Heat of the Night (19 page)

"Are we going to do it again?" she whispered dreamily into his mouth.

"Hell yeah."

Connor hefted her around to where her legs straddled his hips. It was enough to make him hard as rock, having her curvaceous naked body tucked up tightly against his. She was wet with his cum, a crude claiming that appealed to the primitive beast inside him. No other man could have her. He'd marked her, made her his.

With her arms around his neck, she leaned back and looked down at his cock rising up eagerly between them. "You left the condoms in the living room."

He growled low, wishing he could tell her the truth. From sharing Aidan's dreams, Connor knew that Aidan and Lyssa were certain their species were reproductively incompatible, despite their external similarities. But Connor knew that telling Stacey he was a being from another plane of existence would kill the moment, if not any possibility of a future between them.

"I'll get them," he assured her.

A slow smile curved her mouth and she hugged him, nearly making him stumble as her affection hit him like a physical blow. He carried her into the bathroom and set her down.

"Get in," he said, turning back to return to the living room, "but don't wash. I want to do it."

"Yes, sir," she teased.

She was bending over the tub turning the faucets when he tossed a mock glare over his shoulder. The view was inspiring. He jogged the distance to the condoms, shut the front door and locked it, then jogged the distance back to Stacey.

He heard the shower running as he entered the bedroom and images of water coursing the length of Stacey's luxurious body set his blood on fire. Tapping the automatic release of one boot with the toe of the other, Connor took in the decor. Pale lavender walls, royal purple velvet coverlet, and black sheers covering white plantation shutters made the space rather exotic in comparison to the country look of the living room.

To him it revealed so much about her, the dichotomy between her public spaces and her private one. He wondered if this setting would inspire a different side of Stacey and eager to find out, he shoved his jeans to the floor and strode into the bathroom.

Pausing on the threshold, Connor studiously examined his surroundings. As he had done with every other room in the house, he sought clues to the woman who lived there. The bathroom walls were painted a deep purple—like the comforter in the next room—and the ceiling was decorated with painted silver stars. A hint of whimsy.

"I'm naked and you're looking at the ceiling?" she asked with warm amusement.

He turned his attention to the view of Stacey through the sliding glass shower door. Standing in a cloud of mist, she was his fantasy in the flesh. She slid the door open in invitation.

"I think it might be too small in here for you," she said, blinking water-laden lashes at him as he approached.

"I like tight places," he reminded, climbing into the shower tub with her.

The space was cramped, but he didn't care. It just meant that they were pressed up against each other, which was just the way he wanted it.

Her hands came up and touched his abdomen. His muscles tightened instinctively, responding to her attention.

Her tender fingertips traced over every groove and plane of taut muscle, and he bore her fascination with gritted teeth and aching heart.

"You're so beautiful," she whispered, in what sounded like awe.

He cupped her face, forcing her to look at him. "Tell me how to make this work."

She gazed up at him with liquid, glistening eyes. The green was clear and vivid. Gorgeous. "Connor…"

The resignation in her tone drove him crazy. "There has to be a way."

"How?" she asked simply. "How long will you be gone? When will you be back? How long will you stay when you are back?"

"I don't know, damn it." He pushed her head back and devoured her mouth, bruising it, taking it. Thrusting his tongue fast and deep. As steam rose around them in an ever-thickening fog, she whimpered and clung to his waist. "If you want something bad enough—"

"It hurts," she cut off. "That's all. Doesn't mean you get it or can have it."

"Bullshit," he spat, furious with himself, with the Elders, with the lies and deceit that made his leaving unavoidable.

"I told you. I tried to make you listen."

He nuzzled his cheek hard against hers. "Walking away isn't the answer."

She laughed softly. "You're too stubborn."

"Maybe. But I know I can't stand the thought of not having you."

"You're doing wonders for my ego."

"Stop it." He shook her a little. "Don't make light of this."

Stacey sighed and released him. He responded by catching her up and holding all her wet delicious curves against his hardness.

"Connor. Neither of us needs this angst. It's not healthy."

"What angst?" he scoffed. "Teenage girls have angst. I don't."

