that we want to keep, and then the next day we’ll go shopping.” Although he’d lived in the past too long, she wasn’t about to help him forget the people he’d loved so deeply.

An instant later, she was held against his chest as his warm breath caressed her ear. “Sugar, the first thing I’ll do every morning when I get up, and then every night before I go to sleep, is to thank God that you found me.”

Well, she did kind of pick him before he even knew he wanted to be picked, but she had her own blessings to count where he was concerned.

“I love you, Jamie, but the next time you dare me to cry uncle . . . rather, Saint, so not happening.”

He gave her a wicked grin. “Bet I can make you.”

She bet he could, too.