In Your Wildest Dreams (23 page)

He laughed. "Not me alone,
chère.
Like I said, my dad and me. Mostly him."

She looked him in the eye. "Tell me about this place. Where are we?"

"My
mamère
lived here all her life—the place was built by her
père."
He stopped to laugh at his tendency to think everyone understood him. "Her father," he translated. He paused to look around the room then, same as Stephanie had been doing, wistfully recalling all the ways this little house had become such a large part of his life. "My dad left my mother and me when I was twelve, so we came to live here with
Mamère."

He appreciated the sadness that filled her expression. "Where
...
did he go?"

"Don't know. You've heard the old story—went out for cigarettes one day and never came back? That's exactly how it was. Haven't seen him since. Over twenty years ago."

"I'm sorry."

He bent to lower a soft kiss to her smooth stomach, summoning an acceptant smile for her. "Not your fault,
beb."

"Where's your mom now?"

"She
li
ves
in a little shotgun house in the Ninth Ward. Cuts and sets old ladies' hair in her kitchen and drinks too much. I used to try to take care of her, but
..."

"But what?"

He shook his head and wondered when the hell he'd decided to open up to Stephanie Grant. "It's
...
not easy. She tells me she's gonna quit drinkin', then I go over and find her drunk 'cause some old guy she was datin' did her wrong. I get where I can't handle it." He'd been in the can't-handle-it mode for the last two years, only going over when his hair got so long it started bothering him or when she got on a kick to call him day and night because she wanted to make him a pot roast and act like the two of them were a normal family, when they were anything but. "AU I know is there's nothin' I can do to make it better," he added without quite meaning to.

Merde.
What was he doing spilling his guts to this woman? Usually, he was real good at keeping his troubles to himself—something Tony claimed was "part of your problem, man, part of why you can't move on." But he liked keeping things to himself just fine, and decided to go back to doing that, starting now.

Time to turn the focus back to what he wanted from Stephanie, and what he knew Stephanie wanted from him. That was easier. Well, in a way—if only she didn't make him feel so damn much.

But it felt too good to push that part away right now.

He dropped his gaze to her body, enjoying the simple fact that there was a naked woman lying beside him in bed. He bent to nibble at the taut peak of one breast. "Enough about this old place," he murmured, blowing coolly on her nipple and watching her bite her Up at the sensation.

She
ro
ll
ed
to her side, her breasts swaying with the movement. "But I
like
this place. I
..
.feel
you here."

"Even so," he said with a grin, "I'd rather get back to feelin'
you
here." He ran one hand over her bare hip, letting it rest in the valley of her waist. Then he leaned close until they were chest to chest, her beaded nipples raking teasingly at
his
flesh.

He
rolled
to his back, taking her with him, so that she lay atop him, the crux of her thighs nest
li
ng his erection through his worn jeans. Anchoring one arm around her and
li
fting
his other hand to her cheek, he reached up for a kiss—and instinct made him
s
li
de
his hand from her back to her ass, pressing slightly, bringing her closer against him. A soft moan escaped her, washing over him in a wave of warmth. "Want me to make you come again?" he whispered.

She
rep
li
ed
just as low. "No."

"No?"

"/ want to make
you
come now."

He blinked his surprise, taken aback. But then he remembered—she was the least predictable woman he'd ever met, constantly catching him off guard. This one topped the heap of things he hadn't expected from her, but the deep pleasure of anticipation settled into his bones as he lay back and smiled. "Won't take much,
beb."

Stephanie's heart beat a mile a minute as she raised off him to kneel at his side. Her body still reeled from orgasm—hell, she was reeling from
everything,
the whole night. And now, here she was, hovering over him, wanting to do things she'd never wanted to do before.

Somehow, when she'd least expected it, things had turned easy with him.

No, not easy. Scary as hell, in fact. But her want truly overrode her fear tonight, and the pleasure he'd brought her was beyond anything she'd ever experienced. Now she wanted to please him, too.

The truth was, though, she barely knew how. She was more accustomed to being a recipient than a giver of sexual favors. But she was going to follow her instincts. She bit her lip, staring down at the thick bulge in his jeans.

She felt him watching her, studying her every expression and move. It should have increased her worry, made her feel she'd been placed in a spotlight—that's how it usually was with her and sex, when she deigned to have it. But with Jake, his penetrating gaze only made her want to please him that much more, made her want to be some sort of sexual vixen for him. "Don't be afraid,
chère."

She took the words to heart.
Don't be afraid, Stephanie. Not now. Just follow your instincts.
And tonight, she realized happily, there was no selling it, no asking herself to be something she wasn't, no masquerade of any kind. Tonight, it was real—she was a woman who wanted to be with this man, in every way.

Reaching down, she undid the top button on his Levi's, hissing in her breath as she drew the zipper down to reveal white cotton straining from what lay within.

She touched him through his underwear, let her fingers close gingerly around the large columnar shape. Big. He was big. She gasped softly and prayed he hadn't heard since he was watching her hand now, his eyes gone glassy, his breath heavy.