"You will." She met his gaze head on. "You haven't seen the hell Aidan and Lyssa go through. The struggles to share a phone call between flights. Staying up way past their bedtimes just to hear the other's voice for a moment or two. The pain of separation when he has to travel somewhere and be gone for weeks."

"If they can do it, we can do it."

"No." Shaking her head, she said, "They knew each other before; you and I are strangers. Lyssa is by herself; I come with a child and an ex who may or may not become a more active part of my life. Aidan works for a local collector; you work for…" she shrugged, "whoever it is you work for."

Connor's jaw tightened and he rolled his hips into her.

"Very impressive argument," she teased gently. "But the occasional bout of great sex isn't going to keep two people together who are living apart."

Stumped, he tried to come up with counterpoints and failed. He could only stare down at her, scowling. "We can at least try."

"I'm tired of being alone, Connor."

The thought of coming back and seeing her with someone else made him want to howl. "You wouldn't be alone. I'd be yours, even if I wasn't here."

"A man as highly sexed as you can't be expected to rein it in for me."

"Fuck you," he said tightly, insulted. He set her away from him and reached for the liquid soap. They had to get out of the shower. He could win her over in bed. Torment her there. Drive her mad for him until she would agree to whatever was required for him to slide into her and fill the emptiness. He could ruin her for other men.

"Sorry." She set her hands over his when he cupped her breasts. "I meant that more as a comment on my shortcomings, not yours."

"Shortcomings?" He snorted. "I like to fuck. In fact it's one of my favorite activities, followed by honing my glaive, which I usually begin doing while the sheets are still warm."

A finely arched black brow rose.

"Oh yeah, sweetheart," he drawled, squeezing her firm, full tits. "There's even a joke about my first loves being my swords—the one in my hand and the one between my legs. There's no post-coital cuddling. Women want me for sex, nothing more. And that's always worked just fine for me."

He watched the emotions that swept across her expressive features. "Ah," he murmured, smiling, "you're thinking about last night, right? I held you on the couch. I slept with you in my arms. I cuddled with you a few minutes ago and I can't stop touching you now."

Catching her hand, Connor pulled it down and thrust his erection into it. "That's sexual interest." He pulled her hand back up and set it over his heart. "This tightening in my chest that you can't see? That's something I've never felt before. You've got something no one else has. You don't have a shortcoming, sweetheart. You have an advantage."

Stacey's lips quivered alarmingly and his stomach knotted further.

"With you, I didn't even think about whetting my sword," he rushed forward.

She covered her mouth.

"Well, not the metal sword," he corrected gruffly, knowing he was screwing this all up but unsure of how to fix it. "I
mean
you're
wet and my other sword… I mean I thought about wetting
that
sword—"

Her lovely face scrunched up and he begged, "Don't cry!"

He wrapped his arms around her and patted her shaking back awkwardly. "Oh man. I suck at this. I'm not trying to make you feel bad. I meant that as a compliment. It's my problem I'm nuts for you, not yours. I—"

Her lips pressed ardently to his nipple, then she ran her tongue over it in a slow, heated swipe. He stiffened, staring down at her with wide eyes.

She was laughing at him.

"That was beautiful," she mock sniffled, her hands cupping his ass.

His brows rose. "Yeah?"

"Oh yeah. I'm pretty sure I have never made a man's chest tight before." Her smile was pure sunshine. "I like it."

"How about the other part?"

Stacey laughed. "You know damn well I like the other part." Her voice lowered provocatively. "If we hurry up and get out of the shower, I will show you how much."

Connor considered that a moment, somewhat lost in the barrage of emotions he felt. Something like joy. Maybe hope. He hid how twisted up he was by teasing. "You're not just using me for my body, right?"

"Sure I am." She cupped his balls in both hands. "But when you're gone and I'm waiting desperately by the phone, I'll be thinking about more than your swords."

Stacey followed Connor out of the bathroom at her insistence. She wanted to ogle his bare behind. Lucky for her, it was a view well worth ogling. The man had legs honed by strenuous activity. Gorgeous legs. Long and leanly muscled. His ass was a perfect complement. Taut and firm. Tight. Flexing with every step. With dimples on either side.

