Hot and Bothered (13 page)

She'd only heard from her uncle and cousins that his mom and dad were wildcats, bound to destroy themselves and probably Gideon one day.

As if not realizing what he was doing, he used his thumb to itch the gunpowder mark on his cheek. A muscle twitched at his jaw before he chopped out a laugh.

“Point taken, Boss, point taken.”

Silence fell as he touched the lighter on the table, clasping his fingers around it. Those fingers—long and sensual, beautifully experienced. Rochelle felt a lonely tremble inside of her, like there was a single flame in the wind keeping her own fire burning for Gideon.

A fire that had nothing to do with emotion and everything to do with righting the wrongs of their past—a sexual fire.

She kept eating, watching him as he watched the landscape outside. As her gaze caressed him, the burning inside of her flared.

The craving for that closure they'd never gotten.

Soon, she'd be gone, on another book tour, then back in California. Who knew when she'd see him again?

She slowed down her eating, because hadn't he told her to take it slow? So with languorous care she tore a piece from her toast and played with it before sliding it into her mouth. Gideon was clearly trying not to look at her—she could tell because his search of the area was too intense, his gaze narrowed.

Delicately, she picked up a slice of potato and in an equally provocative manner slipped it into her mouth.
Umm, good
. She sucked on her fingers on their way out.

His jaw tightened even more.

She loved getting to him, loved knowing that they wouldn't ever have a future and that their present was right here in front of them for the taking.

They were alone. Why not now?

Why not get that do-over done?

She stood and sauntered to the front of the cabana. The liquid chatter of the water pouring off the edge of the infinity pool gave the atmosphere a lush cadence. She combed her fingers through the hair on both sides of her face and shook the rest of it out, knowing he would be watching whether or not he wanted to.

Man, she was a merciless, teasing bitch, and she owned that about herself, wallowing in every throbbing beat of her that liked being watched.

***

Gideon clutched the lighter in his hand as the slight wind played with Rochelle's long, wavy, dark hair and blew her thin robe against her curves. He was clutching so hard that the casing bit into his skin.

An old flame
, he thought. Or was she more of a new one that he just couldn't extinguish?

The lighter wasn't all that was biting him, though. Greed for her had its teeth out, and it was eating through him, making its way down the lining of his belly and straight to his cock.

She reached up, undoing her robe and letting it drop to the tile, and all he could do was suppress a sharp groan.

She was perfect, from the ripe breasts that were covered by the silk of her barely-there camisole to her ass, whose roundness wasn't exactly hidden by those flirty short shorts. He could almost feel his fingers tracing her cheeks, her thighs, memorializing them.

But fantasy was all he was willing to indulge right now, because he wasn't about to get out of this chair to do something he shouldn't be doing.

“Such a beautiful morning,” she said lightly.

“Cut it out, Rochelle.” Somehow, rocks had jarred in his throat.

She sent him an innocent smile, one that reminded him of teenage Rochelle, the girl who hadn't known she was pushing his buttons every summer day on the ranch. But this Rochelle knew goddamned well what she was pushing as she stepped out of the cabana and walked toward the pool, her hips swinging.

Nope, he wasn't getting out of this chair, even if he shredded his hand with that lighter while flicking it back and forth. He wished to God that his seat had some armrests on it so he could hold on to those, too.

“No creepers around,” she said over her shoulder as she came to the edge of the pool. “No anyone. There's a real sense of freedom in that, don't you think, quick-draw?”

She was just as flip as she'd been the other night, when she'd gone a little crazy after surviving the creeper scare.

“I don't have to remind you what this rash attitude got you during your trip to the Pink Ladies,” he said.

“Right—a headache from the tequila.” She laughed, dipping her toe into the water. “Well, that headache didn't last all that long. No ailment ever does if you do something to ease the ache and make it stop.”

He'd barely contained her at the Pink Ladies, and he wasn't sure what to do with her now. He hadn't taken any Femme Fatales 101 course during his training, and even when he was under fire from enemy forces in an armed conflict, he'd been sure he'd get out of the trouble unscathed.

He wasn't so sure about now.

When she took the steps into the shallow end of the pool, submerging herself to her smooth calves, he blew a controlled breath out. That's what he'd always been taught to do in a bad situation.

He put the lighter on the table. “Rochelle, this is bullshit. I know what you're doing—
again
.”

“Good. Then you'll get over here and join me for a swim without my having to explain it to you. Come on, just a little dip?”

Why couldn't they be around each other without
something
igniting—mainly his willpower?

But he held onto it, staying glued to his seat.

She went farther into the pool and then plunged forward, doing a perfect slow dive beneath the surface before emerging with her hair slicked and water streaming down her face. She pushed back her hair with a graceful hand—a sure hand that definitely knew what it was doing . . .

