NicenEasy (3 page)

He traced his tongue around the curve under one breast.
B-cup or no, he seemed to like what she had to offer. “A gorgeous handful,” he
said, spreading his hand over the breast that hadn’t been the lucky recipient
of his kisses. Oh yes, he liked them fine.

Down to her navel, where another murmur emerged. “An innie.
My favorite.” He proceeded to prove it, exploring her, laughing when she
squeaked and jerked. He kissed his way to the soft spot inside her hip,
lingering, reminding her how responsive she was there. Not many men realized
that; they tended to go straight for the primary areas. This man was more
playful and more exploratory than most of her bed partners. Just how
exploratory, she wondered, and a vivid series of pictures came to mind,
straight out of her fantasies. Not just the one about all the members of the
band fucking her one after the other, but more private ones, of situations
rather than people. She’d always wondered if she’d be as turned-on in real
life. Fuck, yeah.

He explored lower, to the tuft of hair her beautician
allowed to grow at the apex of her legs.

He seemed to approve by the way he combed through, easing
his fingers through the curls. “Lovely.” His voice deepened and a rough edge
entered the previously smooth tone. “I can see you, I can smell you.”

“Oh!” She tried to jerk away but he held her down, wouldn’t
let her go.

“There is nothing wrong with the smell of a fresh
ready-for-fucking woman, and you, sweetheart, are all of that. And I love it.”
She had no idea what he would do before he did it, as he swooped down and
licked her, opening to her clit, and then made a sound like a man enjoying his
food. “Mmm. Nothing beats it.” He lifted his head, gazing up at her. “Except
maybe for one thing.”

He lifted on his hands and came back up the bed to her,
balancing effortlessly on one arm while he sheathed himself. She watched, mouth
watering. All for her.

When he caught her watching, a smile spread over his face.
Sweet and sexy at the same time, wholly irresistible. Not that she was trying to
resist him.

He took his cock in one hand and gave her a questioning
look, brimful of mischief. “Ready?”

She nodded. “More than.”

“Let’s go.”

Glancing down, he guided his cock to her entrance and moved
forward, the motion so slight she hardly felt it. Although she did. The feel of
him against her skin for the first time, but she hoped not the last tonight,
made her gasp.

“Feel it,” he said, his voice positively gritty now. “Good?”

“So good.”

“Every touch, every sensation. Remember it.”

“Fuck, yes.” She would, she knew it. Every second. She’d
never appreciated this, the way he was making her experience every moment,
every slight touch. She could smell her sex now, and she reveled in it as he
did. Knowing it made her wetter—she felt the liquid, which could only be her
because he was sheathed now, soak her thighs, make her even more ready for him.
That beautiful, long cock was about to—

Oh, shit. Fan-fucking-tastic.

She lost the ability to think. This gorgeous man was pushing
into her body, forcing her pussy to accept him, her walls opening with the
embrace of a lover to sheathe him more fully than latex ever could.

He sank inside, not stopping until her body met his, their
pubic bones nudging each other in complete intimacy. “Shit, that’s good.”

She found her voice. Barely. “Yes. Better than good.”

He chuckled. “And I’m supposed to be the one who can use
words.”

“Editors have to be pretty smart too,” she protested, always
defensive of her profession.

“They do.” He smiled suddenly and swiveled his hips, making
her squirm and gasp as sparks spread through her, radiating up to the top of
her head and the tips of her toes.

Smile and swivel. Both deadly. To her, at any rate.

To any woman, she thought, but right now he belonged to her,
and she intended to make the very best of it.

Sleep? Time enough to sleep when she was dead.

He withdrew, drove back, watching her face intently all the
time, and she gasped at the impact as their bodies collided in bliss.

His muttered “Fuck!” reflected her feelings exactly. This
was so much more, even than she dreamed or imagined, and boy, had she imagined.

Chills chased thrills, and every time she arched her body to
meet his downward thrusts, it got better and better. Stronger every time. She
bit her lip, only to find him bending to kiss her, soothing away her teeth
marks with his tongue and then the press of his lips against hers. He tasted
her, his tongue as thorough in her mouth as his cock was in her pussy, both
driving hard but different rhythms, working her toward ecstasy.

Her cry came from a sense of wonder. She didn’t know if her
fantasies were driving this incredible sense of rightness, of sheer,
unadulterated joy.

He leaned up, watching her, and she saw his sweat-sheened
chest, the little eagle on his shoulder glimmering in the low light of the
bedside lamps. She saw enough to appreciate the vision of Donovan Harvey
working hard, driving them both to a place where she at least had never been
before.

When she thought she couldn’t get any higher, he took her
there. She opened her eyes and saw him watching her intently, waiting for her
reaction. She reached for him and he kissed her again. Curling her hand around
his neck, she held him there, waited for that breathless moment when the stars
were at their brightest, just before they fell.