Yum.

And there, between his legs, the occasional glimpse of his heavy balls. Denuded. Delicious. Perhaps if he weren't erect, she could see the head of his cock, too, but he was rocked and cocked. Ready. For her.

How did she get so lucky? She couldn't shake the feeling that it was all too good to be true. There had to be something wrong with him. Stacey Daniels did not wind up with perfect men. There was always something screwy with them. Something majorly whacked that prevented any possibility of a relationship. Like Tommy, who wanted to be eighteen years old forever. Or Tom Stein, who wanted to live a "green" life in the desert, surviving off solar energy and rain water. Stacey was pretty sure that the gene that created hotness on the outside also created misfiring brain cells on the inside.

She sighed. Connor was ultra-hot. The finest looking man she'd ever met. As perfect as the rear view was, it barely kept up with the front view. Where were his flaws? His inability to talk about his feelings? Hell, she didn't like flowery speech. Honesty was more of a turn-on for her than pretty phrases.

Connor reached her bed, turned to face her, and caught her up in his big brawny arms.

She loved the feeling of being small. Of being protected and cherished.

"That was hot," he rumbled.

"Hmm?" Her eyes closed as she relished the feel of his hard body against hers. The light dusting of hair on his chest tickled her nipples and the smell of his skin, undiluted by her bath soap, did crazy things to her heart rate.

"Feeling you watching me."

"You're gorgeous," she breathed, raising her lids just enough to see him.

"Before today, I considered my looks a convenience to getting laid."

Stacey laughed softly, appreciating how bluntly open he was. "I'm sure it has been."

His firm lips nuzzled against her temple. "Now, I'm grateful my looks are the kind you like."

"Oh yes." She nipped at his chin with her teeth. "I like."

Connor spun abruptly and tossed her onto the coverlet. She bounced with a squeal and then he was on her, crawling over her in a cage or hard, luscious masculinity. He started with a lick between her toes, then pressed a kiss to her ankle, then lifted her leg and nibbled in the hollow behind her knee. It tickled and she laughed.

"That giggle of yours makes me hot," he rumbled, pausing to stare at her.

Rolling her eyes, Stacey pointed out, "Everything makes you hot. You're a sex machine."

"Oh yeah?" He gripped her inner thighs and spread her legs open, exposing her to his gaze. "I distinctly remember attempting to call a cab when you attacked me and demanded sex."

"After you badgered me into it!" She bit back a laugh when he arched a brow at her. She was amazed she was even capable of conversation with him poised above her pussy with a wolfish gleam in his eyes. Thing was, she'd never been silly in bed before. She liked it.

"How does your saying to me, 'You're not getting out of this now' constitute badgering?"

"The badgering came before that."

Connor snorted. "I've never badgered a woman for sex in my life."

"You also didn't fight when I gave in," she argued, sticking her tongue out playfully.

His aqua gaze darkened and heated at the sight. "Gave in?" he scoffed. "I'm a guy, sweetheart. Throw gorgeous pussy at us and we're not going to say no."

Her mouth fell open on a choked laugh. "I did
not
throw my pussy at you."

"Umm… yeah." He winked. Added in combination with his boyishly charming smile, it was devastating to a woman's equilibrium. "You did. Nymphomaniac. Jees, can't get a break around this place. Sex last night. Sex again today. Sex right now…" He sighed dramatically.

"Oh, far be it from me to fuck you to death," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "Let's just go eat pie."

Connor stuck his lower lip out in a mock pout. "I was going to eat something else."

Considering where he was, she got the idea. "Nah. That's okay. This nymphomaniac is amazingly not in the mood for sex anymore."

A total bald-faced lie. She was slick and swollen. When he glanced down skeptically and then grinned, she knew he could see it.

"I can put you in the mood," he purred.

"Puh-leaze." She faked a yawn.

His low growl made her laugh.

"You're going to pay for that," he threatened, tickling her.

"Ah! Stop it!" She tried to roll away from him and succeeded only in ending up on her stomach, a distinct advantage for him.