His cock recalled her attentions from the other day all too vividly, humming with the rush of blood that was flooding it.

“Tempted?” she called.

“No.”

She laughed harder. “You're so full of it. You're just waiting for me to get out of this pool so you can see these pretty white PJs stuck to me like a second skin.”

Why had she said that? Because before now, he'd been really good about keeping himself from fantasizing about silk steeped to her breasts, the water sluicing down her, trickling over the dark strip of hair between her thighs.

His dick jerked, and he almost reached down to adjust it, easing the discomfort.

What the hell kind of professional would he be if he gave in to her?

“You know what I wish?” She teasingly bobbed down so that the water fluttered against her lips.

Full, pink lips . . .

“Cut it
out
, Rochelle,” he repeated, but it sounded darker this time, more desperate.

Didn't stop her. “I wish you'd realize that we're both adult enough to handle anything we feel like doing to each other. If we got this out of our systems, we could move on. Isn't that what you do with your other women?”

You're not other women
.

The thought was so startling that he clenched his teeth, hiding any kind of reaction from her.

But Rochelle
was
different in a way. There were old ties there, a history, a connection that just wasn't going away.

Maybe he
should
get her out of his blood.

The thought sat there in his brain, daring him to get around it. Because who would ever know? There wasn't anyone who would see if he stood, yanked off his clothes, and then joined her in that pool. Harry wasn't here, Suzanne wasn't here, the maid wasn't on duty yet, and the boys were miles off . . .

His sex drive was starting to take over, and once again he warred against it, feeling totally in the grip of a need that wouldn't let up.

“Gideon,” she said, swimming toward the ledge of the pool, “anything you do to me is our secret. I'll even give you one hell of a reference letter.”

His pride slammed against every other sensation he was feeling. “I've never earned a reference that way.”

“I was only kidding. I know you haven't.” She fixed her green eyes on him. He was in her sights.

Targeted.

His blood was boiling, and his cock was chiding him, asking for just one more chance to make up for the interruption with Rochelle's pussy that it had experienced the other day in the bathroom. It was demanding satisfaction and getting more persistent by the second.

Rochelle must've sensed that he was on the edge, because she began to slowly step out of the pool. With the water rolling down her body, she was a fantasy in motion.

Silk pasted to full breasts, . . . pink nipples pressing against the pale material, . . . see-through white against her waist, . . . her hips . . .

And when his voracious gaze traveled to the strip of wet hair between her thighs, he lost the battle once again.

No wonder they called him the quick-draw cowboy, Rochelle thought as drips of water ran from her body and onto the concrete. He certainly seemed ready to take on a girl fast.

As Gideon sat rigidly in the cabana, she felt herself swell from all the blood that had been pumped to her center. The cabana's flaps stirred in the breeze while he feasted his gaze on her, and she felt beads of water quivering on her skin.

There was no
way
she could relax now, with the amount of adrenaline that was streaming through her in anticipation of what was to come. She knew she had him.

And she was going to leave Vegas a winner this time.

“Like what you see, cowboy?” she asked.

He was clenching his jaw again, so hard that she thought he might shatter some teeth. Poor thing—it must be hard to be at the command of the penis.

Her insatiable need for him only grew as she started to walk toward him, water trailing on the ground with sinful, pattering whispers.

“You think I'm wet now,” she said, smiling. “You just wait until I get there.”

He still couldn't take his eyes off her, and power surged through her once again. She felt like she was shining with invincibility. Nothing could stop her now, not in
anything
she wanted to do, including seducing the one partner she'd let slip through her fingers.

And Gideon had to feel the same way, because it wasn't love or even like glazing his eyes. It was the same fierce craving that was even now pushing her toward him.

One step closer.

Two steps closer.

She stood in front of him, her legs parted, water running down her legs and tapping to the ground. Unable to help herself, she reached out, touching the gunpowder burn on his cheek. The thought of him being in such danger at some point in his life clutched at something inside of her.

Then, without warning, he grabbed her wrist, his light brown eyes taking on a rough glow. Water dripped from her and onto his lap, dampening his trousers on the opposite side of where he'd holstered his firearm.

She kept her eye on the weapon for a moment, letting a shiver of basic danger run through her again. A man with a gun.

A man she needed around.

“I'm getting water on you,” she said. “I'd hate for you to get that shirt damp, too.”

As he kept hold of her, she leaned forward, grasped the hank of wet hair that was bunched over her shoulder, and as a merciless tease, squeezed it. The water she released moistened his T-shirt so that it stuck to him, revealing that his nipples had gone just as hard as hers.