She plunged down but not into an abyss. A swooping, surging
wave. Allie had never surfed, but she imagined it must feel like this, stomach
bottoming out, balance barely there, a seemingly endless fall but with a soft
landing at the end.

No, no soft landing after all, but a sharp jolt back into
joy, bright lights exploding behind her eyes when she closed them, but she
forced them open again, wanting to keep her eyes fixed on that ice-gray, darker
now his pupils had expanded. So close to hers, so right.
So fucking right.

He drew away from their kiss, still watching her, and she
watched him right through the rest of her orgasm even though she wanted to
squeeze them shut and intensify the feelings, close her senses right down so
touch became the most important.

Except she couldn’t. She wanted it all. Every second, every
moment of this amazing man. As she watched, he gritted his teeth, a guttural
sound making its way through them, strong, primitive and heartfelt in its
intensity.

At last, he closed his eyes and his orgasm rocketed through
her, pushing her to another series of contractions in a gentler echo of her
first climax. The musculature of his arms was sharply defined as he locked them
in a clear effort to prevent himself falling on her.

His chest heaved as he pulled in breath after breath. A lock
of hair fell across his forehead and he flicked it back with a toss of his head
as he gave a very shaky sound, half growl, half chuckle.

At last he opened his eyes. “Wow, you are good, lady.”

“We are good,” she said. She’d had a few seconds more to
recover, but that only meant she’d recovered the voluntary use of her vocal
cords.

They stared at each other and for once, she didn’t know what
to say. Something profound seemed to pass between them, but she couldn’t let it
fool her. Her previous feelings for Donovan Harvey had disappeared, blasted
away by the reality of the man. Nobody and nothing had prepared her for this.

She moved and he rolled to one side, completing the movement
to get out of bed and head for a door she presumed led to the bathroom. “Be
right back,” he said. He sounded almost normal, just a slight tremor to his
voice.

He returned in a matter of seconds and got back into bed.
“I’d suggest a shower, but I don’t have the energy.” He drew her closer and
kissed her, the kiss long and lingering. Fuck, the man knew how to kiss. “Let’s
sleep some, then shower, and maybe I’ll have the energy for another round.
Maybe you can go on top next time.” He caressed her breast, gentle now, his
thumb sweeping over her nipple.

She snuggled closer, felt his arms go around her and
drifted. So easy to sleep in his arms.

Donovan couldn’t remember when he’d last slept for seven
hours with only one break and fuck, it had to be the night he didn’t want to
sleep so long. He could sleep anywhere, a necessary skill engendered by his
regular job, but not for more than four or five hours. Then he’d wake and pace
until he felt sleepy again, or get up and draw. He’d done most of the work on
his book then, in the small hours when the rest of the band was asleep. Or in
the morning, at a time when many people were getting up and going to work but
the members of Murder City Ravens, having worked all night, were catching up on
some well-earned shut-eye.

Worst of all, he woke up alone. He remembered her saying she
had work in the morning but on this, the first day of the convention, the
official program didn’t start until noon. He’d hoped to get at least one more
session with Allie before they had to part for the day. And only for the day.
No way was he letting her get away from him now. He got up, restless until he
spotted his sketchbook and pens.

He showered alone, the ledge at the back of the shower
giving him ideas about the next time he saw her. Nothing he could fulfill on his
own.

After slinging a towel around his waist, he headed for the
desk and the drawing he’d started before he took his shower, stopping when he
saw a keycard on the floor. After picking it up, he realized it wasn’t his, but
she’d mentioned an early start, so she’d probably got a new one by now. He’d
give it back later. Perhaps call on her.

He gazed down at the sketch and decided he’d done well with
this one. That was her. Lying in his bed, fast asleep, her sweet curves
outlined by the sheet that barely kept her decent. He’d woken up in the night
and visited the bathroom, fully intending to wake her on his return, but the
sight of her had changed his mind. She looked too good to wake. Too good to
eat, he recalled with a smile, because that was how he’d intended to wake her.

He’d watched her for a while only to fall asleep himself,
certain he’d wake again in an hour, as he always did, but he’d been wrong.

He added a stroke of the pencil to her hair, one dark curl
creeping over her shoulder to touch the top of her breast. Smiling, he recalled
her hair, so carefully tamed earlier, so wild after lovemaking.

He turned his mind to the coming day, wondering if he’d get
away with nobody recognizing him as a Murder City Ravens member again.

It wasn’t usual for him to notice when people were staring
at him either. Not these days, when so many people did. That was why he’d
enjoyed being here so much. Most of the attendees, especially the early birds,
were confirmed fantasy fans, and if he hadn’t appeared in
Farscape
or
Battlestar
Galactica
he didn’t mean anything to them.