She was probably the only woman on the face of the planet who took a man's pants off hoping he was small, but the realization made her understand: Jake was so right about what scared her, that the night she'd heard her parents arguing made her fear pain. And Jake was probably bigger than any man she'd been with.

That's okay. Because you aren't going to have sex. He said so. Just fooling around. That's all you 're going to do.

And like before, it was that affirmation that allowed her to push every ounce of trepidation aside and relish him.

Glancing from his erection to his face, she said, "Lift," and he did, allowing her to lower his jeans. Underneath, he wore snug boxer briefs that barely contained him, his stiffness stretching the top edge of the underwear. Next, she reached for the elastic and he rose up, helping her push them down. Her womb contracted with need at the sight of him.

She didn't bother taking his jeans and underwear the rest of the way off—just reached down and ran the flat of her palm up his length, letting his gasp of pleasure fill her. She slowly began to stroke him, thinking how amazing the male anatomy was. But wait, no, not every male.
This
male's anatomy was amazing, moving her in ways she'd never expected to be moved. How could he feel like satin and steel at the same time?

She lowered her mouth, kissing his tip.

His groan traveled the length of her body and made her want to give him more, so much more—so she followed the unfamiliar urge to sink her mouth onto him.

She moved slowly, feeling her way, sensing his pleasure. His hand wove through her hair, holding it back from her face. He murmured deeply in French and she savored knowing he watched her.

She was not a virgin at this, but it was the first time in her life she'd ever
wanted
to do it, ever felt the urge to give a man that gift without any prodding on his part. She hoped he could sense what it meant to her, how freely she gave, and as their gazes met, she believed he could. "Mmm,
ça c'est bon, beb. Oui."

She wanted to take him where
he'd
taken
her,
to utter ecstasy—and within a few moments, his labored breath had turned to moans, until he uttered, "Now."

She rose off him, wishing he were inside her, wanting to feel him there—but before she could even weigh those thoughts, his rough groan permeated the air and his warmth splashed across her stomach.

She gasped, looking down, and he reached for her, kissing her wildly, his tongue plundering her mouth as he pulled her tight against him.
"Mon Dieu,"
he whispered breathlessly between kisses. "Mmm,
merci, chère. Merci."

A moment later, they lay unmoving, her body still plastered to his, when he kissed her forehead and offered a soft, sexy grin that nearly turned her inside out.

She smiled back. "You speak French a lot more when you're excited."

He arched a devilish brow.
"Oui."

She chuckled, drinking in the mannish scent of him, and of sex that hadn't quite happened. And yet, even without the act of sex, she felt so close to him. He rolled them so they lay face-to-face on their sides, bodies still crushed together. She bit her lip and met his gaze. "What I did just now
...
I don't usually do that."

He tilted his head against the pillow, those chocolate eyes seeming to bore into her soul. "That makes me a very lucky man, no?"

She smiled. "Yes."

His grin faded, their faces still close, his embrace loosening only slightly. "Why'd you do it,
chère?"

"Because I wanted to. I just
...
wanted to. I can't explain it," she said, then laughed, thinking how many times she'd said that to him in their short acquaintance. "I can't seem to explain
much
when it comes to me and sex, but
...
I wanted to make
you
feel as good as you'd made
me
feel. I wanted to be
...
as intimate with you as I could."

His next smile came more warm than playful. "You succeeded. And some guys would say that's better than sex anyway."

"Some guys," she repeated. "What about you?"

"Don't get me wrong, what you just gave me was
...
incredible."
He flashed a quick grin. "And I'll be happy to oblige anytime you feel that urge. But," he said, grin fading, "for me, nothin's quite the same as bein' inside a woman, as sharin' that ultimate connection. Know what I mean?"

Despite how meaningless that connection had seemed for most of her adult
life
thus far, she did know what he meant and she wanted that with him so, so badly. "I wish I were braver," she said softly, almost hoping the fan would suck the words out of the air, even as she spoke them. She didn't like admitting her weaknesses.

He pulled back
slightly
to look at her. "You're about the bravest woman I ever met, Stephanie Grant."

She flinched. "Me?"

He quirked a
light
smile. "I don't know any other woman who comes runnin' down to a strange city, ready to move hell and earth and high-priced prostitutes to get what she wants."

She swallowed and gave her head a short shake. "That's not bravery, Jake. That's
...
having no other choice."

"No,
chère.
That
is
bravery. I promise." She lowered her gaze. "Well, then, I wish I were braver about sex."

"You're doin' just fine,
beb."
He winked. "Do you see either one of us lyin' here frustrated?"

"Well, not anymore, but up to now
..."

"You act like somewhere along the way you became obligated to sleep with me."

"No, not obligated. But I
wanted
to. I
really, really
wanted to. From the first moment I saw you on the other side of the bar, I wanted to be with you. And when you came into that red room and things started up between us, and you were kissing me and touching me
...
God, Jake, it nearly killed me to say no."