“I think,” she said. “you're going to have to get out of those clothes, cowboy.”

“You want to be a player?” he asked in a guttural voice. “I can play right back.”

He pressed his hand to her pussy, and as she gasped, he yanked aside the drenched silk there, sliding a finger through her folds and coarsely rubbing her. It wasn't with the finesse he'd used the other day.

This was animal.

She fought to stay standing, gripping his hand that was still clasped around her wrist, her knees just as insubstantial as wavering pool water.

“Tell me,” he said, circling his fingers through her. “What's gonna happen after you've had your way with me? What'll we tell you cousins then?”

“I . . . haven't thought . . . that far . . .” He was ruthless, but instead of assuaging the needled pain in her belly, he was making it worse. It didn't help that she could hear just how wet she was for him, juiced beyond belief.

His tone was harsh. “Am I going to go down as another sexual conquest? Is that why you're playing around with me?”

He didn't wait for her to answer. Instead, he abruptly withdrew his fingers from her, making her wince.

Was that it? Had he just wanted to show her that he could withstand anything she brought?

Not so fast, quick-draw,
she thought.

Before he could even think of getting away from her, she climbed on him, straddling his lap, a leg on either side of the chair. One thigh nudged his holstered gun.

The feel of it got her even hotter.

She nestled her pussy against the ridge in his pants, wiggling until she could feel his tip against her clit. Pulling aside the material of her shorts, she left herself bare to feel all she could of him, even if he was still covered by those damned trousers. She thought she heard him growl low in his throat as she slid back and forth on his head.

“Do you still want to be a good boy?” she asked, shifting around some more, panting. “Or is there a change in plans coming . . . up?”

He'd grabbed onto her hips, his fingers digging into her, his teeth nearly bared as he withstood her aggressive persuasion. Was he speechless now?

She spread her legs wider, pulling back more of the silk at her crotch and completely exposing herself, positioning herself so that his tip was at her entrance.

Then she pressed, letting his head enter her just a smidge.

She bit her lip, feeling herself expand ever so slightly around this hint of him, feeling the compulsion to undo his zipper and release his entire length, to get him all the way inside of her.

This time, it wouldn't feel strange with Gideon, not like it had when she was younger, inexperienced, tight, and so nervous.

Now she was so, so ready.

He'd clearly been trying to hold himself back, but this very wet dry humping was breaking him down. “Goddamn you,” he said, leaning forward and brushing his lower lip against one of her sensitized nipples.

She groaned, and when he licked around her nub through her silken camisole, she drove harder against his cock, whose tip pressed her open a tad more, enough to send her clit to keening.

Meanwhile, the falling pool water in back of her seemed louder, a deluge that echoed the harsh and fluid rhythms of her body as he sucked at her through the silk, gnawing and stimulating her until she made small sounds of pleasure.

Something within her rose to a height that made her think she might fall if she weren't careful. But who needed careful when this was so much more fun?

And he would remember the fun. He would remember her as one of his best.

His hands were as busy as his mouth: one was still braced on her hip, holding her steady, but the other was even busier, sliding in back of her, then between her legs and under her shorts. When he thrust a finger into her, he brought her forward, so that the tip of his penis could prod her clit again, grinding against it as she strained and ached and mewled.

She leaned back her head, every part of her like water now, no muscles left to shape her or define her. And that water gurgled on its way from her pussy through her veins, saturating her with a growing heat.

Relax this time
, she thought, the words floating away.
Don't work so hard, just let this happen . . .

But she didn't have another second to even think about an orgasm, because he brutally tore off her camisole, picked her up, swung her to the nearest daybed, and tossed her down. The surprise move blasted the breath out of her as she landed on her hands and knees gripping the sheets while lingering drops of water pattered onto the fine linen.

“When you let an animal loose,” he hissed, “you get the animal.”

She could hear him stripping—the holster and belt, his boots, and then the rest of his clothing hitting the ground. The sensation of his hand pressed to the small of her back bathed her flesh in prickling warmth.

Animal
, she thought, her pulse flailing.
Just how animal was he going to get?

Her breath chuffed out of her as she waited, waves of anticipation washing over her adrenalized body.

He firmly pushed her all the way down until she was on her stomach, trembling for him. But . . . she didn't want trembles or nerves. Oh, God, what if she got anxious again and—

She exhaled as he worked off her shorts, down her hips, her legs, and she saw them fly across the cabana after he discarded them. He urged her thighs apart, and she nearly cried out with expectancy when she felt the mattress dip as he climbed onto it.

“What have you imagined happening with me?” he whispered in a graveled voice. He lowered himself, nipped at her inner thigh, and she jumped. “We've had a lot of years to fantasize.”