He liked that. The sudden adulation that Murder City Ravens
had attracted recently unnerved him. Some people followed them from gig to gig.
Would they follow them out of the United States, on the next leg of their world
tour? He hated to imagine they would. It went beyond music, verging on stalker
behavior. Fuck, it
was
stalker behavior. As a rock band, they’d
attracted attention from a select portion of fans, but their recent single had
crossed over to the main charts and to attention on major TV shows. Now the
album was bursting through as well and the resultant attention was getting hard
to handle. This was probably the last time he could get away with going
incognito.

Adding a light shadow to the crease of the sheet tucked
under her breasts, he remembered how it felt to touch her there, to cradle her
breast in his hand. Bloody good. He’d go in search of her soon. See if she
wanted lunch or breakfast. Brunch, that was it. For people like him who ate
when they were hungry, he was never sure what to call it.

He glanced back toward the bed. Tomorrow he’d have his first
event as a published author. He’d used his mother’s maiden name for his pen
name and called himself D. G. Ford, although his agent had used extreme
persuasion to try to get him to use the name thousands of fans knew him by. But
he’d wanted the book to succeed on its own. Wanted it badly, and only now that
it had was he willing to come out of the closet.

So maybe his last chance at anonymity came today, before the
book signing over the weekend. With one last glance at the image of the girl
who’d given him such an incredible time last night, Donovan headed for his
closet and the neatly folded jeans the maid had put there for him.

Some things about fame and fortune didn’t suck. Someone to
tidy after him was definitely a plus. Not knowing whether a woman wanted him or
Donovan Harvey, member of Murder City Ravens, was firmly in the negative
column.

Allie tapped her foot on the shiny floor at the airport. He
was late. She’d dragged herself out of bed at an unnatural hour, left a rock
god sleeping by her side, only to discover a text after she reached the airport
telling her that “her” author had missed his plane and would arrive an hour
late. She could have used that hour. Styled her hair properly instead of
blasting it with the blow-dryer, had a decent breakfast—or woken Donovan
Harvey.

This morning she was past groupie. He’d been fantastic,
surpassing all her fantasies, so different from what she’d expected but
delivering in spades. Interested in what she did, funny and, holy hell, so good
between the sheets that he’d knocked her out cold. She hadn’t slept so well
since forever.

The announcer told everyone that they shouldn’t make stupid
jokes in security and then another one broke in to announce the arrival of the
plane from New York. Thank the Lord. Allie prayed he was on this one.

He was. Carl Morano, a middle-aged man wearing a Hawaiian
shirt with parrots rampaging over it, hurried out of the exit, toting a huge
briefcase and dragging a small case on wheels.

She smiled and stepped forward, every inch the publishing
professional, or the best she could do after the best sex of her life. “Mr.
Morano? Hi, I’m Allison Bartz.” She held out her hand but Carl was having none
of it. She found herself grabbed and pulled into a male chest. The second in
two days. Whoop-de-doo. Things might be looking up, if Carl weren’t solidly
married and definitely off-limits.

“Hi, Allie! After working with you, I feel like you’re one
of my closest friends.” He winked. “Maybe more, hey?” He released her and
grinned. “Thanks for coming to meet me. I could have just got on the shuttle to
the hotel, you know.”

“Nonsense. Besides, we have things to discuss. It’s your
first panel this afternoon, so we need to get you settled in and registered.
Anything I can do to help, I will.” Briskly she set out for the cab line, her
heels clicking on the hard floor. “Actually, I’m here because of you.”

“Why?” Carl panted slightly, hurrying next to her. She
figured he could wheel a case and tote a briefcase on his own, however,
hotfooting didn’t seem his style. She took the briefcase from him.

“Ever since you hit the
New York Times
list, people
have wanted to meet you and you’ve kept yourself quiet.”

He grimaced. “I was working. Insurance agents don’t get a
lot of time off.”

“You’ve kept the day job?” Considering how well the book had
done, she’d have thought he’d give it up. Especially now he had a three-book
contract.

He huffed. “Well, it was nice to pay off the house, but I
still have to put the kids through college. Four of them, all bright enough to
go, four of them all wanting Ivy League. I gotta have a regular job until I’m
sure.”

She hustled him into the taxi, handing his bag in after him
and letting the cabbie take care of the wheeled suitcase. “The second book
should take care of that. And you’re writing the third on time, so you’re
good.” When she’d brought his deadlines forward to take account of the sudden
popularity of the first book, he’d hit every one. He’d seemed too flustered,
too disorganized to keep to a tight deadline when he’d first written the book,
and she suspected that was one of the reasons Nancy had passed him on to her.
But he’d got the hang of it and then, proving her assessment of him when she’d
first read his manuscript, his book had become a runaway success.

The cabbie took off, nearly throwing her into Carl’s lap. He
didn’t seem to mind, helping her to sit with a gentleness that belied his burly
appearance, his hands lingering on her body. Her senses went on alert. Donovan
Harvey was a fantasy, but this was work and she never confused the two.