What hadn't she imagined? “I'm sure whatever you're about to do will be on that list.”

“Did you imagine this?” He separated her lower lips with his thumbs, gently blowing on her.

She arched her hips off the bed, pulling at the sheets. She couldn't offer a smart comeback to him even if she wanted to.

“Or . . . this?” he asked.

He glided his arms under her thighs, lifting her slightly, then ran his tongue from her clit on up. She rocked off the bed again, a
zing
jolting her deep inside until it split like lightening.

He gave her another racy kiss, another, and her mind filled with an electric red that crackled and hit every nerve ending she had. Heat rose in her like stabbing thrusts, expanding, growing . . .

But she'd be damned if he walked away from this the sole winner. She had a lot to prove, too.

She summoned all her strength, pushing off the bed, turning around, turning him over, and straddling him until she had him pinned against the mattress. Her pussy was slick against his naked belly as she dragged herself down him, her breasts an inch from his lips.

He laughed at her verve and then licked a nipple. But she was
too
ready to get on with this now, and she eased her sex father down him until she felt his erection. She wiggled against his hard shaft, feeling it between her folds. Water from her still-wet hair dripped onto his muscled stomach, creating small glistening puddles.

His gaze hot, he glanced toward a packaged rubber near the side of the mattress. “Get it on me.”

She'd been thinking the same thing.

When she fumbled for the condom, she realized that she wasn't so cool about everything after all—her hands shook as she tried to open the packaging.

Did he notice? Would this be another sexual disaster if she didn't calm down?

Or was she so nervous right now because she was feeling . . .

No. She wouldn't think about feeling anything, instead, making quick work of the packaging so he wouldn't see how eager she was for him. Then, after positioning herself so that she could skim the rubber over his cock, she straddled him again and guided him just to her entrance. For her last tease, she allowed just the tip of him inside of her again while she stroked down his shaft with her hand.

But he wasn't having any more teasing. His gaze was blazing with a male madness she'd only fantasized about bringing out in him, and with a fluid thrust, he took her by the hips and impaled her.

The oxygen gushed out of her as he filled her up, more lightening zapping through her, blinding her for a second. And when she regained her senses, she was churning her hips, gouging her fingernails into his chest while he gripped her bottom just as hard, working her.

She had enough time to see the flames in his gaze—or maybe something else that she couldn't name—before she closed her eyes in pure ecstasy. Swirls began to paint the backs of her eyelids, and they felt like liquid red fingers that lowered and strummed through every part of her body, summoning her, then pushing her back when she got too close to the flames. They pulsed and beat, getting thicker and thicker, so inflamed that they spilled over her entire perception, palpitating . . . pumping . . . blasting—

The cry she made brought her back to the moment, shattering through her as Gideon flipped her to her back, pummeling her with his cock, in and out, going, going until . . .

He was gone, too.

He slumped down to her, holding her against him, length to length, his skin as damp as hers now. He looked into her eyes, and there was that something in them she thought she'd seen before.

Something that scared her.

But he tore his gaze away, staring at the cabana's ceiling.

“Goddamn you,” he said again, laughing this time.

She laughed, too, giddy, victorious, and maybe even a little bit of something else as she tried to forget what she'd seen in his gaze at the end there.

More than just sex? More than she could handle with anyone, especially Gideon?

No
, she thought again. Neither of them was built for more than this—a perfect, wonderful rendezvous.

“Same to you, cowboy,” she said, pressing her face against his shoulder, smiling into him.

Relaxing as she'd never relaxed before.

***

If the character of Tommy in Cherry's novel had been given any point-of-view chapters, Gideon thought he might've felt this way: bafflement at the emotions Cherry constantly stirred up in him and confusion because of the way Cherry made him betray what he knew was right.

Because Gideon had just finished doing so much wrong, although wrong had sure never felt so right.

He and Rochelle were piecing themselves back together: she was slipping into her robe, holding her wet PJs in her hand as she stood at the cabana's entrance, and he had gotten back into his damp black clothing, although he'd have to change when he got into the mansion. As they dressed, she had a smile like she'd just flown to the moon and back, and that lifted Gideon up. He liked when women glowed, liked making them happy. But he wasn't quite in the same place as Rochelle was since his pride in his job had been dented.

No more perfect hands-off-the-clients record for Gideon. He'd become one of those bodyguards who couldn't keep his dick in his pants. Shit, he could almost hear his dad now.

Never can be responsible in anything, can you, you fool?

Rochelle's voice cut into his constant dance of memory. “That was definitely worth waiting for.”

“Glad I earned your stamp of approval.”

She turned to him, the sun shining through her thin white robe, revealing a silhouette that was going to get his motor running again if he wasn't careful.