“I’ve had the series in my head for years,” he confessed.
“Scribbling all the time. I could never get on the family computer long enough
to get it done, but then my wife bought me a laptop for Christmas…”

She let him rattle on while her mind wandered yet again to
the vision she’d woken to. A broad expanse of chest, a strong shoulder forming
her pillow, one arm around her waist, holding her securely. It had taken five
minutes to extricate herself without waking him. She had a fifteen-minute drive
to think of Donovan and make sure Carl wasn’t divulging any important
information before they reached the airport hotel where the convention was
taking place.

By the time they reached it, she’d realized that Carl could
drive her seriously insane if she saw him on a daily basis, and since she was
based in New York and so was he, that could happen, especially if the series
continued as successfully as it started.

She soon found that the way to cope with Carl’s chatter was
to tune him out and return occasionally to check in with him. He’d talk for
hours, but he was one of the restful kind who didn’t necessarily need an
answer. She had to treat him well, even if he did have a tendency to put his
hand on her knee and try to slide it up her thigh. Three times in that journey,
she had to move away or simply move his hand. He didn’t seem to take offense,
although had it been anyone else, she would have.

The taxi drew up. “We’re here,” she said brightly. “Let’s
get you checked in.”

In this huge barn of a hotel, she was slightly relieved that
they couldn’t find a room for Carl close to her, considering his propensity to
let his hands wander. The place had been letting conventioneers check in early
as rooms became available, so Carl had to be satisfied with one a floor above
the room Allie shared with Nancy. Who’d given a sleepy, Cheshire cat smile when
Allie had rolled in at 6:00 a.m. to get ready for the day ahead. She’d had to
stop at the main desk to get another keycard. Either that or go back to
Donovan’s suite and wake him up, something so tempting she didn’t do it. She’d
slipped in the room and given Nancy a sheepish smile. Lucky Nancy had turned
over and grabbed a bit more shut-eye, but Allie couldn’t afford to do that.

Carl looked like a man holidaying from his day job, but he
should start to look on this as employment, take it a bit more seriously. She’d
have plenty of time to tell him, since he was her primary concern here. He
couldn’t take this first appearance too lightly. This was a big convention and
they’d chosen it deliberately. The company had actually allocated a publicity
budget to Carl, and she wanted him to make the most of it.

On the other hand, the readers might love a middle-aged
lecher who had a laugh that could rip fabric.

With relief, she left Carl to settle in after exchanging
telephone numbers. Only then did it occur to her that she hadn’t done that with
Donovan. He probably wouldn’t have let her. Security concerns.

On her way out, she’d noted his wing had access through one
hallway only and the fire exits were all alarmed. She’d had to go up a couple
of floors using a service stairway before she could get the elevator, since
this wing was served by card-operated elevators and her room card didn’t work.
It also meant she couldn’t drop by.

Despite her decision to make it a one-night stand, she
wanted to see him again. But the way she felt this morning was far distant from
the night before. She’d spent a night with a man, not a fantasy, and she’d
never feel the same way again about her B.O.B.

She couldn’t have him. Murder City Ravens was on the final
part of the American leg of the tour and they’d go to Europe next. She had a
job that was just taking off, and if she took time out now, she’d lose it.

Laughable. After one night? Who was she kidding?

She wouldn’t have the decision to make, that was for sure.
But she did have one perfect night to remember.

Back in her room, she found Nancy busy on the phone. She
raised a brow and Nancy nodded and held up a finger for her to wait. She hung
up and beamed at Allie with a knowing expression in her eyes. “So how did it
go? Are you a full-fledged groupie now?”

Allie couldn’t laugh, didn’t want to. “I wouldn’t say that.”

Nancy held something out to her and Allie took the small
black object. “It’s a portable speaker,” Nancy informed her. “Put on some of
this band’s music. I’m curious.”

“You’ve never heard it?” As far as Allie was concerned,
Nancy must have been living in a vacuum not to have heard Murder City Ravens.
Until recently, they’d had a large but specific audience—the kind who liked
rock bands. Then they had a hit, one single, shoot into every chart they
qualified for, number one over the world.

She opened her laptop and navigated to her music file,
finding the famous single and a few other tracks, the ones that usually made a
good initial impact, rather than the ones that benefitted from close, repeated
listening. Both of which she’d done. That was one of the things she loved about
the music. Murder City Ravens had a song for every mood.

The music began to play and Nancy chose that moment to start
talking. Allie consoled herself with recalling Nancy’s famed ability to
multitask. Not many people could manage three simultaneous phone calls and make
sense to each person she was talking to, but Nancy could. Allie’s mind tended
to snap to a current project like an elastic band around a bunch of pencils,
but Nancy wove her way around several at the same time. Probably why Nancy was
the boss here.